else I don’t know. Like why you work in a bookstore. Just a job?”
“Pretty much.” I grinned at his touch. “Working around books is a sort of heaven for me. I want to write. Which I don’t think I’ve ever told to anyone before. Not even Audrey.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell someone that?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a dream that’s mine, I guess. No one can take it from me if I keep it tucked away.” I peered into his dark eyes, reached out to touch his face for the first time, to feel the porcelain skin that had so easily hypnotized me the first time I met him in Paris. Such a bold move for me, yet I became bolder still, placing my palm on the side of his face, holding it in place so he couldn’t look away. “And who are you, my Louisiana native?” I rubbed my thumb across his cheek. “You haven’t told me a thing about yourself, other than you live in New Iberia.”
He leaned his face into my palm, staring back at me. There went his eyes again, trying to communicate something, only his mouth wouldn’t let him and I couldn’t break through to find what was behind them. “I’m not that interesting,” he said. “I’m more interested in you.”
“And I just want to know you.” Grinning, I shrugged.
Chuckling at his words backfiring on him, he straightened up again and tilted his head back to look up at the dark sky. He moved his hands to the sidewalk, leaned his weight on it. “Let’s see. I love art, I’m a Hitchcock film geek, and I play piano. But most important, you,” he took my hand in his, “are by far the most beautiful person I have ever encountered in all of my existence. And that’s about all there is to know.”
“Well, thank you,” I said, taken by his compliment. “But, that’s not all there is to know.” He didn’t volunteer anything else so I continued. “What do you do for work? Do you go to school? Give me something.”
He rolled his eyes at me and looked out past the street, shaking his head. “Unlike you, I have virtually no bills. Because of my inheritance. So I take jobs here and there wherever I travel, and then I give the money away.” He shrugged. “My calling, helping people. It makes me happy.” He interlocked his fingers with mine, squeezed. “Is that sufficient detail for you?”
I crossed my legs Indian style, ready to fire more questions, but he swiveled his entire body toward me, taking my wrists in his hands. The moonlight highlighted the little scar above his eyebrow, and once again, I felt I must have known him in a past life. It was the only thing that explained why he felt so familiar to me.
“Before you ask anything else,” he ran his fingers through his hair, cleared his throat, “I have to say something, or I might never get the guts to say it again.”
“Okay, just say it.” I turned toward him, too.
“A little warning. This is going to come off strong for a first date.” He chuckled, adjusted his shirt collar. Unnerved by the urgency in his voice, I nodded to encourage him. I sensed what this was like for him, the fear that opening up to me, someone he barely knew, would give me power over him. I also knew that every once in a while, that was so undeniably worth the risk. Maybe his confession, whatever it was, would make me feel better about breaking the news to him about Andrew.
“I’m completely crazy about you, Camille.” He moved in closer, his eyes assessed my reaction. “I know there are details you didn’t want to mention before ... things about the guy you left back in Seattle, and your mom. But I want you to know whatever it is you’re still running from, you don’t have to run from it anymore. You can talk to me. And I would never, ever, hurt you.”
He spoke frantically now, and I began to sweat, anxious from his anxiety. Desperate to ease his discomfort, I turned my eyes toward the sidewalk.
“I mean, I feel like I’ve known you forever, even that day I met you in Paris. Something happened then. I love how you bear your thoughts in your eyes, how you’re transparent. Yet you’re so elusive, hard to catch--” He finally exhaled. “And I want to be the one to catch you.” Loosening his grip on my