Page 34 of City of Love

But isn’t there some sort of rule that you’re not supposed to sit directly next to someone? I’m not a guy; I’ve never used a urinal. But isn’t that a thing? And shouldn’t that same rule apply to basically all public seating?

“Bonjour,” he says suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I’m forced to look over at him.

He’s cute, I guess. Not as cute as Noel, but really, who could be? This guy is maybe my age, with reddish brown hair and a boyish face. He’s smiling at me oddly—delightedly, like I’ve completely made his day—despite the fact that we don’t know each other.

“Bonjour,” he says again, more enthusiastically this time.

“Oh,” I say, realizing I haven’t responded. “Bonjour.”

His eyes trail over my face, and his smile widens as he says, “Vous êtes très belle.”

He thinks I’m very beautiful.

Ithink I’m very uncomfortable.

“Ah, merci, mais non,” I say, clearing my throat awkwardly. Mlle Hilliard taught us that it’s not really polite to accept compliments outright; you’re supposed to deny it or something. I hope that’s correct, because it’s what I did.

“You do not think so?” he says, still smiling. His accent is thick, but he seems to speak English with ease. “I disagree. Very beautiful.” He laughs, like my supposed beauty is funny for some reason. “Very beautiful,” he repeats, his voice musing now, and for some reason his eyes dart to Noel. “To tempt even the most stubborn of men.” He cocks his head and says, “You want to go out with me?”

I force a laugh. “That’s—that’s sweet,” I say, swallowing and wondering what on earth makes this man think I’m going to go out with him. We’ve literally never met. I don’t even know his name. I mean, he seems all right, but who knows? He could be a serial killer. Or, more disturbing, one of those people who doesn’t like chocolate.

No way am I dating a serial killer who doesn’t like chocolate. So I revert quickly to the old standby. “I’m actually not looking for a man right—”

But I break off as the stranger starts laughing again, and I frown at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, waving one hand. “I was joking. I was kidding. I’m Luc. Has Noel mentioned me?”

“Luc!” I say, relief spilling through me. I laugh again, but this time it’s genuine. “Of course he’s mentioned you. I wanted to meet you! I’m Lydia.” I hold out my hand for him to shake, which he does enthusiastically. “How did you know who I was?”

“I watched you come in with Noel,” he says.

I raise one brow, and acting on a hunch, I say, “And does Noel know to expect you here?” I lean in a little, glancing over my shoulder, and say, “I’m not sure he’ll be happy that we’ve met.”

“No, he won’t be,” Luc says, but he doesn’t look bothered. If anything, the idea seems to amuse him.

I tilt my head, looking at him. “How did you know we were here?”

Luc pulls out his phone, waving it slightly. “Find My Friends,” he says. “Good for keeping an eye out for each other.”

I nod, amused. “Do you often abuse this app?”

“Nah,” he says, grinning. “Not much. But it’s—ah, Noel!”

I turn to see Noel approaching us. He’s carrying a small bag, and his body is stiff as his eyes home in on my hand shaking Luc’s. There’s a muscle twitching in his jaw—the same muscle that twitched when he read Marcus’s text.

Not happy, indeed.

Luc can tell too, because he drops my hand immediately. When Noel reaches us, he says something in terse French to Luc, who answers rapidly with a mischievous grin on his face. When Luc turns to look at me again, he stands up, his smile growing.

“I think we should adopt you as our official mascot,” he says, throwing an arm around my shoulder once I’ve stood up too.

“No,” Noel says through gritted teeth.

“Come on,” Luc says, batting his eyes ridiculously at Noel. “They would love her.”

“Undoubtedly,” Noel says, running one hand through his hair. “C’est le problème.” He steps closer to Luc and mutters, “Qu’est-ce que tu fais ici? Je t’ai dit—”

His words fade out of my hearing, and Luc’s response is even quieter. I can’t make it out, so I just wait. I jump a little when Noel slugs Luc on the arm, but though Luc reaches up to rub the spot, he just laughs loudly. We get a look from the lady behind the counter at this, and the three of us duck our heads—Luc still laughing about something—and exit the store.

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