Page 33 of Kissing for Keeps
“Something wrong?” I ask innocently, opening my door and showcasing how much room I have on my side.
“Nope.” She slides her body through the tiny space like the stubborn woman she is.
Shaking my head, I get out of the car, then make my way around to her side. She’s got one foot on the ground and the other still in the car, and I’m just in time to see her trying to shimmy her butt and hips out from between the door and car frame.
“Need some help?”
“Nope!” Her hips pull free, and she’s not ready for the suddenness of it, so she hops backward as her leg slides out. She’s stuck between the van and the car like a human pinball.
I reach for her arm and manage to keep her up as she stumbles against me and regains her balance. “Are you okay?”
Her face is red as she brushes the hair away and behind her ears. “Yup!”
I’m torn between guilt and an impulse to laugh. “I’m sorry. I really thought you would just come through my door.”
Siena pulls out her phone and, map pulled up on the GPS, holds it so she can tell which direction we’re facing. “First thing you should know about me, Just Jack Allred, is that I never take the easy way out. This way.” She points ahead of us.
I follow along with her. “Duly noted—and observed. But you know that’s definitely not the first thing I know about you, right?”
She glances at me from the corner of her eye as though she’s not sure how to take my comment.
“The first thing I ever learned about you was how easily you scare.”
Why I feel the need to push her buttons by making references to the night we met is beyond me. Maybe it’s a weird need to see whether she remembers it, since most of the time she acts like it never happened.
“The first thing I learned aboutyouis that you’re a creep.”
We take a set of steps leading down a cobbled, pedestrian alley that’s surrounded on both sides by tall buildings of warm, golden stone, crooked black shutters, and dark, shingled rooftops. Like the chateau, it feels surreal in its aged perfection, like stepping back in time.
“A principled creep, though,” I say.
She scoffs. “What, because you weren’t hitting on freshman girls?”
“Like I said, principled.” We turn a bend in the ever-descending stairs, and a view of a market square below opens, revealing white umbrella-topped vendor booths and people flitting amongst the wares on offer. Surrounding it all are the same dark roofs and honey-colored façades we’ve been walking between. It’s a scene straight fromBeauty and the Beast.
We stop at the top to admire it all. “Man,” I say, “this place is something else. What’s it called?”
“Sarlat-la-Canéda. You probably recognize it fromEver After.”
“From what now?”
“Ever After,” she says, as if repeating it will solve things. “Only one of the best chick flicks in the world.”
“Do I look like a chick flick connoisseur?”
She folds her arms and studies me. She’s wearing a loose, white top and light distressed jeans. It highlights the darkness of her brown hair, which is held out of her face by the sunglasses on her head. She’s a stunner.
Does she findmeattractive? I’m confident she did when we first met, but I’m not sure anymore. Except for that little zipper pull in her room last night—I’ve been chewing on that one ever since, wondering if it means what I think it means.
“You look like aclosetchick flick connoisseur,” she says.
I imitate her, crossing my arms over my chest. “So what if I am? You saying I should come out of the closet?”
“I am. Half the fun of chick flicks is watching them with someone else.” She turns away. “But you know, it takes a confident man to admit he likes chick flicks, and I get it if you’re not quite there yet.”
Chuckling, I watch her go down a few steps without me. I think I’d really enjoy watching a chick flick with Siena. She’s not at all the swooning type, so I’m curious what she likes about them.
I hurry down the steps to catch up with her, and soon we’re swallowed in the crowds of people perusing the booths. At the bottom of the stairs, just to our right, is a massive building—a church, from the looks of it. It has the biggest doors of any building I’ve ever seen. They’re two sleek sheets of metal that meet in an arch at the top. They’ve got to be forty feet high. How many people does it take to open those things?
