French Kissing (Restless Hearts)

by Keane, Hunter J.

  I detected something in Macy’s voice. “Maxine?”

  “Over there.” She pointed a finger adorned with bright pink polish at a desk in the middle of the room. “She’s been with Evelyn for years and basically orders the rest of us around.”

  “She’s Evelyn’s assistant?”

  “Something like that.” Macy’s nose wrinkled. “Mostly she’s just a b-. Oh, hey. How’s it going, Maxine?”

  We were given a harsh stare through narrowed eyes and the faintest of head nods.

  “She seems pleasant,” I muttered as she walked away.

  “You have no idea,” Macy added grimly. “I’m famished. We should get lunch. Are you hungry?”

  I smiled. “I could eat.”

  Somehow I hand managed to make a friend on my very first day at work. It was definitely a personal record for me. Macy took me to her favorite café where we munched on baguettes and she filled me in on all her favorite Parisian hot spots. By the time we returned to the studio, we’d already made plans to hang out on the weekend.

  I was beginning to think that maybe moving to Paris hadn’t been such a crazy idea after all.

  * * *

  September 16

  Paris is amazing! I mean it, Scottie. I absolutely love it here. I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but I feel like this is where I am meant to be. The city is beautiful- exactly like in the movies. The food is delicious and the men are gorgeous. And the fashion! Don’t even get me started on the fashion. I’m easily the worst dressed person at work.

  I made a new friend at the studio named Macy. She’s crazy and has this ridiculous southern accent that makes the locals stare, but I think I adore her. She has only lived here a few months, but she already knows all the best places and has a bunch of friends. I think one of her friends is even a Countess.

  Have you talked to Taylor? It sounds like she’s met someone. Not just anyone- Dexter Sanders! I hope they get married at some exotic location and fly us there on a private jet.

  Speaking of guys… I’ve sort of met someone, too. He’s this totally hot photographer from New York named Evan. I met him at an Evelyn Rose fashion show and it was totally love at first sight. He’s 32, but I’ve always been into older men anyway so I don’t think the age difference will be a problem. Evan sure doesn’t seem to mind. I have a date with him this weekend. He won’t tell me what he has planned, but I’m sure it’s going to be super romantic. Everything in Paris is romantic.

  Anyway, how’s Ireland? Hopefully you aren’t spending all of your time with the dreadful step-mother and kids. Go out. Find a local pub and make out with a hot Irishman. That’s an order!

  * * *

  By all accounts, the fashion show was a huge success. Maxine kept door duties to herself as predicted, but Evelyn singled me out to do final checks on the models before sending them out on stage. It was a huge responsibility. The minute the music started, I was completely focused on the task at hand. My only job was to make Evelyn look good and I wasn’t about to let her down.

  The show ended to thunderous applause and while the boss took her curtain call, the rest of us scrambled to get everything put away. Evelyn was hosting an after-party at the gallery next door, but we couldn’t attend until all of the clothes were properly packed up.

  “The girls looked great,” Macy said when she found me backstage. She had been tasked with escorting everyone to their seats.

  “How was the audience?” I had barely been able to see anything from behind the curtain.

  “Hot.” Macy grinned. “Lots of beautiful, famous people. I can’t wait to mingle at the party.”

  It was incentive enough for me to hurry through the packing. We were finished in less than an hour. After a quick stop in the ladies’ room to make sure we looked presentable, we hustled to the party.

  It was just as glamorous as I had thought it would be. Champagne was flowing, hard to pronounce appetizers floated past on silver platters, and naked models peered down at us from the art display.

  “These are all done by Evan Carter,” Macy explained as I stared open-mouthed at a full-frontal photo of an intimate couple. “Where I’m from, they call this pornography. In Paris, they call it art.”

  I laughed and took the champagne flute she handed me. Hopefully, no one else could notice my shaking hand. “It certainly is different.”

  “Yeah, different.” Macy turned away from the wall of art. “I’d much rather worry about the hot men in the room than the ones in the pictures.”

  “Good plan.” With a glass of champagne down, I felt slightly less panicked.

  Macy used her questionable knowledge of the French language to introduce me to a group of the models from the show. They acknowledged us with faint head nods before resuming their conversation in French. Any words that I might have understood were quickly swept away by dozens of words I didn’t know. Macy nodded and laughed along with them even though I was certain she didn’t understand much more than I did.

  Less than ten minutes later, I was ready to move on. Macy was still listening attentively, so I mouthed that I needed to pee and scampered away. Two wrong turns later, I was nowhere near a bathroom. But I had managed to find even more scandalous artwork.

  “Oh my,” I gasped, not sure of what I was actually seeing. If I had to guess, it was the reverse cowgirl.

  “You like?”

  Alarmed, I whirled around, my face bright red. “It’s, um… I thought…”

  “I startled you. My apologies.” The man who had interrupted my immersion in the arts smiled. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “That’s okay.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. “You weren’t nearly as startling as the exhibit.”

  His laugh was deep and warm. “It’s very contemporary.”

  I was surprised to realize that I was having a conversation in my native language. So far, Evelyn and Macy had been the only Americans I had met in Paris. While most of the other people I had met spoke at least some English, it was usually reluctantly offered only after I displayed my own terrible knowledge of French.

  “Is contemporary another word for pornographic?”

  “I’ve seen way worse,” he said, then winced. “That came out wrong.”

  “Did it?” I challenged.

  He stuck out his hand. “Let’s start again. I’m Jake.”

  “Camryn.” His hand was warm and calloused, his grip strong. “Do I know you?”

  “I have a familiar face,” he said. “Are you hiding from someone or do you just have a social disorder?”

  “Neither. I got lost.” I shrugged helplessly. “I have a bad sense of direction.”

  Jake grinned. “But an excellent sense of art.”

  “That remains to be seen.” The truth was that I had only stepped a few feet inside the room. The cowgirl photo had stopped me from seeing more. I gestured to the empty room. “Shall we?”

  He nodded. “I don’t see how we could possibly turn away.”

  So we took a slow lap of the room, stopping in front of each piece and surveying it with what we determined was the appropriate amount of respect. I had a hard time judging just how seriously Jake was observing the art. His face was impossible to read, serious eyes and tightly pressed lips.

  “This one looks…” I paused to think of a suitable word.

  “Painful,” he finished decisively. “That is not something I will be adding to my repertoire.”

  “As opposed to the other ones?” I said, an eyebrow shooting up in surprise.

  His eyebrows waggled mischievously. “I may have made some mental notes.”

  “Hopefully your girlfriend is flexible.” I stopped in front of the next photograph, head tilted as I took it in.

  “If you play your cards right, it could be you.” Jace’s arm brushed mine as he stepped next to me.

  My checks flushed hotly and my arm tingled where it pressed against his. So far, our banter had been light and harmless. In fact, I hadn’t even thought of atte
mpting to flirt with him. But now I found my eyes darting over, wondering if I had missed something with Jake.

  He was staring straight ahead, those unreadable eyes scanning the artwork. His profile was a sculpture in its own right. His nose was sloped at just the right angle, his eyelashes long and dark. He was more than cute- he was handsome. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed that earlier.

  “Are you flirting with me?” I asked, sounding surprised.

  “I must not be doing it very well if you have to ask.” He looked at me with a boyish smile on his face. “Let me guess- you have a boyfriend?”

  He sounded so certain that I almost hated to prove him wrong. Almost. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Good.” His smile spread. “Now you can agree to go out with me.”

  “Just because I can doesn’t mean I will.” Now it was my turn to smile. “I don’t even know your last name.”

  He paused, just for a second. “Wellington.”

  “Jake Wellington?” Just like that, it clicked. I knew why this strange man looked familiar to me. “The Grand Slam winning tennis player?”

  “My friends just call me Jake.” He shifted uncomfortably. “You’re a tennis fan?”

  I had been playing tennis since I learned to walk. By the time I was ten, I was beating adults. Four years of high school state championships. A full-ride athletic scholarship for college. Tennis was my life.

  “Yes, but that’s not why I know who you are.” The fact was, everyone knew Jake Wellington. He had been dominating tournaments for the last three years. Nearly every commercial for shoes, watches, and cars featured his face. And last year, he had dated three different celebrities. “You’re the King of the Court.”

  “Ugh,” he groaned. “Please, don’t.”

  With a name like Jake Wellington, it was only a matter of time before someone decided to give him a royal title. King of the Court was fitting considering his absolute domination in the tennis world.

  “Oh, poor you. All those beautiful women wanting to date you, sponsors throwing money at you, and children wanting to be like you. Rough.” My eyes rolled freely. “Don’t tell me you actually expect me to feel sorry for you.”

  “I don’t want your pity, Camryn.” His eyes were surprisingly cold. “But don’t pretend that you have any idea what it’s like to be me.”

  Clearly, I had hit a sore spot. As always, I had managed to ruin a new friendship before it even began. “Sorry. You’re right. I don’t know anything about you.”

  “You don’t.” He finally looked away, shrugging. “It’s my own fault; I don’t make it easy for people to get to know me.”

  “I would imagine that you have to be careful around new people.” I took a few slow steps toward the next photograph. “Probably a lot of people out there don’t have your best interest at heart.”

  “You have no idea.” Jake turned toward me, but kept his distance. “You never accepted my offer.”

  “Your offer?” My brow wrinkled in confusion. “You mean about the date?”

  He nodded.

  “When? Where?” For some reason I was having a really hard time saying yes to this gorgeous man.

  “Leave the details to me. Just say yes.”

  I took a deep breath and said, “Okay. Yes.”

  “Excellent.” His face relaxed and he smiled again. “You won’t regret it. I’m about to rock your world.”

  “It’s going to be hard to top this,” I said, gesturing around the room.

  Jace’s lips pulled upward in a crooked smile as he said, “Challenge accepted.”

  Unfortunately, our flirtation was short-lived. He had another party to attend and he was already running late. I was a little consoled when he carefully entered my number into his phone and made me promise that I wouldn’t screen his call. But then he was gone, and I was alone in a foreign land again.

  When I headed back to the party, I made a point to try and not be a total loser. I found some people from work, and after a couple of drinks, I didn’t feel quite as out of place. Twenty minutes later, I noticed that Macy was standing a few yards away talking to a sharply dressed man. They were staring in my direction and Macy looked downright giddy. My heart started to race as they headed in my direction.

  “Camryn, darling.” She greeted me like we hadn’t seen each other in years. “There’s someone you should meet.”

  I felt my palms grow clammy just as the man stuck out his hand. Hesitantly, I shook it.

  “Evan Carter,” he said with no trace of an accent.

  My mouth dropped open. “The photographer?”

  “You’ve seen my work?” He smiled knowingly. “Did you see anything you liked?”

  I had just spent almost an hour staring at his work, but I couldn’t say that I’d actually liked any of it. It had been more like a train wreck that I couldn’t stop watching.

  “Your work is very unique,” I said, playing it safe.

  “It’s an acquired taste.” His smile turned playful. “You would make a wonderful muse for my art.”

  I blushed fiercely. “I don’t really like having my picture taken.”

  “Shame.” His eyes pierced into mine. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

  “Camryn.”

  The look he gave me was an attempt at sultry, but it gave me chills instead. I told myself to stop being so sensitive and when he asked if I wanted to tour his exhibit with him, I agreed. His charm offensive was relentless, and after a couple more drinks, he managed to knock down my defensive wall. He carefully explained each photograph, somehow twisting them from smutty to artistic. I found myself nodding along as he pointed out contrast and angles.

  At the end of the night, when he asked for my number, I gave it to him without a second thought. It didn’t hurt that Macy couldn’t stop talking about Evan as we walked home and throughout the next work day. He called the next evening to set up our first date, only telling me a time. The rest, he said, was a surprise.

  It was impossible not to be distracted the rest of the week. I tried to imagine all the possible scenarios for our date, but considering I hardly knew anything about Paris, it was a futile endeavor. Macy was convinced it would be something extravagant and expensive, but I was less certain. Evan was an artist; a successful one, sure, but nothing about his appearance had alluded to extravagance. I was expecting something simpler, more intimate.

  Turns out we were both right. Evan picked me up in his car, a modest compact vehicle. It did have leather seats, though.

  “That dress is very becoming on you,” he said, eyeing me sideways as he put the car into drive.

  I actually expected him to make a dirty joke immediately after the compliment, but instead he said, “I hope you like wine.”

  And that’s when I remembered that I wasn’t going to the local dive bar with a fraternity boy. I was on a date with a mature, confident man.

  “I do,” I said, smoothing down the hem of my dress. I hadn’t been sure what to wear for our date, but Macy had reminded me that you could never go wrong with a little black dress. “How was your week?”

  “Fruitful,” he said, grinning at me. “I got a lot of work done.”

  “That’s good.” I tried not to think too hard about his line of work. It was weird to think that I was on a date with a man who spent most of his time photographing naked people. “Are you working on a new exhibit?”

  “I am. There’s a gallery in Rome than wants to show my work, but they are insisting on a premiere showing. Fortunately, I’ve already been working on the new collection for a few months.” He whipped the car effortlessly through the crowded streets. “Have you had a chance to see much of Paris?”

  “A little. Mostly whatever is around my apartment or the studio.” The fact was that I hadn’t had a chance to see much of anything. Work was taking up more time than I had anticipated. On the few occasions when I had gone out with Macy, we’d stuck pretty close to home.

  “We’ll have to fix that,
won’t we?” Evan squealed to a halt to allow a group of pedestrians to cross in front of us. When he looked at me, his dark eyes were solemn. “I have a lot to show you.”

  I swallowed hard as my heart raced. It wasn’t entirely clear that he was talking about the city anymore. “We could start tonight.”

  “And so we shall.” He winked, then turned back to the road.

  My unfamiliarity with the city and complete lack of directional skills left me completely confused about where we were headed. Evan seemed to know every turn well, so at least I felt like I was in good hands. When he finally stopped in front of an old, rustic building, I was surprised.

  “Hopefully you won’t be too disappointed staying in tonight.” He turned off the engine and faced me.

  “This is your place?” I asked stupidly. It had never occurred to me that he might take me back to his apartment.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, smiling. “Don’t worry- no expectations. I just really wanted to cook you dinner.”

  My mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh.”

  “We don’t have to,” he said quickly. “If you’re not comfortable with this, or if you’d rather go somewhere else, we can do that.”

  “No, no. It’s fine.” I tried to sound excited. “It sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  Evan relaxed. “Good. Okay, let’s go in then.”

  We took an elevator to the top floor of the building and exited directly into Evan’s place. He had the entire floor and it was an open floor plan. From the entryway, I could see his bedroom, kitchen, and art studio.

  “This place is amazing,” I said in awe.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said, tossing his keys onto a small glass table. “I’d give you the tour, but you’re pretty much looking at it.”

  I followed him into the kitchen, trying hard not to scuff his beautiful wood floors with my heels. “How long have you lived here?”

  “I bought this place last summer. It took six months to get it rehabbed into livable shape.”