“Ooo, what is it?”
“I saw it when I was out with Mum, and it made me think of you—”
“Étienne! Come on!”
He blinks at hearing his first name. My face turns red, and I’m fil ed with the overwhelming sensation that he knows exactly what I’m thinking. His expression turns to amazement as he says, “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
Stil blushing, I hold one out. His fingers brush against my palm, and my hand jerks back as if he were electrified. Something goes flying and lands with a faint dink behind us. I open my eyes. He’s staring at me, equal y stunned.
“Whoops,” I say.
He tilts his head at me.
“I think . . . I think it landed back here.” I scramble to my feet, but I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I never felt what he placed in my hands. I only felt him. “I don’t see anything! Just pebbles and pigeon droppings,” I add, trying to act normal.
Where is it? What is it?
“Here.” He plucks something tiny and yel ow from the steps above him. I fumble back and hold out my hand again, bracing myself for the contact.
Étienne pauses and then drops it from a few inches above my hand. As if he’s avoiding touching me, too.
It’s a glass bead. A banana.
He clears his throat. “I know you said Bridgette was the only one who could cal you ‘Banana,’ but Mum was feeling better last weekend, so I took her to
her favorite bead shop. I saw that and thought of you. I hope you don’t mind someone else adding to your col ection. Especial y since you and Bridgette . .
. you know . . .”
I close my hand around the bead. “Thank you.”
“Mum wondered why I wanted it.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That it was for you, of course.” He says this like, duh.
I beam. The bead is so lightweight I hardly feel it, except for the teeny cold patch it leaves in my palm. Speaking of cold . . .
I shiver. “Has the temperature dropped, or is it just me?”
“Here.” Étienne unwraps the black scarf that had been tied loosely around his neck, and hands it to me. I take it, gently, and wrap it around mine. It
makes me dizzy. It smel s like freshly scrubbed boy. It smel s like him.
“Your hair looks nice,” he says. “You bleached it again.”
I touch the stripe self-consciously. “Mom helped me.”
“That breeze is wicked, I’m going for coffee.” Josh snaps his sketchbook closed. I’d forgotten he was here again. “You coming?”
Étienne looks at me, waiting to see how I answer.
Coffee! I’m dying for a real cup. I smile at Josh. “Sounds perfect.”
And then I’m heading down the steps of the Panthéon, cool and white and glittering, in the most beautiful city in the world. I’m with two attractive,
intel igent, funny boys and I’m grinning ear to ear. If Bridgette could see me now.