enchanted place.
“Your family’s great,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “Though Mathilde can be a …” He said some French word I didn’t understand, but it made me laugh.
“It’s just cool that you guys are friends,” I said. “My brother and I are never like that. If we’re talking, we’re fighting.”
Jules pursed his lips and opened the main door for me. We stepped out into the twilight. “You must talk about the wrong subjects.”
“I guess so,” I said. “But … it’s more than that. It’s like we’re so different that one of us has to be wrong.”
“About what?”
“About everything. We don’t like each other’s friends, or music, or ideas about what’s a worthwhile way to spend time.” And it suddenly seemed so silly. Why couldn’t we both be right?
“I’m sorry for you,” Jules said. “My sister is my best friend. We fight sometimes, but … I don’t know what I would do without her.”
We walked for a while without speaking, just soaking in the sights and sounds of the night. The cafés were setting up their heaters, and dinner patrons were beginning to crowd the small tables. Golden light poured out of shop windows, and a mix of French voices floated on the cool air, rising and lowering in lively conversation.
I didn’t really let myself think about Jules, about the fact that he’d voluntarily spent his whole day with me and taken me home to dinner, and that his sister had teased him about me.
I did take his words from earlier — you’re a good person — and let them tumble around in my head like rocks being pushed along the floor of a river, until they were smooth and shining.
But the rest of it — and what it might mean — I pushed to the far reaches of my mind. Instead, I focused on the glow of the streetlamps, accenting each cobblestone with its own little half-moon of light.
In what seemed like a tenth of the time I expected it to take, we were back at the hotel. I took a deep breath and turned to face Jules.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said.
And then there was a pause. One of those really, really long pauses where both people feel like there’s something to say, only neither of them is willing to be the one to say it.
What was it I wanted to say to Jules? What would I say if I weren’t afraid?
Thanks for listening to my secrets? Or Thanks for making me feel …
How, exactly, did he make me feel?
Like a whole person. A person who didn’t need to change anything about herself to be okay. Essentially … the opposite of how I felt 99 percent of the time.
But would I ever say that? Not in a million years.
“Thanks for dinner.” I burst the bubble of silence before it turned into something dangerous. “See you tomorrow.”
I pivoted and started to head into the hotel, feeling proud of myself for getting us onto safe ground.
But Jules stopped me. “Colette,” he said.
I hesitated before I swung back to look at him.
He was smiling. “I had a very good time with you today.”
“Okay.” I smiled back. And then I went inside.
“Okay?” Is that really what I just said?
I took the stairs to the third floor and knocked on Madame Mitchell’s door. She pulled it open and checked her watch. Three minutes early. “How was dinner?”
“Great,” I said. “Authentic French cuisine.”
“I must say,” she said, raising her eyebrows a little, “I don’t know that I’ve ever had a girl in my group get along so well with the tour guide. Of course, for the past six years we had Monsieur Delacorte, and you’d have to be not only blind but also pretty much out of your mind to find him attractive.”
I wasn’t sure whether to blush or laugh. “Anyway, thanks for trusting me.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried,” she said, waving her hand. “I know he’s not your type. Besides, I’m sure your friends don’t approve, so it’s not an issue.”
As I climbed up to the suite, I couldn’t get her
“Your family’s great,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “Though Mathilde can be a …” He said some French word I didn’t understand, but it made me laugh.
“It’s just cool that you guys are friends,” I said. “My brother and I are never like that. If we’re talking, we’re fighting.”
Jules pursed his lips and opened the main door for me. We stepped out into the twilight. “You must talk about the wrong subjects.”
“I guess so,” I said. “But … it’s more than that. It’s like we’re so different that one of us has to be wrong.”
“About what?”
“About everything. We don’t like each other’s friends, or music, or ideas about what’s a worthwhile way to spend time.” And it suddenly seemed so silly. Why couldn’t we both be right?
“I’m sorry for you,” Jules said. “My sister is my best friend. We fight sometimes, but … I don’t know what I would do without her.”
We walked for a while without speaking, just soaking in the sights and sounds of the night. The cafés were setting up their heaters, and dinner patrons were beginning to crowd the small tables. Golden light poured out of shop windows, and a mix of French voices floated on the cool air, rising and lowering in lively conversation.
I didn’t really let myself think about Jules, about the fact that he’d voluntarily spent his whole day with me and taken me home to dinner, and that his sister had teased him about me.
I did take his words from earlier — you’re a good person — and let them tumble around in my head like rocks being pushed along the floor of a river, until they were smooth and shining.
But the rest of it — and what it might mean — I pushed to the far reaches of my mind. Instead, I focused on the glow of the streetlamps, accenting each cobblestone with its own little half-moon of light.
In what seemed like a tenth of the time I expected it to take, we were back at the hotel. I took a deep breath and turned to face Jules.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said.
And then there was a pause. One of those really, really long pauses where both people feel like there’s something to say, only neither of them is willing to be the one to say it.
What was it I wanted to say to Jules? What would I say if I weren’t afraid?
Thanks for listening to my secrets? Or Thanks for making me feel …
How, exactly, did he make me feel?
Like a whole person. A person who didn’t need to change anything about herself to be okay. Essentially … the opposite of how I felt 99 percent of the time.
But would I ever say that? Not in a million years.
“Thanks for dinner.” I burst the bubble of silence before it turned into something dangerous. “See you tomorrow.”
I pivoted and started to head into the hotel, feeling proud of myself for getting us onto safe ground.
But Jules stopped me. “Colette,” he said.
I hesitated before I swung back to look at him.
He was smiling. “I had a very good time with you today.”
“Okay.” I smiled back. And then I went inside.
“Okay?” Is that really what I just said?
I took the stairs to the third floor and knocked on Madame Mitchell’s door. She pulled it open and checked her watch. Three minutes early. “How was dinner?”
“Great,” I said. “Authentic French cuisine.”
“I must say,” she said, raising her eyebrows a little, “I don’t know that I’ve ever had a girl in my group get along so well with the tour guide. Of course, for the past six years we had Monsieur Delacorte, and you’d have to be not only blind but also pretty much out of your mind to find him attractive.”
I wasn’t sure whether to blush or laugh. “Anyway, thanks for trusting me.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried,” she said, waving her hand. “I know he’s not your type. Besides, I’m sure your friends don’t approve, so it’s not an issue.”
As I climbed up to the suite, I couldn’t get her
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