Page 13 of The Stranger

In my head, David Attenborough’s voice begins to narrate my existential crisis.

And here we have an overthinker in her natural habitat… losing her ever-loving shit over the meaning of life and a man she’ll never see again.

Hopefully.

Because I don’t want to go to jail for murder.

Good thing for him we didn’t exchange names.

“I have to taste you.”

I hate how my blood turns hot at the auditory reminder. His voice was so deep, and so full of need, and his eyes so darkly dilated. I have never in my life experienced a moment like that. I was so turned on—I felt like my skin was on fire, my whole being literally burning with need. So you’d think I might’ve noticed the cool air swimming around my legs when the door creaked open behind me. You know, just before he changed his mind, and he pushed me out into the night.

“Argh!” I exclaim through gritted teeth. Brain, cease and desist!

“Daddy, why is that lady making funny noises?” a child questions from a nearby table.

“Hush!”

My head whips around, and I paint on a smile. A family: mum, dad, and a little girl. American tourists by their accents.

“I’m just… enjoying these pastries so very much!” Whipping up my breakfast, I bite off a huge chunk. “Mmm, delish!” And then I scream. Inwardly, at least. I also try not to die as I inhale a bit of flaky pastry. I take a sip of my now-cold coffee and, because I’m having such a good time, I slide a few euros under my cup and turn back to the apartment.

Despite my earlier words, my brain works itself into a frenzy. I shouldn’t have kissed him, especially after he was so dismissive earlier in the evening. Why did I let him? I don’t have low self-esteem, and I don’t have a thing for unsuitable or unavailable men.

I wasn’t trying to prove anything to myself—or to him!

Frigid.

My phone buzzes, saving me from that spiral. I pull it from my purse and try to ignore the flicker of anger I still feel that Sabine was too chicken to deliver it herself, leaving it with the concierge instead. But my mood takes an upward leap when I see a text from Emmy.

She’s on her way! Thank the Lord, because she’ll help me make sense of this. She’ll let me word vomit all over her before she delivers her no-nonsense brand of sense. Or she might she’ll just hit me on the head.

I spend the rest of my short walk back thinking that Parisiennes have the right idea in their mass summer exodus. Same goes for my brother. He wouldn’t be caught dead in the city during this month despite Paris being his wife’s favorite place in the world. But that works for me because it means their apartment on the swanky Champ-de-Mars is empty.

And I have plans for me and Emmy. We’ll eat ice cream while walking along the canals and chatter through French language movies that are played in the public parks after dark. We’ll watch the Bastille Day fireworks from ringside seats and eat cheese and drink bubbles as we giggle over nothing. Summer goals!

Thirty minutes and I’m just cooling off in the air con when the intercom goes.

“Hello? I mean, oui, bonjour,” I say, pressing the button.

“Prim, it’s me.”

My heart does a happy dance at the sound of Emmy’s voice. “Emmeeee!” I squeal. “I’ll buzz you in!” By the time the ancient elevator has reached the penthouse, I’m in the hallway, jittery with excitement. “Hello, stranger!”

She lifts her hand but doesn’t quite make it to a wave as I rush at her, all outstretched arms and mile-wide smile. I’m just bursting with happiness at the sight of her.

“God, I’ve missed you.” I hug her tight. It feels like I haven’t seen her in an age.

“I’m sweaty,” she protests on a chuckle.

“Don’t care.” I squeeze her extra tight one last time before spinning away to hide the telltale sting of my eyes. “Well, don’t stand there on ceremony.” This I shoot over my shoulder, already in the apartment. “Come in.”

“Prim.”

“I’ll put the kettle on. No, let’s open a bottle of fizz. It’s five o’clock somewhere in the world, right?”

“Raiding your brother’s drinks cabinet again?”