My glowing face must have said it all, because my sister jumped up and said, “That’s it, I have to meet him!”
“Stop, Georgia, you’re embarrassing me. Give me some time to figure out if I even like the guy,” I said as I stuck my feet through the pant legs and stood to shimmy them up my hips.
“We’ve gone over this before,” my sister said, grabbing me by the shoulder and scanning my face for one searching second. “And I’m sorry to inform you, Katie-Bean, but from the look of things, it’s way too late for that.” And she pranced out of the room, laughing and clapping her hands.
“Glad to provide the morning’s entertainment,” I grumbled, and leaned over to speed-tie my shoelaces.
The day passed quickly—I fell into a dreamlike state as soon as I sat down in each class, and spent the hours musing about the previous evening. It seemed too good to be true: Vincent confessing his feelings for me by the river, the candlelit dinner, and then . . . my heart lurched every time I thought of the kiss on the Pont des Arts. And of how after that Vincent drove me home and gave me another kiss, short but stunningly tender, in front of my building.
The look of total devotion that I had seen in his eyes as he took me in his arms had shaken me. I hadn’t known whether to be afraid of it or respond in kind. But I couldn’t let myself reciprocate. I wasn’t ready to let my guard down.
At lunch I turned my phone on to check my messages. Georgia always sent me a few inane texts during the day, and sure enough there were two messages from her: one complaining about her physics teacher and a second, also obviously sent from her phone: I love you, baby. V.
I wrote her back:
I thought I told you to buzz off last night, you creep-o French stalker guy.
Her response came back immediately:
As if! Your beet-red cheeks this morning suggest otherwise . . . liar! You’re so into him.
I groaned and was about to turn my phone off when I saw that there was a third text from UNKNOWN. Clicking on it, I read: Can I pick you up from school? Same place, same time?
I texted back: How’d you get my number?
Called myself from your phone while you were in the restaurant’s bathroom last night. Warned you we were stalkers!
I laughed, and thanked my lucky stars that revenants couldn’t read minds, although I’d have to remember to watch what I did on the days he was floating around town as an all-seeing spirit.
Yes x 3. See you then, I wrote, and for the rest of the day gave up all pretense of paying attention in class.
He was waiting for me when I walked out the gates. My heart rate accelerated as I saw him casually leaning against a tree near the bus stop. I couldn’t prevent a huge smile from spreading across my face.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, handing me a helmet as I approached the Vespa. He pulled his glasses off and leaned forward to kiss me on either cheek. And that insignificant gesture that is repeated dozens of times a day in France—every time you say hello or good-bye, every time you are introduced to someone, or run into a friend—those two little pecks that make up the bises all of a sudden assumed an entirely different meaning for me.
In what felt like slow motion, Vincent’s cheek touched my own, at which point my lungs forgot how to work. He pulled back slightly, and our eyes met as he leaned toward my other cheek and brushed his lips gently against my skin. I opened my mouth to inhale, attempting to send some oxygen to my brain.
“Hmm,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “That was interesting.” His smile was infectious, and I found myself laughing as I took the helmet from his hands and put it over my head, grateful for the chance to hide my face while I composed myself.
“Since it is unseasonably cold today, I was wondering if you’d be up for some of the best hot chocolate in Paris,” he said as he swung his leg over the bike.
“So now you’re seducing schoolgirls with promises of chocolate? You’re a bad man, Vincent Delacroix,” I laughed as he started the motor.
“So what does that make you for accepting my offer?” he yelled over the noise of the Vespa as we pulled away.
“Intentionally gullible,” I said, wrapping my arms around his warm body and closing my eyes in delight.
Chapter Nineteen
THAT NIGHT GEORGIA CORNERED ME IN MY ROOM after dinner. “So where’d you disappear to after school? I was waiting for you.”
“Vincent picked me up after school and took me to Les Deux Magots.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. “You’ve seen him two days in a row?”
“Well, today doesn’t really count, being all of fifteen minutes. I had to rush since I have a test tomorrow to study for.”
“Doesn’t matter! Holy cow, this is getting serious!” She made herself comfortable on the end of my bed. “So. Tell me about this ex-criminal mystery man.”
“Well,” I said, grasping for things I could actually say. “He’s a student.”
“Where?”
“Um, I actually don’t know.”
Georgia looked at me doubtfully. “What’s he studying?”