Page 69 of City of Love

I jump at the slam of a door from somewhere outside the apartment, and just like that the tension dissipates.

Noel rubs the back of his neck, looking away and twirling the dial of the safe a few times. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice gruff.

I nod silently, rising from the couch. We just stand there and look at each other for two seconds, and then Noel gestures to the door.

“The shelter isn’t far,” he says, pushing one hand through his hair.

The shelter. Right. That’s what we were doing. Note to self: No more looking at Noel’s lips. Otherwise I’ll kiss him, and then I’ll never get out of France with my heart intact.

Chapter 21

Lydia

The homeless shelter is smaller than I imagined, and I can see why Noel wanted to donate his money here. The place looks sanitary enough, but there’s peeling paint on the walls and water stains on the floor. The carpet in the small block of offices—which is where Noel and I go—is curled at the edges. This place needs some sprucing. I know the point isn’t for it to be beautiful, just functional, but still.

A portly, middle-aged man greets Noel with a kiss on each cheek when we reach the offices. His voice is surprisingly high pitched, and I have to hold back a smile as he and Noel begin speaking together. I understand only snippets of what they’re talking about, but the man keeps shooting me nervous glances, so finally I tell Noel I’m going to meet him by the front entrance when he’s done. He nods gratefully, and I leave them alone.

I wander past two bathrooms and turn left instead of right, the way we came, because I want to see what a shelter looks like. Then I get lost for a minute, but I manage to find my way. It’s embarrassing, but this is the first homeless shelter I’ve ever been in.

Although I’m not sure when I ever would have gone, but whatever.

The hall winds around one more corner and then opens up into what’s clearly the sleeping area—it’s just a room full of cots. There are belongings on some of the cots, while others sit empty with just a pillow and a folded blanket on top.

My eye catches on a woman and a little boy in one corner, and I watch them with a little smile as the boy zooms around their cot. He’s probably two or three, and he’s got chubby cheeks that are at odds with his thin frame. His mother watches him with a look of weary exhaustion, and my heart clenches. She’s beautiful, with thick chestnut hair and dainty features, but she looks so tired, sobroken.I desperately wish I could do something for her. Does she know she’s beautiful? Does she know she’s strong?

I wish I could tell her. I wish I could tell her and every other woman in a bad situation that they’re strong and beautiful and powerful—that they can do hard things. I think of all the women living in battered women’s shelters right now, and the things they’ve gone through. Marcus’s harassment is relatively tame compared to what those women have likely suffered, and he’s still crushed my confidence more than I care to admit.

A surge of energy washes through me as my mind latches into a realization: This is what I want to do. I want to help women in horrible situations find their strength. I want to help them find their confidence.

And what about you?a little voice whispers from the back of my mind.How are you going to find your own?

***

When Noel is done talking to the man—Maurice, he said his name was—we head back to Noel’s flat.

“Why aren’t we going back to your parents’?” I say, sitting on his couch.

He looks at me. “Do you want to? We can—”

“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “I really was just wondering.”

“Oh.” He shrugs before sitting next to me. “I just need some space sometimes. If I’m home for too long I start to get restless. Plus we were right here.” He leans his head back, letting it rest on the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

“So is everything really over?” I say, pulling my feet up and sitting cross-legged. “All the pickpocketing stuff, I mean?”

“That was the last of it,” he says with a nod, his eyes still closed. “Luc has talked with the guys; they’ve all been made aware.”

“Will you still see them?” I say.

He opens his eyes, considering. “Probably not,” he says. He runs one hand through his hair, and I ache to do the same. I refrain, though, because I don’t want to be the weird girl who runs her fingers uninvited through a man’s hair.

“I’m sure we’ll try to keep in touch,” Noel goes on, oblivious to my thoughts. “But some of those guys aren’t easy to get in touch with, and a lot of times we had to communicate by word of mouth rather than phones. So we’ll see.”

I nod. “Well, do you work today?”

“Tonight,” he says. “A short shift, though. I have to be there at five; we open at six.”

“Great,” I say, smiling. “In that case, let’s do something!”

---