Page 35 of City of Love

The second we’re out, Noel and Luc begin a conversation in rapid French I have no hope of following. They seemingly bicker for a minute, Luc’s face gleeful while Noel’s is strained, and then the tone changes when Noel holds up whatever he bought.

Just like that, Luc’s face transforms from jovial to serious as Noel speaks, and then he holds his hands up in surrender. I tilt my head, studying their interaction with interest. Noel says they’re best friends, and their back-and-forth a second ago seemed to support that claim, but now they seem to be shifting into more of a superior/inferior dynamic in which Noel is the clear superior. He’s still clenching and unclenching his jaw as his eyes dart at the crowds around us.

“All right, Mr. Grump,” I say, tabling the desire to ask what’s going on. “Let’s calm down.”

I link my arm through Noel’s, who responds only stiffly. I give his shirt a little tug, and he finally looks at me.

“I’m calm,” he says, his frown intensifying in direct contradiction to his words. “And why are you still calling me that?”

I shrug. “You’re being kind of grumpy to Luc.”

Luc nods solemnly. “Very grumpy to me,” he says, his eyes darting back and forth between Noel and me with a barely concealed smile.

Noel sighs, shaking his head. “Well, he works for me—”

“At the nonprofit organization,” I say, watching Luc carefully.

Sure enough, Luc’s eyebrows shoot up, as though he’s both surprised and confused by my words, confirming my suspicion that there’s more to this “nonprofit organization” than Noel is telling me.

Color me intrigued.

Noel clears his throat, his eyes darting to Luc before coming back to me. “Yes. At the organization. So in related matters, he’s supposed to defer to my judgment—”

“But not without reasonable discussion, surely?” I say. “I mean, ideally an employer takes suggestions from his workers rather than just telling them what to do all the time. Right?”

All right, yes; I’m pushing Noel’s buttons a little. But to be fair,someoneprobably should. Maybe not me, I guess. I just think he’d be less uptight if he got used to discussing things with people rather than issuing orders.

But I sigh at that thought, because it reallyisn’tmy place. “What’s next on our list?” I say to Noel, smiling and changing the subject. “Luc, are you coming with us?”

Luc heaves a dramatic sigh, smiling once more. “I wish I could, beautiful, but I cannot.” His smile turns mischievous as he adds, “I can’t possibly tell you howwonderfulit was to meet you. Oh, and Noel, I might need to borrow your tool box. Is that all right?”

This last part he says not to me but to Noel, who just nods.

I shake my head.Boys.

Chapter 12

Noel

By the time we get back to my parents’ flat, it’s early afternoon. My mother has lunch ready, and when Lydia gets a look at it, her jaw drops.

“That’s so much food,” she whispers to me as we approach the table. “I usually just eat a sandwich or something.”

I shrug, smiling at her look of wide-eyed wonder. She’s…cute. There’s that word again, but it just fits. “Cheese, bread, salad, grilled chicken,” I say, pointing things out.

Her eyes swing from the table to me. “Asandwich,” she repeats, enunciating as though I might not have heard her the first time. “Two pieces of bread, peanut butter, and jelly. That’s my usual lunch.” She gestures at the table. “This is amazing.” Then she bites her lip, glancing at my mom, who’s pulling butter out of the fridge. “I feel bad we weren’t here to help her. Mme Marchand, what can I do?Est-ce que je peux vous aider?” she says, addressing my mom now.

My mother smiles. “Non, merci,” she says. “Sit,” she adds.

Lydia nods and slides into a chair, eyeing the spread before us with a mixture of excitement and wariness. I notice her eyes linger especially long on the small plate of cheese, and I remember that she considers herself a cheese aficionado—her words, not mine. She’s one of those rare specimens who likes Swiss cheese. I shake my head at the thought.

I’m just about to sit myself when my phone buzzes for the third time since Luc’s little stunt earlier. I had underestimated his curiosity about Lydia, but I guess I’m not surprised—even though he did promise me he’d stay away. I’m just glad she didn’t seem to understand his less-than-helpful commentary.

My phone buzzes again—four times now—and I work not to grit my teeth. Lydia must notice, because she lifts one eyebrow subtly at me, but I don’t explain. I just excuse myself, telling them to start without me.

Once I’ve slipped out, I head to my room and check my phone, already knowing what I’ll find. Sure enough, each of the four texts are from Luc, and each one is about Lydia. One talks about how she seems too sweet to be hanging out with me, one is about her hair, one about her smile, and one simply says,She’s hot.

I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth when I get to this last text. I know what Luc is doing; he’s pushing me. He’s forcing me to think about Lydia in a way that I never thought about her when we were just pen pals. And though I agree with his assessments—all four of them—they make me want to lash out at him. An idiotic and unnecessary reaction; I’ve always been a bit territorial, but even I can admit it’s never been this bad.

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