Amaranth - By Rachael Wade Page 0,2

time ... good for you.” I took one last puff before I put it out.

“So, you just visiting? What brought you to Paris?” He sat down, wrapped his arms around his chest.

“Yes, visiting.” I cleared my throat. “I’m here for my birthday actually, just came on my own. I’ve wanted to come here since I was a kid, and the timing worked out this year so ... here I am.” Technically, the timing was perfect. If I didn’t get away when I did, I might’ve wound up in one of those battered women shelters for my birthday.

“Your birthday, huh? All by yourself? Bit of a loner are we?” he joked. “I mean, I haven’t met many people during my visits here who came alone, except maybe on a business trip. Especially not for a birthday.” He smiled and often looked down when he spoke, keeping his arms folded against his chest. He seemed genuine. Humble. It was refreshing.

“Just introverted I guess. I don’t mind being alone.”

“You must be pretty comfortable with silence, then.” His eyes bored into mine, like they were suddenly searching for something. “Do you mind me asking what your plans are for the day? That is, if you want any company. Don’t mean to intrude.”

Did I want to be this open? My journal was sitting there in my bag, waiting for me. I couldn’t write if he was around.

“I’m introverted, not antisocial.” I gave him a smile, saw his smile in return. I’d put my pen to work later. “I’m headed to the Louvre. After that, I’m not sure.”

“I can walk you there if you’d like.” He peeled his eyes from mine, lightening the eagerness in his tone.

“As long as I’m not keeping you from your family.” I pointed to the window above us.

“You’re not.” He stood, his face showing pleasure. “It won’t take long. I’ll walk you there and then head back.”

I let him lead the way, this time careful to wrap my purse high on my shoulder and hang onto my drink with both hands.

“So.” He turned to grin at me as we began strolling down the sidewalk. “Do you know what you’re looking for while you’re here?”

“What makes you think I’m looking for something?”

“You have the look. The adventurous glint in your eye. The determination in your walk. You’re taking the city by storm, braving it all alone, searching for something. The look gives it all away.”

While I tucked my hair behind my ear, I allowed a smirk to spread across my face. “What, you psychoanalyzing me?”

“Guess I’m busted.”

“I’m from Seattle and needed to get away, clear my head. Lots of drama back home, that’s all.”

“I know what that’s like. You ever consider moving here?”

“What, to Paris? Have you ever considered it? Where are you from, anyway?”

“I’m from the States but I live in London right now. Love Paris, though. Might get the guts to move here someday.”

“Well, moving here from London is a lot different than moving from Seattle. I’m not that brave.”

“You should consider it. Especially if things aren’t going so hot back home.”

I stuck my hands deep in the coat’s pockets, shivering, considering this. His eyes communicated soft secrets as he spoke, but I couldn’t penetrate his realm, couldn’t decode them. He was careful with his words, but honest. I felt like a giddy child, my reaction to him almost naïve: something I surely wasn’t. I said, “I could never do that.”

“Why not? You said you wanted to come here since you were a kid, right? You seem to have a passion for it.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t fix anything. I’d just be running from my problems.”

“Well ... isn’t that what you’re doing here right now?”

“You are psychoanalyzing me, I knew it!” I bantered, pushing his shoulder. “That’s not what this is, thank you very much. Like I said, I’m here to clear my head. So when I go home I can actually do something about my not-so-hot situation. To make things better.” I looked at him, smug.

“And all I’m saying is, it sounds like you have more motives to move here than you’re acknowledging. You wouldn’t just be copping out. There’s something invigorating about packing up and moving thousands of miles away. It changes you. Trust me on that.” Winking, he tossed his empty cup into a trashcan and led me across a busy street. “What’s so bad back at home, anyway? You’re clearly not just here for your birthday.”

No way I’d tell a complete stranger, even if he did have