“Here it is,” April exclaims. Only then does her gaze dart to Zach, who is still almost three doors down. He has his backpack slung over a broad shoulder, his hair is damp and he’s wearing the same clothes he had on when we saw him in class.
Don’t ask me why, but April and I stand there frozen like we’re two wax figures on display. He continues toward us and I expect we’ll make the best of an awkward situation. We’ll exchange some sort of greeting—a grunt, a tip of the chin, what have you—and then we can continue on with our lives, ignoring each other.
My heart is racing when he’s finally abreast of us and I feel hot so you can best believe my face is hothouse pink.
You’d think that my acting talents would come in handy in cases like this but this is worse than any pre-performance jitters I’ve ever experienced. In as casual voice as I can manage, I say, “Hey, Zach, I didn’t know you lived here.”
What is wrong with me? We’re not friends so why on earth would I know where he lived. I’m better at reading lines from a script because it’s clear I suck when it comes to adlibbing.
He flashes April a faint smile before shifting his gaze back to me. “Yeah, I do. You?” The first words he’s spoken to me since the first semester of our senior year. The last time had been the awkward holding-of-the-door situation when not doing so would have looked rude. I’d quietly thanked him and he’d politely replied. That’s the closest we’ve ever gotten to a torrid love affair.
“No, we’re just here visiting a friend.” I angle my body toward the door. “Where do you live?”
My heart goes wild when his mouth tips up at one corner. He raises his chin toward the door behind us. “I live here.”
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
When in Paris …
Those Nights in Montreal Page 17
