When the Heart Falls(12)

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."

"God, Jenifer, you're vulgar. He's not anyone's man meat." I unpack my clothes, filling my small closet, set my laptop and adapter on the desk at the foot of my bed, and check my email on the computer.

I click on a reply from the last agent I queried.



I'm sorry, but we are unable to represent your book at this time.



Not even a personal rejection. Just a form letter. I move it over to my folder titled "Agents who hate me."

Le sigh.

I grab my journal and vow not to let the email ruin my first night in Paris. I want to write, to capture all of my first impressions of Paris before they wash out of me.

Jenifer looks up from her bed as she flips through Cosmopolitan magazine. "How's your book going?"

"Mr. Posthumus hated it, but I'm getting a second opinion. It still needs a rewrite, though. Or two. Or a hundred." I sink onto my bed and open my journal.

She looks up from her magazine. "Maybe I can help you."

That makes me laugh.

"Hey. Don't be an Ice Queen. I can help. What's your book about?" Jenifer turns onto her stomach, kicking her high heels up and down. How does she wear those 24/7?

"It's a love story." I finish the doodle in my journal, cradling my left hand on my lap as I write. "You know, boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back."

"Cool. What else happens?"

"I'm not really sure yet. I still need to plan the rewrite."

"Come on. You must have some idea."

I don't like sharing, but once Jenifer starts asking, she never stops. "Well, this girl goes on a vacation, and she meets this foreign guy. He's different from other guys. Special. And he makes her feel special."

"How do they meet?"

"Not sure yet." I rip out the doodle and throw it in the trash. I try to write something, but my mind is as blank as the page. "Honestly, whenever I get to the part where they meet, I get writer's block."

She jumps up. "Oh my God. Isn't that like a horrible disease?"

"No, it's not a horrible disease. It just means I'm stuck."

"Oh, okay then. What do you think of my new lipstick?" She smacks her bright pink lips together and puckers like a parody of a lipstick model.

"It's good."

Jenifer smiles. She's not the brightest, but she loves to talk about herself. Which means less talking about me. Which means I'm happy.

She falls back on to her bed, returning to her magazine. "I don't think it's that hard. Just, remember when you were in love."

I pretend to be writing again. "Sure."

"Who'd you like again?"

"Um… " Don't blush. Don't blush.

She sits up and points her finger at me. "O.M.G. You've never been in love."

I stare at my journal, ignoring her.

“What about that guy you crushed on when we were kids? Your neighbor? The one who moved away? Didn't I see you talking to him at the airport? What was his name?”

I grind my teeth. “Rodney.”

“Right, him. He's hot. Weren’t you in love with him?”

I put my journal away in my backpack. "That wasn’t love. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to focus on my book."