Love in B Minor

by Elodie Nowodazkij

  I nod, not breaking eye contact, and the smile I give him is grateful.

  The guy with the sunglasses leans in, and his breath on my neck is another reminder I’m alive. “Come on, let me get you back inside.”

  I wave at Karim, manage to tell him “Merci” while the robber leans against the wall, having apparently decided that being silent was better for him than the insults he was throwing in the wind.

  And then I turn to Sunglasses. “Thank you. I didn’t even thank you.” The words jump out of my mouth uncoordinated, which isn’t usual for me. All I want to do is get away now, get away from here, from everything. “This evening hasn’t gone as planned,” I mumble and my voice sound like I’m in shock and why am I saying this out loud?

  Sunglasses’ hand finds the small of my back and warmth spreads everywhere. He gently guides me away—back toward the entrance of the club, as if he knows how close I am to completely losing it. There’s a chuckle in his voice, almost a reassuring chuckle, when he answers and he almost has no French accent—more American than anything else. “You mean getting robbed wasn’t part of your plans?”

  “Nope.”

  His sunglasses are still firmly seated on his nose, and even though I find that strange in the middle of the night, I don’t want to mention it. Maybe he has a disease, maybe he feels self-conscious, maybe he has a thing for sunglasses. Who am I to judge? I’ve learned the hard way how appearances can be deceiving.

  His smile is mesmerizing and for a split second, I’m tempted to ask him if he wants to get out of here. Not sure if it’s the adrenaline or the need to prove to myself that I’m alive, but going home with this guy doesn’t sound crazy.

  I shiver and my teeth chatter once, twice and then rapidly. And I wince, thinking of the image I must give: scared, lost, and without a jacket like some careless person.

  “Here.” He takes off his winter jacket and places it carefully over my shoulders. “Let me take you back inside. I’m sure your friend is wondering where you are.”

  “My friend? How did you know I was inside?”

  His hands are still on my shoulders and when he takes them away, I feel cold again. His voice is still full of warmth, maybe warmer than before. “I saw you in there. I was about to ask you if you wanted a drink when Bjorn sat next to you.”

  How did I not notice him? He’s not only tall, but he’s got this dark and handsome vibe that I usually crave. As if he could read my thoughts he continues, “I was sitting in the back.”

  “Oh.” And then because I told myself tonight was going to be a good night and because I think he could make it a good night, I tilt my head to the side and say, “I wouldn’t mind another drink. But I also wouldn’t mind having another drink somewhere else.”

  He chuckles and his mouth curves up into a knowing smile that gives the sleepy butterflies in my stomach a kick and wakes them up. He extends his hand to me. “I’m…” He pauses as if waiting for me to say something, and when I don’t he continues—a bit more hesitant. “I’m Clément.”

  I take his hand in mine. His hand is warm and strong and rough. The butterflies in my stomach spread their wings and stretch happily. “I’m Laura.”

  I used the same fake name during my first week in Paris. Before I started at the ballet company. I needed to get out of my head and I did. The guy I met that night was nice, but we didn’t have anything in common except a desire to land in my bed. Which we did, and I never saw him again.

  I need to convince myself that it’s the same with Clément. He may be sexy and he may have saved me, but he’s just that. A one-night stand.

  “I need my coat and to say bye to my friend.”

  Clément brings my hand to his lips and softly presses his mouth to each of my knuckles. The air shifts, full of desire and tension, and I forget everything that’s not him. He could lean in to kiss me right now—I would not push him away. But instead, he breaks the silence. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

  I shuffle out of his coat, hurry back inside, grab my coat at the concierge and make my way to Alisha. The music seems louder, pounding in my veins. The smells seem more pronounced, making me dizzy. The crowd seem larger, trapping me.

  I stop and hold myself at the bar, breathing in and out. After a few seconds, my head is less fuzzy and the beating of my heart is less erratic. Bjorn the Actor is alone again—I guess even the girl who seemed so hung up on him couldn’t deal with his nonexistent conversation. He hasn’t spotted me yet but his eyes scan the room and I don’t want to be found. I stride through the crowd. Alisha’s still sitting with Steve, still laughing and having a great time, it seems. “I’m leaving.”

  “With the dude with sunglasses?”

  “What?” How can she know that already?

  “He works with Steve,” she explains, nudging Steve, who stares into his beer. “He’s a roadie, I think.”

  “He’s a roadie, helps the band with all the technical stuff,” he mutters.

  “What band is it?” I ask but Alisha shakes her head.

  “He doesn’t want to say, apparently it’s a big secret. Not sure it’s even true,” she teases and Steve pulls her closer to him. Clearly, he’s enjoying his time with her, and me staying here is putting a damper on their alone-time. “Will you text me later though? Let me know you’re okay.”

  “You do the same.”

  She nods and I almost skip out of the club.

  The dance floor smells like expensive perfume mixed with sweat. Because even money doesn’t stop you from sweating. Even though my mood still isn’t the brightest, or maybe because my mood is all over the place, I almost giggle at myself. It’s not the alcohol because I only drank that half mojito…but maybe tonight I can let anything and everything happen if I want to.

  It’s a parenthesis.

  Not real life.

  CHAPTER 4 - LUCAS

  I text Grégoire that I’m leaving and will see him soon and don’t pick up when he calls. Not wanting to hear how disappointed he is. Not in the mood to hear how careless I’m being with everything that’s at stake. My eyes keep glancing to the door, waiting for Laura to appear. Spending time with her tonight definitely beats listening to Grégoire. And she doesn’t seem to know who I am, which is a relief.

  Karim—the bouncer—comes back to where I stand. “I wanted to let you know the police are on their way and we’ll keep you updated.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” If I can avoid being seen with the police right now, it would be great. I don’t need one new headline spreading lies about me.

  He’s about to say something else, when Laura steps outside. She’s got a hat on and a big winter jacket; looking all warm and cozy. She glances up at me and her lips curve into a smile. And I could get lost into that smile.

  And I need to stop staring at her lips. “You’re ready? I know this little bar close to the Eiffel Tower. We can call a cab or we can walk.” I eye her heels with one raised eyebrow because I’m always wondering how women can walk in those.

  “I’d love to walk,” she replies and links her arm in mine. Whatever awkwardness I was afraid of, there’s none. “I haven’t seen a lot of Paris and I’ve been here for four months.”

  “What brought you to Paris?”

  She glances at me and pauses as if she’s thinking hard about her answer. “I’m here to learn French.” We stop at a light, but since there’s no car, I tug her to cross the street. “I’ve noticed Parisian and New Yorkers are similar in a lot of ways.” She chuckles. “Like crossing streets when you probably shouldn’t. And they do love their city. Where are you from?”

  I bring her closer to me so she avoids some poop left on the sidewalk. Paris may be gorgeous, but it’s not Berlin when it comes to cleanliness. “All over the place. Mainly, Maine and Paris.”

  “Thank you again so much for coming to help me. There was a guy before you who passed by without doing anything.”

  “People are assholes.” />
  “I would agree with that statement.” Her eyes dart everywhere, and she’s got a thoughtful smile on her face. “Can you imagine the French Revolution happening here? Every place I come across is full of history and meaning.”

  “Do you like history?”

  She nods with a dreamy smile and stops to touch a plaque on one building. “What does this one say? I can understand some people met here, but I’m not sure of the rest.”

  “It says that in September 1944, the forces of the Résistance met in this building.”

  She grabs her phone out of her back pocket to snap a picture. My body tenses at the flash. What if she did recognize me and is only playing a game?

  And clearly, Steve is right when he says I have issues. Not everyone is out there to use me. I force myself to relax.

  She turns to me and she gives me that smile again. A few smiles and she’s got me hooked, but it’s the passion in her voice that leaves me wanting more. “I love history. I’ve always loved it. I have four ways to deal with stress. I dance,” she explains.

  “You dance?”

  She swats her hand in the air like it’s not a big deal. “You know, silly dances in the kitchen.”

  And I can picture her dancing in my kitchen. Not wearing a lot. I shake my head—clearly not the moment to think about her naked. “I watch Netflix. I imagine what people wore and said centuries ago, like making up stories in my mind.” She chuckles and her entire face brightens. “I have never said that to anyone.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” We make our way toward the Seine. To get to that bar, we’re going to cross one of Paris’s many bridges. The wind blows in gusts and I try to walk in the way that I can act as windshield. “You mentioned four ways of dealing with stress. How about the last one?”

  She bumps her hip with mine. “Spending a magical evening with a pretty nice guy.”

  “Pretty nice guy, huh?” We step onto the bridge. And even though the wind is still pretty strong, she stops in the middle.

  “This is absolutely gorgeous.” She breathes the words out like if she says them too loudly she’s going to break the moment.

  And I see it. Even though Paris is my second home, I see the amazement. The view of the Eiffel Tower from the Pont de l’Alma is breathtaking. A few groups of people pass us and I pull my beanie further down. But they don’t recognize me. Nowadays, I’m more famous in the gossip magazines for my random hookups than for my music. But that should change with our next release.

  “I could spend hours here. Looking at it. I never thought iron could have that effect on me.” She tilts her head toward me and I’m tempted to lean in and kiss her, but instead I simply wrap my arms around her. She settles against me as if we’ve done this many times before, and now I could also stay like this for hours.

  She still stares ahead—and I wonder what thoughts she lost herself to, when she speaks. She sounds lost in her world. “Did you know that in 1963, French television recorded an amazing ballet on the fourth floor of the Eiffel Tower? My mom showed me once—it was with Zizi Jeanmaire.”

  This time, I’m the one chuckling, not surprised at what she knows but amazed by how in awe she sounds. I’ve missed that. Finding someone to be in awe with. I lower my head into the nook of her neck and this time when she shivers, I’m not sure it’s from the cold. “Can we walk all the way to the Eiffel Tower?” she asks, her voice slightly huskier than before.

  “Whatever you want.”

  Because right here, right now, if she asked me for the moon, I might try to find a way to bring it down. I don’t know her, not really, but it feels like I do.

  CHAPTER 5 – JEN

  After spending a few more minutes watching the Eiffel Tower, we stroll hand in hand through the almost-empty streets of Paris. Some drunk people are partying but it’s mostly quiet. When we get to the Eiffel Tower, we plop ourselves on an empty bench.

  “It is…magical,” I whisper. Everything about this night is magical—not counting the douchebag and the almost-robbery.

  “Is this the first time you’ve seen it at night?” he asks, sounding surprised, and I understand since it’s one of the first monument people flock to, day and night.

  “Not the first time I’ve seen it, but it’s the first time I’ve taken the time to look.” I shrug. “I don’t know if I make sense.”

  He leans in. “You make a lot of sense.” His lips are close to my cheek and he softly kisses it. I’m about to melt like the last snow on the trees. His voice is strong and sexy. I never thought a voice could be sexy. But clearly, that was before, because I could listen to him for hours.

  His hand reaches up and I think he’s going to cup my face and bring me closer and finally kiss me, but instead he takes off his sunglasses.

  And since he seems to be fine without them, I take the plunge. “So, were you wearing those to hide from a jealous ex?” I almost wink but somehow my brain manages to tell my body this is a bad idea.

  His laugh is the most restrained I’ve heard all night, like a tame version of himself. But then, our eyes collide. And for the very first time I understand what it means to get lost in someone’s eyes. It isn’t the color—I don’t see any specks of gold, or the ocean in them, they’re just dark blue—but it’s the intensity in them that gets my breath to hitch.

  “My name is Burt Macklin. I work for the FBI.”

  A giggle burst outs...I never giggle…But Parks & Rec is one of the only shows I actually binge-watched last summer on Netflix and if I believed in signs, I’d say him quoting my favorite show is exactly that. A sign. “Really? Next, you’re going to tell me you’re a musician and that your name is…”

  He tilts his head. “What? What’s my name?” His lips are too close for me to form one coherent thought, so I lean back.

  “Johnny Karate, of course.” I almost don’t recognize my voice. It’s too soft, too sweet, too smooth.

  And his laughter booms in the quiet night. And seeing him laugh makes me want to smile right along with him. And I want to hold on to that feeling a bit longer. One of my hands slowly reaches out and my fingers trail down his cheek while my other hand falls on his knee. He stops laughing. His gaze turns hungry.

  “I’m not really thirsty anymore,” I whisper. Our eyes lock. The tension crackling between us gets even more intense. He leans in and I hold my breath. We’re lost in the moment, in the anticipation, in that one second. That one second before a first kiss. I bridge the tiny distance between us and when our lips meet, I breathe again.

  His lips are strong and soft.

  My body melts into his despite the layers. One of his hands caresses my back and I press myself against him, wishing I could feel his skin against mine. His tongue slips inside my mouth, teasing mine into a playful dance. His other hand cups my face and I could stay like this forever. But I want more. And what I have in mind probably shouldn’t happen outside.

  We might get arrested.

  But I don’t want to end the night here and now.

  I don’t want this night to end at all.

  CHAPTER 6 - LUCAS

  She breaks away, but her smile isn’t apologetic or telling me she wants to stop—her smile is almost a promise for more. “I’m not thirsty, but I am hungry. Any chance you know how to cook?”

  I raise an eyebrow, keeping an arm around her. “I’m not bad. I can make mean pasta.”

  “How about cookies?”

  “Cookies?” Laughter rumbles deep in my chest. I can’t remember the last time I baked cookies. I also can’t remember the last time I had such a wonderful time. She plants a soft kiss on my lips.

  “Cookies,” she confirms. “I’ve got a craving for cookies. I’ll help you.”

  “I’m not even sure if I have chocolate chips.” I pause and check my phone. It’s past midnight, the little Monoprix by my apartment closes at midnight, and I can’t think of any other stores that are open. But then I remember. “Wait, I might. M
om loves to put chocolate chips in her oatmeal with bananas. Don’t ask me why.”

  “That actually sounds delicious!” she replies with a smile that continues to move things inside me I wasn’t sure still existed.

  “So, wait. Am I really about to bake cookies in the middle of the night?”

  She bites the side of her lower lip. “If you don’t mind me coming over.” She sounds unsure, or maybe a bit weirded out, and then I realize what I said could mean I live with my mom and that would be fifty shades of awkward.

  “You know, my mom…” I rush to continue. “She doesn’t live with me. I don’t live with her. She sometimes comes to visit. And that’s where the chocolate chips come in.”

  Her eyes light up and her smile is definitely less restrained, as if she’s relieved, and she laughs. And then she must see how much I want her because she stops laughing, but there’s still a hint of a smile. A very sexy smile.

  I pull her to me and kiss her again.

  I kiss her senseless.

  Because for once, I’m not sure I want this night to end.

  For once, having a one-night stand doesn’t feel right.

  Doesn’t feel true.

  In the morning, I’ll tell her my real name. I’ll tell her everything.

  CHAPTER 7 – JEN

  The smell of freshly baked cookies floats in the air—a tempting and teasing reminder of last night. But even though I’m worried my stomach is going to rumble, I don’t move. I stare at the ceiling, same as I’ve been doing the past ten minutes, and continue to will the knots of tension braided through my body to unwind.

  It’s the first time since I’ve arrived in Paris that I don’t wake up in my apartment.