Amaranth - By Rachael Wade Page 0,3

smoldering eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve put myself in a bad situation, and it’s up to me to get out of it.” He waited. “I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to leave him yet.”

He shook his head. “I get the feeling you are. Not that you need some stranger’s opinion, but I’m good at reading people.” He let his eyes wander downward, glancing up every few seconds as we continued to walk, as if to make sure he knew where we were. “I say stay away from him. Whoever he is. Anyone with that much power over you is dangerous.”

My ears perked up at his unintentional perceptiveness, and I wondered if I should tell him more. “Thanks ... for the vote of confidence. Guess I’ll find out when I get home.”

“It must be nice to be comfortable with silence like you are.” He glanced at a bundled-up elderly man dozing on an icy bench as we passed by him. “I need a crowd. Being alone makes my ears hurt.” He exhaled quietly.

“I’ve never been one to be around a lot of people. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that need. I just--”

“Trust yourself.” His eyes searched mine again, and I blushed like the child I felt I was and turned my head to watch an old woman cross the street, a bag of groceries in her arms. She caught me watching her so I looked back at him.

“What about you?” I said. “I mean, you don’t strike me as the type to need a crowd. You seem the quiet type.” And charming, and insanely handsome. I reeled in my thoughts and tried to maintain a cool façade. As if I even knew what one looked like.

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a recluse myself,” he said. “I just prefer to be around people, to observe them. Helps me cope. Too much isolation messes with my head.”

“It’s funny how loners seem to find one another.” I bit my lower lip, looking back to the street to avoid his deep gaze. The Louvre came into view, and I felt a tinge of disappointment. The more I spoke to him, the more I felt a gravitational pull toward him.

He saw the museum too. Speaking quickly, he rattled off more questions about my favorite movie -- Edward Scissorhands -- favorite author -- Flannery O’Connor -- and when he got to my favorite music, I stopped and said, “Why are you asking me all this?”

“Does there have to be a reason? Can’t I just make conversation?” He smirked, challenging me.

I rolled my eyes, giving in. “Rock and classical.”

“Time of year?”

“Fall.”

“Yeah.” He turned his attention toward the museum’s entrance. “I can completely see that.”

I studied him as he admired the museum. Something about him felt comfortable, almost familiar.

“Welcome to the Louvre.” He broke through my trance, gesturing to the beautiful piece of history in front of us.

“I’ve waited a long time for this.” I gawked at the sight, taking it all in. “Thanks for the walk.”

“Anytime.”

“There is one other thing I’m here for, by the way.” I turned, ready to bid him farewell.

“What’s that?”

“To have an experience like this one.”

“Well, in that case I’m glad I bumped into you.”

We stared at each other until he blinked first, and smiled a breathtaking, crooked smile that should have been illegal.

“Listen, I’m in town for a few weeks.” He slipped a business card to me from his pocket. “If you want, give me a call. Show you around some more, maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Think about the big move. Leave him.” He ran his fingers through his hair, turned to head toward the street. “Let me know what you decide.”

“Believe me, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I never did get your name....”

“Camille. Camille Hart.”

“I’m Gavin. Gavin Devereaux. It was great knocking you over.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” I shook my head, laughing.

“I just wanted to know you!” he shouted as he began walking backward, drifting away.

Waving goodbye, I watched him head back toward the chocolaterie, back toward the scene that would become the most cryptic memory of my trip to the city that had stolen my heart. I saw him stop to slip some money and a handshake to the older man we passed by earlier. I lingered at the sight and smiled to myself, realizing my mission was now underway.

I wrapped my dream coat tighter around my waist and readjusted my scarf while I stared at his name on the plain black business card. Maybe Gavin was right. In that moment, it felt