When the Heart Falls(11)

"What gave it away? My rugged good looks?"

I giggle. Giggle. Like some nitwit in a romantic comedy. "Your hat."

Cade pulls it off his head. "Traitorous hat. I should donate you to Goodwill or sell you at a yard sale or something."

"Can I have it?"

"No." He clutches it to his chest. "Are you serious? I love this hat. No one wears this hat but me."

More giggling that turns to genuine laughter. He's funnier than I would have imagined. "After summer, are you going to keep studying architecture, or are you going to be cowboying again?"

Cade looks down at his hat, his face going dark like someone just put out the sun. "I don't know." He puts the hat over his face. "Listen, I need to get some shut eye for a while. I'm on a different time zone. It was great talking to you."

A spike of sadness shoots through me, and the distance between us grows like a real thing, like those pictures of two cliffs with a wide chasm between them, and I have no idea what I did or said to make him mad. "You too."

"Enjoy the flight," he says.

"I will." I hide my disappointment at his abrupt mood change and reach for my book, ready to get lost in fiction, where people make more sense.

Sometimes I don't understand men and their moods. Sometimes I think it's better to be alone.





WINTER DEVEAUX

CHAPTER 3





THE FIRST TIME I see the Eiffel Tower, it's as the sun sets on Paris and thousands of lights outline it against the darkening sky, like a beacon for the downtrodden and romantically starved. Already I can feel the magic of this place seeping into my bones, changing me from the inside.

Cade stands beside me—the Texas Cowboy in Paris—and stares up at our dorm, the Fondation des Etats-Unis.

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."