Liam sits next to me. His warmth radiates along my side, and I focus on a couple at the other end of the park snapping a photo of a pigeon to steady my excitement. I’ve never understood why tourists are so keen to take pictures of the birds. I guess I’d understand it if Parisian pigeons wore berets and ate mini croissants, but unless I’m missing something, they unfortunately don’t.
“He’s wicked excited,” Liam says, taking his first bite.
“That could be a problem.” I sigh. “I’m worried that if he thinks playing matchmaker paid off, he’s going to set me up with every friend of his visiting Paris.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t worry. Caleb doesn’t have that many friends.” Liam’s lips quirk, and a brief appearance of the dimpled doom-maker arrives.
“What did he say when you talked to him?”
He shrugs. “Brief congratulations and a quick if-you-hurt-my-sister-I-break-your-thumbs thing.”
“No way.” I almost shriek. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I burrow into my scarf. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Not the first time I’ve gotten it.” He waves off my mortification.
“I’m sorry. What?” I keep my voice even, though I want to pop a blood vessel. My brother shouldn’t get to prioritize spending time with Liam, ignore me, and pull this macho bullshit too. “Why isn’t he texting me threatening messages? You’re the favorite.”
“I think your brother secretly likes you better.” He winks. “He just has a funny way of showing it.”
“Oh yes, heaven forbid he show his true feelings to me.”
“What would we have fought over if he did?”
“Being lifelong friends, can you imagine the actual horror?” A broad grin stretches across my face.
“I don’t think it would have been that bad.”
“Why, Liam Kelly, I think that was almost a compliment.” I place my palm over my heart. “Thank you for watering the garden. I think it’s blooming already.”
He snorts, taking another bite of gooey goodness. “Anytime you need watering, let me know.”
“Absolutely, whenever I need someone to get me wet, you’ll be the first person I call.” I catch him mid-bite, and he starts to choke. With a way-too-proud-of-myself snicker, my palm falls to his back and gives it a good thwack.
“Hell, Peaches.” He coughs. “You can’t do that to a guy when he’s got his mouth full.” I giggle, and he shakes his head, standing and wiping his hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make so many dirty jokes. Paris has changed you.”
“It’s because you’ve been granted access to my authentic self without Caroline hovering over my shoulder. Consider yourself lucky. Very few people are privy to this side of me.” I finish my crêpe, savoring the warm cocoa beans and hazelnuts dancing on my tongue for a moment, and stand.
He draws his lips in thoughtfully. “I’ll have to add it to my list.”
“What list?”
“Moments with you I don’t take for granted.”
My heart jerks against the tethers I tried to implement on this walk for safety. “Are there a lot of moments on that list?”
He shrugs. “Briefly stolen smiles, finger grazing, typical boy next door pining for the backstory.”
Right. The backstory. The backstory for Liam. The backstory chosen specifically for Liam. Liam’s backstory. My brain malfunctions into a Kuzco’s poison meme, trying to calm High School Me that wanted to jump to the fastest OH MY GOD, HE LIKES YOU conclusion.
“Got it. Want to wander toward Palais-Royal?” I ask, wiping my sweaty palms on my trench coat.
He nods, his brows furrowing in concern at my face. I haven’t kept track of whatever it’s doing, but it’s probably not subtle how nervous I am.
Marching down a set of stairs along the Seine, we head west toward Palais-Royal, walking in relative silence. This section of the river is a popular destination for tour cruises and floating restaurants to load and unload passengers. Hence, it’s thick with tourists, and we frequently separate to navigate them.
Finally, the thick of the crowd thins to a few couples sitting on the edge of the bank, enjoying a rare spot of sunshine and bottles of wine. Water laps up against the stone in the wake of a passing boat.
Liam’s phone rings for the fifth time on this walk.
