When the Heart Falls(103)

I'm too lost in the memory of our drive through the city, seeing the people and the shops and the little corner cafes where locals sip coffee and presumably talk about culture or something. "Paris is pregnant with layers of history, colored with the ink of artists who dared to dream of a world only they could see."

Cade turns to me, eyes wide. "That's really beautiful. You should write that down."

My face heats up. I didn't realize I'd spoken out loud until the words were out of my mouth, but I do as he suggests and take my notebook and pen out to jot down the line. Maybe I can work it into my book somehow.

"You know, each dorm is built based on the architectural style from different countries," Cade says, without even looking at the packet of material we've each been given on the bus ride over. We didn't talk much on the plane. He mostly slept and I read and slept, but he regaled me with bits of architectural history on the bus, so it seems we're back to being new friends.

I think I'm okay with that. He seems to be more than just a pretty face.

"The U.S. dorm is very Art Deco with clean lines and geometric shapes," he continues. "It was designed by Pierre Leprince-Ringuet to represent the friendship between France and America and provide American students a place to live while they studied in Paris. All students in Paris stay in the dorms here, regardless of where they study."

"For a cowboy, you sure know a lot about buildings."

He grins, and his love of buildings shines through in his dark blue eyes. "I read a lot. Buildings are the body of a culture. They house the spirit of a people, holding their dreams, their laughter, their tears, their hope and despair. The architecture of a structure speaks to its purpose, its role in the world, and the walls inside carry the secrets of generations."

My head buzzes with his lilting accent and poetic words, and I scramble to write them down, feeling pulled to the story unfolding inside of me, but not yet clear about what it will look like when complete.

Someone pushes into me as the small group of students move forward, and my pen falls to the ground. As I reach to pick it up, a black sneaker steps on my left hand. My heart skips a beat as my bones grind together.

"Oops, sorry about that, babe. Didn't see you there." Rodney rolls his foot over my hand and walks away laughing as tears spill out of my eyes.

Another pair of feet move into my vision before I can get up. Cowboy boots.

Cade picks up my pen and notebook and helps me up with my good hand. "Are you okay?"

Dying from embarrassment, still in pain as my hand turns red and soon blue, I brush my tears off with my sleeve and plaster on a smile. "Yeah, thanks. It was an accident."

His eyebrow shoots up, but he doesn't argue with me. Instead he takes my injured hand in his and examines it. "We should get ice on this. Come on."

Cade guides me into our dorm as if he's been here before, bypassing the bedrooms to find the lounge, a spacious room with frescos decorating the walls. He leaves me standing by the door to talk to two students studying at one of the tables, nods, disappears behind another door, and returns holding an ice pack.

"You act like you've lived here forever." I flinch as he puts the ice on my hand, then follow him through the halls.

"I find that if you act as if you belong somewhere, people generally assume you do, whether it's true or not," Cade says. "I learned that from my brother." A shadow of despair crosses his face, and I wonder what secrets his world carries.

"Thank you for your help."

Not only is he carrying all of his own luggage, but all of mine as well. We arrive at our rooms, across the hall from each other, and I take my bags with my good hand.

He tips his hat to me. "If you need help, holler."

I smile, grateful to have a friend. "Thanks."

I struggle with the doorknob to my room while juggling my bags. The moment I get the door open, someone shrieks and squeals.

"O.M.G. I can't believe we're roomies!" Jenifer flings herself at me, embracing me in a crushing hug that sends flares of pain through my hand.

I pull back from her enthusiastic grip. "Guess we are."

Her blond ponytail bounces as she hops up and down, her smile stretched across her face. "This is going to be so great. And don't worry, I already have the whole room organized. There's my bed near the window. And there's yours in the corner. You can put your stuff there. But, please keep it on your side of the room, mmkay? I really want to keep things clean and looking nice."

Sunlight streams through the window on her side of the room, soft and warm. Posters of American boy bands stare down at me from her walls, and I cringe at all the pink hearts and mirrors she's already littered her side with.

My corner is covered in shadows, cold and drab. Lovely.

"What took you so long, anyways?" Jenifer asks.

I lift up my hand. "Klutz injury."

She wags her eyebrows and grins. "And the hot guy across the hall? Where does he fit into this? You two seemed cozy on the way here."

Rolling my eyes, I discard the icepack and pop two acetaminophen from my carry-on bag, using my bottle of water to wash it down. My hand is swollen, but doesn't appear to be broken, just bruised. "We had seats together. He's studying architecture."

"I'd like to study him." She flops onto her bed and sighs dramatically. "But girlfriend rules apply. You got to him first. I'll have to find my own man meat. Besides, I didn't come all the way to Paris to date an American, no matter how fine he is."