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Sophie
My phone buzzes in my bag. I pull it out after searching around for a good minute, my bag an endless pit of loose gum strips, old receipts, and plane ticket stubs.
Liam: I have a plan for tomorrow. Meet me at the McCoy motorhome at 3 p.m.
Me:What if I have plans?
Liam:Do you?
Me:No. But thanks for asking. Meet you there.
He responds with a middle finger emoji. I laugh, loving how he doesn’t try to overly impress me, choosing to be true to himself.
When Liam told me he made plans, I didn’t think he meant something like this. He tugs me along behind him toward the grassy area near the Eiffel Tower with a picnic basket in hand, which would probably look ridiculous on someone else. When I question his masculinity, he does a quick twirl, absurdly comfortable with himself.
Liam finds a perfect spot, the green grass lush beneath our feet and the sun hitting us with golden-hour rays. He pulls out a blanket and situates it on the grass. I follow along when he gestures for me to sit. If he were someone else, he would be perfect. But I don’t want to read into this too much, putting labels and ideas where they don’t belong. I stomp all over my rapidly beating heart.
He makes it hard to resist him, especially when he pulls out a bottle of wine and a cheese plate.
“I thought this would be fun before the next Prix.”
“Do you do this for all your French girls?”
His cheeks blush. A bashful Liam tends to be one of my favorites. “Nope. Only sassy little Americans.”
“I’m not little.” My bottom lip juts out. He swipes his thumb across it, the brush of his finger sparking something within me.
“You can fit in my carry-on bag if we tried.” His eyes smolder as they roam over me, taking in my loose blonde hair and mascara-coated lashes framing my eyes.
Did I put effort into my appearance for Liam? Yes.
I’m so screwed.
“I don’t think I want to fly private jets in a carry-on. I didn’t peg you for such a cheapo who wasn’t willing to share his life of luxury.”
Liam barks out a laugh I’ve grown to love. Uh, like. He pours the wine like a pro, cloth included for wiping off any excess drips. We look like classy people using real glasses instead of plastic ones.
“Cheers to another city and another race.” He smiles.
I clink my glass with his and take a sip. The liquid cools me down from the heat of an August day and Liam’s nearness.
I scan the perfectly manicured lawn. “Can you believe people propose here? I don’t think I would ever want something so public.”
We already saw one proposal while walking over to our picnic spot with the sounds of a crowd cheering ringing through the quad.
“Are you a hidden romantic? Do you want some private proposal instead?” His eyes dance, the sun’s rays reflecting off his irises.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I never thought about it before, especially with my parents and their failed attempt at love.”
His eyebrows tip down, his lips matching the movement. “Oh, come on. Every girl thinks of it.”
“Not this girl. Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions because not every female dreams of a three-bedroom house with a dog.”
“Of course not. Girls dream of fancy mansions with Bandini cars instead of dogs.”
His crazy picture of love makes me laugh up into the sky.
“For someone who talks about how in love his parents are, you sure have a dark outlook on life.”
