Page 25 of City of Love

So I nod again, holding my hand out. “Friends,” I say.

I might be imagining the spark of relief I see as he shakes my hand. Then again, I might not be.I’m definitely not imagining myownrelief, though.

“Friends,” he says.Then he moves on his bed until he’s sitting propped up against the headboard. He pats the bed next to him and grabs his phone from the nightstand. Holding it up, he says, “Want to watch one of your favorite shows?”

I grin, sitting next to him, because I know it’s a peace offering. “That depends. Are you going to complain about it the whole time?”

He doesn’t smile back, but his eyes sparkle as he says, “Only a little bit.” He pulls up the show I love but he thinks is dumb, and there, sitting next to him, I finally feel calm for the first time since I arrived in France.

Chapter 9

Noel

Iwake up to light streaming through the window and warmth pressed to my side. I blink groggily and frown, trying to figure out what’s going on. It only takes a second, though, because I hear deep breathing next to me, and the night before rushes back. Without thinking, I tilt my head down and inhale deeply, Lydia’s hair silky against my skin.

Cinnamon. That’s what she smells like. It’s a faint scent now, almost indistinguishable, but with my nose buried in her hair, I can get just a whiff. My guess is it’s all but gone after the day of travel she had yesterday.

To be clear, sleeping next to her was not the plan, and I’m sure she would agree. It would probably look questionable to an outsider were it not for the fact that we’re both completely clothed. Still, I don’t plan on taking any chances. I should probably stop smelling her, too.

Though cinnamon suits her. Sweet with an undeniably spicy kick.

It takes me a second to disentangle myself; we fell asleep just sitting by each other, but somehow I ended up curled around her, one arm stretched possessively over her, our legs tangled together. She’s currently sleeping like the dead, and I’m not surprised. Jet lag is rough.

When I’ve managed to get off the bed, I debate briefly before pulling my comforter up over her. I could wake her or move her back to the guest bedroom, but she’s had a difficult twenty-four hours—no thanks to me, I think with a rare twinge of guilt—and could probably use some more sleep, so I’ll leave her.

She seems much more peaceful now that she’s not spitting fire in my direction, although I can admit that fire-spitting Lydia is a sight to behold. I just look at her for a second as she sleeps, her hair streaming over the pillow, her face clear of tension, and then smile as my eyes land on the little llama pattern on her pajamas. I shake my head, amused, before exiting the room as quietly as possible.

Last night’s talk went about as well as I could have hoped. Sometimes it’s a gamble with Lydia; she’s reasonable, but she’s also fiery and temperamental. Last night I wasn’t sure how those qualities would come together. Not too badly, as it turned out. I was relieved by how easy it was to be near her once she got the questions out of her system.

Once I’ve pulled the door closed behind me, I make my way down the hall and into the living area. My mother has left a note on the table; she’s out for most of the morning, attending a planning meeting with the French teacher from Lydia’s school. I’m sure I’m going to be dragged on several joint class outings—places like the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, places every native Parisian has been on a hundred school trips. I would try to get out of them if it weren’t for Lydia, but I’ll go. I’m not leaving her with Marcus.

Since my mother isn’t here, the flat is otherwise empty—my father is on a business trip—so I dial Luc’s number. He answers on the second ring.

“Tell me about her,” he says immediately.

“What?” I say, frowning and sitting on the sofa. It’s a stiff, uncomfortable piece of furniture, but my only other option is the velvet chair in front of the fireplace, and that’s worse. “Are we not bothering with greetings now?”

“Hello, how are you, et cetera,” Luc says. “Now tell me. Did Lydia come?”

“Of course she did,” I say, forcing myself to relax. “I told you she would.”

“What’s she like?” He sounds too interested.

“She only just arrived last night,” I say, avoiding the question, because frankly I don’t know how to respond.

But Luc, it seems, will not be deterred. “Come on; give mesomething. One thing, and I’ll stop asking.”

My mind flits back to Lydia, still asleep in my room, and my fingers absently find the earrings she gave me.

“Noel?” Luc prods.

“She smells like cinnamon.” The words fly from my mouth before I can stop them. I give myself an internal kick, because I know how Luc will respond to this.

Sure enough, he sounds like he’s holding back laughter as he says, “Cinnamon smells good.”

He’s right, but I don’t dignify that with an answer.

He goes on, “And what does she look like?”

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