We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1)

by Daisy Prescott

  “Do you know what this means?” Panic spread across her face. “We’re international drug smugglers.”

  “Shh!” I leapt across the narrow space and covered her mouth. “Don’t say that out loud.”

  Moving my hand, she whispered, “They don’t bug the trains, Lizzy. No one else is in here but us.”

  An older man walked by down the main corridor of the train on the other side of our glass door.

  Her eyes widened. “So close.”

  “We need to get rid of it.” I nodded.

  She frowned. “It’s really good stuff.”

  “What are the possession laws in France? Are you willing to go to French jail for a little buzz?” The more I talked about it, the more anxious I became.

  “I have no idea! All I know about French jails is from Les Miserables and A Tale of Two Cities. We don’t want to end up in those kinds of jails. Trust me.”

  “I bet they have better food than American jail. Maybe croissants and at least baguettes with cheese and butter. Or the ham ones, with lots of butter. I could live off of those. Or simply butter and bread wouldn’t be too bad. As long as there is butter.” My stomach growled in agreement.

  “I wonder if they have wine in prison.” She rubbed her finger across her lips in thought.

  “It’s France. Fraternity is right there in their version of the Declaration of Independence. Have you ever heard of a frat party that didn’t have booze?”

  She wrinkled her forehead and stared at me. “Your logic and Latin are terrible, but I’m going to agree. Even if there is wine and creme brûlée, I really don’t want to end up in jail. We need to get rid of the joint. And the sooner the better.”

  “We could throw it out the window.” I studied the smudged glass. Standing, I tried to tilt it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Maggie helped, but the thing was jammed shut.

  Sitting back down, she sighed. “We could flush it.”

  “That’s brilliant.”

  “Walk down the aisle with your purse. That’s totally legit.”

  “Come with me,” I begged.

  “The two of us going into the toilet only makes it more suspicious. You can do it.”

  “Rock, paper, scissors?” I held out my fist.

  “Okay.” She balled her hand. “One, two, three.”

  I threw paper. She did scissors.

  “Two out of three?” I asked.

  “Fine. One, two, three.”

  I went with scissors. She did rock.

  “You can do this. I have complete faith. And if for some reason you do get caught, I’ll bring you filtered American cigarettes and People magazines. I know how you can’t live without both.”

  I gave her a small salute. “If I don’t make it . . .”

  She shook my shoulders. “Do it for Johnny.”

  With a laugh, I opened the sliding door and stepped out.

  I turned to say something to Maggie and the train swayed, sending me off balance. As I straightened, I ran right into a conductor, and dropped my purse.

  “Pardonnez moi,” he said, handing me back my bag.

  “Bien sur,” I replied, incorrectly. Facing Maggie, my eyes widened and I mouthed “help.”

  She waved me down the aisle. I sped away from the conductor.

  “Mademoiselle,” he called from behind me and then said something else in French.

  I froze, but didn’t turn around.

  “Is this yours?” he repeated in English.

  The joint must have fallen out when my bag dropped. Two plans of action formed in my head. The first involved jumping off of a moving train. I mentally practiced my drop and roll. This train chugged along at full speed. It definitely wasn’t the best option.

  My second thought was to play dumb American girl. The idea involved less chance of broken bones, but an increased opportunity for humiliation and possible arrest.

  I’d gone twenty years without breaking a bone. So far in my life, I’d tried to avoid both pain and living on the lam. I had no idea where we were in France and knew no one to hide me from the law.

  Making up my mind on option two, I turned around, plastering a huge smile on my face.

  “Oui, Monsieur?”

  He held up a white paper covered cylinder. I glanced at it briefly, but focused on his face.

  “Did you drop this?” he repeated

  I held up my hand to my throat in some damsel in distress gesture like I was on the verge of fainting. “Why would you think it belongs to me?”

  He pinched the end in disgust with a look of confusion on his mustached face. “I saw it roll out of your bag.”

  “Oh, no, it couldn’t have. I have no idea what that is. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” My voice continued to rise in panic.

  He studied his hand for a second. “It is a . . . tampon. I believe the word is the same in English?”

  “What?” Shocked, I actually looked at the object in his hand. Sure enough, I recognized it as one of my Tampax.

  Nothing embarrassing about this moment at all.

  “Pardonnez moi,” I mumbled and claimed the tampon from his hand. “Bon Anniversaire!”

  Once in the safety of the tiny bathroom, I realized I’d wished him a happy birthday instead of a happy new year.

  I dropped the joint into the bowl, flushed, and breathed through my mouth while I sat on the seat long enough to make my bathroom visit seem legit.

  Someone knocked on the door after a few minutes.

  “Occupied,” I shouted.

  “It’s me,” Maggie whispered from the other side of the door. “I thought you might have fallen in. The conductor came back to check on you. He said he thought you might have died from embarrassment.”

  I flushed again and rinsed my hands in the tiny sink before unlocking the door.

  “What happened? Is it gone?” She peered over my shoulder.

  “Nothing other than I told a very nice mustachioed French man I’d never seen a tampon before.” I led the way back to our compartment.

  Once inside, I retold the entire conversation.

  Maggie about peed herself from laughing. “I’m never ever going to forget this trip.”

  “So, I learned a new vocabulary word.” I joined her in giggling. The panic over doing hard time passed into fits of laughter. “At least no one is going to prison.”

  “As punishment, they probably make prisoners eat McDonald’s.”

  “Or American cheese, which is apparently the worst thing ever to exist in the history of the universe according to some people.” I reminded her of the ridiculous argument she’d had with Julien Armand at the party a couple months ago.

  She wheezed with laughter. “Pompous French pricks!”

  Her words echoed around the little room, loud enough an ancient widow in the corridor heard her and scowled at us.

  Her disdain only sent us into another round of laughing until tears streamed down our faces.

  We collapsed on the benches, panting with the occasional giggle. The train click-clacked along the rails while we gathered our breath.

  “What’s the deal with Le Fromage anyway?” I whispered.

  Maggie’s face stilled. Then she bit her lip before answering. “Nothing really.”

  “Nothing at all or nothing serious?” Julien had showed up outside classes a few times after the party, and taken her to coffee or the movies. She always said it was to practice her French, but they went alone and didn’t invite me. Felt more like dating.

  She sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know if you like him?”

  “I do like him.”

  “What’s the problem? You don’t know if he likes you?”

  “That’s not it either. He’s made it clear he likes me.”

  “Then what’s the issue?”

  Briefly she met my eyes, then stared out the window at the passing bare fields and gray winter sky. Another familiar sigh escaped her.

  I remembered those sighs f
rom our trip over here.

  “Does this have anything to do with Gil?” I’d avoided asking her for months, figuring she would bring it up. Then I decided if she hadn’t, I didn’t want to get involved.

  She exhaled, her exasperated breath lifting her bangs. “Maybe.”

  “You know you can always tell me anything. We’re in a tiny room of honesty here.”

  “Promise?” Tears collected in her lashes.

  “Oh, Mags. What happened?” I crossed the narrow space to hug her.

  “I swore I wasn’t going to tell anyone and make it a big deal. Or be one of those girls who say they’re cool and then turn out to be the opposite of cool.”

  “You mean hot?” I went for a little humor to lighten the mood.

  “No, uncool. Clingy. Reading into things and seeing emotions and commitments where there are none because of sex.”

  Whoa. “Sex?”

  I’d seen their anti-groupie kiss at our going away party. I’d even given her imaginary high fives for finally making a move. One of them had to.

  She nodded and the tears spilled down her cheeks in two sad, salty rivers.

  “Oh, Mags.” Hugging her to my side, I let my sweater absorb her tears. “You’re not one of those kind of girls. You and Gil are best friends.”

  “I know. And I ruined everything by hitting on him.”

  “He kissed you back.”

  “He didn’t really have a choice. He had to either kiss me back or be the target of Slutty McGroupie for the foreseeable future. I wanted to protect him.”

  “Gil doesn’t need protecting. He’s a big boy and can handle himself. You wanted to mark him as yours before you left. I completely understand.”

  She nodded and her wet nose rubbed on my arm. Snot probably covered the wool of my former favorite sweater.

  “Not to pry,” I was totally breaking my no prying rule, “but you said sex?”

  “We had sex after the party. I threw myself at him in some desperate last ditch moment.” Sitting up, she rubbed her nose with the palm of her hand. “It’s humiliating.”

  I tilted my head to the side in a silent question.

  “What?” She wiped at her cheeks, her fingers coming away stained with black mascara.

  “Why was it humiliating? Did he want to do weird stuff like 9 1/2 Weeks?”

  She shook her head and covered her face. “No, nothing weird. It’s the desperate, throwing myself at him part.”

  “I didn’t take the same biology class you and Selah did freshman year, but I’m pretty confident he had to be somewhat interested to . . . you know.”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “Oh. No. He. No. He was into it. Really into it.” Pink spread across her cheeks.

  “Got it. Let’s agree you didn’t force him into doing anything he didn’t want to do, and move on from there, okay?”

  Her head bobbed in agreement.

  “Okay. Nothing to be humiliated about. You two had been dancing around each other all summer. Hell, probably since freshman year. I never understood why you didn’t get together.”

  “Was it obvious? I know everyone liked to tease me about it.”

  “Not only you. Quinn and Ben brought it up to Gil, too.”

  “Now that’s humiliating. Everyone talking about us behind our backs.”

  “Only because we could all see how you two acted around each other. I don’t think this was ever a one-way thing on your side. It’s pretty obvious the feelings are mutual.”

  Tears flowed freely.

  “Why are you crying again?” I rubbed her back.

  “Because we missed our moment. I didn’t tell him how I feel. Or even say good-bye to him.”

  I pressed my lips together. “Oh.”

  “I know. I’m a terrible person. I just left.”

  “No note? No good-bye?”

  Her breath quivered as she tried to inhale. She covered her face with her hands.

  Poor Gil.

  “Oh, Maggie.”

  “I know.” Her voice shook. “I’m horrible.”

  “You’re not horrible.”

  “I was embarrassed when I woke up naked in his bed. I snuck out while he slept so it wouldn’t be awkward when we left. I didn’t want to see his regret.”

  “Why do you think there would’ve been regret?” I couldn’t follow her thought pattern, but I felt her pain. My own tears threatened to fall.

  “We promised each other to always be best friends. Not hook up buddies.”

  “When did you make this promise?”

  “Freshman year.”

  The train slowed as it approached a station. People filled the corridor on their way on or off the car. A man in a hat and overcoat opened our compartment door, took one look at two crying girls, and apologized before backing out.

  I found an old napkin in my purse and handed it to her. With a loud honk, she blew her nose.

  “Lots of things changed since freshman year. We all grew up a little more.”

  “I didn’t want to lose him as a friend.” She grabbed another napkin and wiped her eyes. “And now I have.”

  “Have you told Selah? Or Quinn?”

  “No!” She curled up on the seat. “I don’t want anyone to know. You have to pinky-swear you won’t tell anyone else. Promise.”

  “I swear. I’ll take it to the grave.” I held up my pinky.

  She hooked her finger around mine and pulled.

  “Want to hear my thoughts? You don’t have to. I can listen if you want to tell someone and not have to hold the secret anymore.”

  “What would you do if you slept with your best friend and then disappeared to the other side of the planet?”

  “Tough question since you’re my best friend and we’re on the other side of the planet together.” I nudged her with my elbow. “In all honesty, there’s not much you can do right now to make it better. Did you write him? Call? Have you heard from him?”

  “No. I tried calling him from the free pay phone, but I’d get a busy signal or he was never there. I’ve wanted to call again, but I never had enough change for an overseas call.” She made the saddest frowny face.

  I sighed. What a mess. It had already been months of no communication between the two of them. Selah had been pretty vague about Gil when we caught up on gossip. Maggie had asked about him, but in hindsight she acted pretty disinterested.

  I exhaled and whistled while I formed a plan. “I think you need to set Gil aside.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You two have had years to get together. Neither of you ever crossed a line until faced with separation. That tells me you were both pretty happy in the friendship and not wanting to lose it. Agree?”

  “Sure.” Her voice sounded wary.

  “Now you’re in Paris. Being flirted with by a gorgeous, albeit pompous, Frenchman.”

  “I’m following, but what’s your point?”

  “Que sera, sera.”

  “Still confused.” She furrowed her brows and sniffled.

  “I think it’s Latin for whatever will be, will be. Or it’s a Doris Day song.”

  “Okay, I’m supposed to follow Doris Day’s love advice? Wasn’t she always married to Rock Hudson in all her movies? I’m not sure she’s really a good judge on men and relationships. Maybe I should date Quinn instead.”

  “He wasn’t gay in the movies. He was charming in an abrasive, yet dapper way.” I poked her. “That’s not my point. I say don’t pine, stop moping and enjoy your year in Paris. Date the Frenchman. Hell, fall in love. It’s kind of mandatory when you are living in the city of love, right?”

  “You make it all sound easy.” She dabbed her cheeks again, but the tears had stopped.

  “Why can’t it be? Be a fish, go with the flow.”

  “But what about Gil?”

  “Whatever will be, will be. If you two are meant to be together, a year won’t make a difference. Hell, you’ve already waited twice as long. If he’s yours, he’ll wait for you.�
�

  “And if he falls in love with someone else?”

  “What if you fall in love with someone else? Le Fromage for example.”

  “I’d still want him to be my friend.” She didn’t look thrilled at the prospect.

  “Then that’s your answer.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “We’re young. We’re beautiful. We’re in Paris.”

  She nodded and hugged me back. “You should take your own advice.”

  I froze and then laughed. “Maybe I should.”

  “Although an affair with a Brit in France seems a little traitorous.”

  “If Oscar wasn’t a little Napoleon, maybe we could double-date.”

  “He’s not terrible.”

  I slowly blinked at her.

  “Okay, he is. He’s very bossy.”

  “He’s not at all sweet like the dessert.”

  “Heroes” ~ David Bowie

  A GROUP FIELD trip took us out of the city into the countryside to visit the small city of Rouen. Maggie ditched the trip, claiming she had a headache. The headache had a name: Julien. Being the best kind of friend, I’d promised to cover for her if anyone asked.

  Christopher loped down the aisle of the coach and grinned when he saw me by a window. He lifted my bag out of his way, groaning under the weight, then folded himself into the aisle seat next to me.

  “What do you have in here?” He spread open the top and peered inside.

  I attempted to steal it back from him, but he held me at bay with his forearm. “Didn’t your mother tell you it wasn’t proper to paw through a lady’s hand bag?”

  “Are you calling yourself a lady now?” He grinned at me again, his hand still in my bag. The smile faded as he pulled out Donnie.

  “What’s the story with the Ken doll, darling?” Kit’s face displayed his disdain.

  “It’s not Ken.” I snatched the doll from his hand and stuffed it back in my bag.

  “Don’t be embarrassed about carrying your poppet with you.”

  I wanted to wipe his smug dolly smile right off his handsome face.

  “It’s not a poppet. If you must know, he’s Donnie Wahlberg.”

  He stared at me with a blank expression.

  My brows rose in disbelief. “Donnie Wahlberg?”

  “Yes, I heard you. I have no idea who that bloke is. Someone from one of your American television series?”