Page 29 of Caleb
“And they weren’t weird around you guys or had their jaws dropping on the floor at the sight of you,” she says with a silly grin. “So that’s a win.” I snort and look away. The girl’s teasing me, and she’s so cute. But I can’t follow up because I’m afraid I might say something out of line. So it’s best if I just keep quiet after that one. “You know how often I’ve had girls invite me somewhere and ask if you would be coming too?”
I turn my attention toward her and raise a brow with curiosity.
“One too many.” She seems annoyed by it, and it’s beyond endearing. But I get why she hadn’t felt comfortable making friends in the past. I’m sure she didn’t feel she was being invited for the right reasons.
“I’m sorry that’s happened.”
“No, you’re not.” Miss Murphy chuckles. “I’m sure youlovethe attention.” She really wants to tease me, and I wish I could follow up with something that would make her cheeks blush in two seconds, but I’m biting my tongue for the millionth time.
Or maybe I could just say alittlesomething before biting my tongue for the rest of the conversation.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Murphy,” I start to say. “I’m usually busy looking at you.”
Her cheeks get rosy, and Ilovethat. I love teasing her. Not the attention from her classmates at school, although I am well aware about what she’s talking about.
She clears her throat and says, “And bored to the teeth.” She lets out an awkward but adorable laugh. If she only knew I’m anything but bored when I’m looking at her.
I’m at a loss for words. Words that I’m allowed to say, at least. So I bite my tongue this time like I should have a few statements ago.
“Whoa.” I extend my arm over her chest and make her stop. Miss Murphy gasps. She was about to cross the street without looking, and a taxi just flew past us.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Thankfully, I always am.
“That’s what I’m here for.” I nod once.
She sighs, and as we wait for the streetlight to change, she says, “This is nice. You know, aside from almost being run over by a car.” She smiles nervously. “I feel like we haven’t talked more than three words since our last conversation in May.”
“You’ve had a busy schedule, Miss.” That’s all I can think of saying, which is partly true. That day at the church was one of those once-in-a-blue-moon windows of opportunity where we could be alone and talk freely while having a somewhat valid excuse to linger. But the following days after that, it was hard for me to even make eye contact with her. I wanted to draw an obvious boundary between us, enough for her to notice. Combined with the turmoil and emotional distress that arose inside me from having the conversation, the result was very straightforward … I distanced myself from her.
Then, we had a hectic summer, and now she’s started school again. The only difference from last semester is that we now go out for runs. But we hadn’t allowed ourselves to chat as much as we are doing right now. It’s just hard to see her happy and not want to engage in conversation with her. Hell, I’d like to engage in conversation with her in any emotional state if I’m being honest.
“Let’s get to it before these clouds decide to drop some water on us,” she says. I nod, ending the conversation, and we break into a jog toward Tuileries.
Finding One’s Passion
MISS MURPHY AND Ijust circled the Louvre through Rue du Pont Neuf. The streets are busy with people coming and going, either walking, on their Vespas, or in their cars. Once we get to the arched, stone bridge, we turn on Quai du Louvre and keep running along the Seine under a darkened morning sky.
“Did you know Pont Neuf is actually the oldest and longest bridge crossing the Seine?” Miss Murphy says between soft pants.
My brow furrows as I narrow my eyes at her. “Doesn’tneufmean new?” I ask, fearing the word means something else, and I might look like an idiot.
“It does,” she says with a chuckle. “Ironic, isn’t it? But bridges back then used to be wooden, and Pont Neuf was the first stone bridge in the city, so it was a novelty. And I need to shut up, or I’ll throw up.” She huffs a laugh between heavy pants. She has gained a lot of physical endurance, but she doesn’t have that much practice with talking and running at the same time.
I snort a weak laugh and shake my head because this girl never ceases to amaze me. “We should incorporate some conversation in our runs to improve your lung capacity,” I tease. She makes a fake gagging sound and zips her mouth shut with two fingers, making me laugh.
We keep running in comfortable silence along the river watching small boats, water taxis, and even a river cruise gliding past us on the water once we reach Place du Carrousel. We cross the creme-colored stone arches, and the impressive architecture of the Louvre and the glass pyramid dazzles me again. I’ll never get used to running around this amazing city every day.
And then it starts raining—drizzling.
“Uh-oh,” Miss Murphy says through a ragged breath.
“Do you want me to call Aaron to drive us back home?” I ask as we head toward the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, following our path back through Tuileries.
“No,” she says, panting. “I’m good. Thank you, Caleb.”
The rain picks up slightly, but it’s not pouring yet. I glance at Miss Murphy from the corner of my eye, but she seems committed to her run. And I honestly don’t mind the rain, but I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable or catch a cold or something.
