Sparks - Wendy Higgins Page 0,92
chewy on the inside. I savored every perfect bite and sip. Ah, Paris. The city where classy ladies ate gluten-filled bread and drank cocoa.
My full exhaustion didn’t hit until I made it back to the bottom of the hill. I kept my head down, face half hidden in my scarf. And then it began to rain. Luckily, I had a compact umbrella in my purse at Mom’s insistence. Score! I wrestled it open, put it over my head, took five steps, and then whoosh! A giant gust of sideways rain and wind turned it inside out and ripped it from my hand. I chased after it, and noticed a man running towards it as well. His height and build made my breath catch. Silas? I stopped and watched as he grasped the rogue umbrella and turned to me with a smile, rain dripping off his chin. No cleft. Nose too wide. Lips too thin.
Not Silas.
He handed me the umbrella and I thanked him in French before he rushed off, clutching his jacket against the wind. My heart was pounding as I stared down at the umbrella. Two of the wires were broken now. Dang it! And the rain came down harder.
Most people took cover in shops and restaurants. I ducked into a souvenir shop, still unsettled. What would I have done if it had been Silas? In that moment I’d felt excited. I shook away the sensation, reminding myself I was here for me.
I browsed until the worst of the rain passed, then I bought a keychain to be polite and jogged out into the drizzling streets. The rain came down harder again as I speed-walked, feeling like a drowned rat. Halfway back to the hotel it let up and I slowed my pace.
Back at the hotel, the concierge took one look at me and his eyes widened. He made a snicking sound as he reached for the broken umbrella in my hand and pointed to a large bucket with several strong-looking black umbrellas with handles.
“You use this next time, yes, Mademoiselle?”
“Ah.” I pushed the wet hair off my face and peeled off my soaking scarf. “Oui.”
He took my scarf, then helped me out of my jacket. “I dry for you, okay? You rest. I have your luggage in your room.” He handed me a huge copper key on a golden disk with the hotel’s emblem and my room number. Wow, an actual key and not a plastic card. I hoped I wouldn’t lose it.
“Merci,” I said, and trudged to the elevator. It took me to the third floor. The halls, like everything else, were narrow. I let myself into the last room on the right and my face lit up. Yes, it was the smallest hotel room I’d ever seen, but also the most adorable. The bed looked scrumptious with its fluffy white duvet. And the wall art, well, it was quintessential French. One side had large words formed from wrought iron and painted silver: Love, Sex, Kiss. And on the other wall was an abstract of a naked woman who appeared to be writing on a lounger couch. Lucky her. The bathroom was also tiny but it was all I needed. A toilet, sink, and standing shower with glittering metallic tiles in various shades. I peered out the small window at the different levels of rooftops, like something from a movie.
It was four o’clock. I would just take a little nap and then get up for dinner. I collapsed onto the bed and didn’t wake until after midnight. I dug some crackers out of my bag and a bottle of water, pounding them before using the bathroom and going back to sleep.
I woke to the sounds of pigeons cooing outside of my window. The first thing I did was get online as I lay there trying to wake up. I uploaded my favorite pictures from yesterday for my parents and friends to see and know I was okay, even though I’d texted them when I arrived. Then I showered and got myself ready.
My scarf and coat were folded neatly in a paper bag outside of my door when I opened it. I smiled as I took them and headed down stairs to the lobby. A new guy was working, younger but just as kind. He showed me to the breakfast area and my eyes just about popped out. My mom hadn’t exaggerated. It was incredible.
I set down my coat on my seat but kept my purse on as