A Million Miles Away(37)

Inside the bookstore, Kelsey found a quiet, hidden corner to collect her thoughts. The wet-wood smell of old books arose from all sides. She knew nothing of the history of this place, but she could feel it in the silence. She was a stranger to everyone except herself, and now that she was alone, she found she didn’t care. The boys were just as in awe. The beauty of Paris had made words unnecessary.

Between the shelves, she spotted Peter, absorbed in a large book with bright images.

“Peter,” she said quietly.

He looked up, and searched for the sound of her voice. When he saw her, he smiled. “Look what I found,” he said.

As she approached, she noticed a leaf bud from one of the trees had gotten caught in Peter’s hair. When she removed it, for some reason, she couldn’t bear to toss the leaf on the floor. She pocketed it.

“Your book on Andy Warhol, the one you have in your room,” he said, pointing at an image of the artist in black and white. “But in French.”

Michelle’s book. Kelsey had paged through it a few times, when Ian had told her to look him up, and when she was composing her first letter to Peter.

“Tell me what it says,” he said, his mouth lifting at the corners hopefully, his eyes washing over her.

Kelsey’s mouth went dry, and she looked at the pages full of random syllables, which might as well have been completely blank.

“It says…” she said, letting out nervous laughter. Her game was up. The words came out of her, clumsy. “It gives his birth date and says he was a great artist, that his work is not snobby or hard to understand.”

“Is that really what it says?” he asked, his eyes narrowing, playful.

Kelsey’s hands were in fists in the pockets of her jacket. She met his eyes. Maybe now was the time. She swallowed, trying not to let her voice shake. “No,” she said. “I’m bullshitting you.”

Peter closed the book, and replaced it on the shelf. “I’m sure it’s close enough,” he replied. He took her in his arms, her cheek to his chest, and she could feel his voice come through his body and into hers. “Right now, you could tell me the sky was green and I’d believe you.”

Kelsey slipped out of his embrace, pretending to browse, trying to resist the look on his face, the look that said he wanted to kiss her again. “But the sky’s not green. And that’s not what the book says. That’s not the truth.”

From behind her, Peter said quietly, “I like anything that comes from you. That’s truth enough for me.”

Kelsey hid a smile, but she wasn’t sure who she was hiding it from anymore. She let him take her hand and lead her through the shelves, where Sam and Phil waited for them outside.

They took the train home.

After catching the sandwich shop down the street from their hotel before it closed, they had a dinner of ham and cheese on baguette near the square, in a jet-lagged haze, watching the passersby.

They bought a bottle of wine at a corner store and brought it back to their hotel room, where they drank out of paper cups and played blackjack until the three soldiers on Afghanistan time were exhausted.

Peter and his friends reminded her of long, jokey nights with Davis, watching him and his fraternity brothers shoot guns on the screen of a video game. Unlike the boys with her now, after they turned off the TV, they were done. Every time she thought of Davis, she sighed. Yet another reason why she shouldn’t be in Paris, let alone kissing another guy in Paris. She had told him she was having a “phones off” sorry-I’m-such-a-bad-friend weekend with Gillian and Ingrid, which is where she should be, really, all things considered. But it’s not like she would have felt better, or less sad, or more like herself if she were at home. She was trying her best just to be there. And, well, being there wasn’t hard.

Kelsey was still wide-awake, but she got into her pajamas anyway, suddenly self-conscious enough to wait until Sam was done using the bathroom. Normally, she would have tossed her shirt aside, no matter the company. Kelsey and her body were one, and she wasn’t ashamed or scared of revealing it.

But this wasn’t Davis, who had seen and touched pretty much everything. This wasn’t an audience of hundreds of anonymous faces, watching her writhe around in a costume. This was Peter, who cared so deeply about the little things. Who opened his heart to her.

Judging by how moved he was by a song or a circle in the middle of a Kansas prairie, her bare back might just send him reeling.

When she came out of the bathroom in a T-shirt and shorts, Sam and Phil were already snoring. One lamp, beside the bed, remained lit.

Peter approached her in his boxers, and put his hands on her waist, tucking his fingers under the hem of her shirt. He was so close she could see the blonde hairs on his skin. Maybe he wasn’t as prudish as she thought.

Kelsey seized up.

He must have sensed she was feeling shy, so he took a step back.

He kissed her on the cheek, and turned to switch off the lamp. Kelsey took the opportunity to jump into bed, under the covers, her face toward the wall. Her cheek was burning.

“Hey,” he whispered as he lay beside her. “Today was crazy.”

“It was,” she said, swallowing.

“Tomorrow will be great,” he said, shifting his weight closer.

“Mm-hmm” was all Kelsey could get out.

“Good night.”