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She’s spent less than a day with him and she's already overwhelmed.
Sitting across the table from him now she’s lost in her head, thinking about everything they’re not asking, not saying. Questioning if she should bring it up or if he will, knowing that it’ll have to come up eventually, but wanting to stay in the precious moment they’ve carved out together for just a little bit longer.
All day she'd been sneaking glances at him, taking in the fact that he was really there.
She’d taken him around the city, showing him the landmarks he has to see and some of the little places she’d started to think of as hers. Places like the café two blocks away where she goes to grab a cappuccino and a croissant between her morning lectures and the patisserie in the 5th arrondissement that makes the best chocolate éclairs. The bench in the park by the water where she likes to go sit with said éclair and people-watch.
He’d been looking at her too, though she’s not sure he had been trying to be as subtle about it as she was. Or if he was, then he was doing a bad job at it. (Then again, maybe so was she.)
She’d caught him looking at her throughout the day - sideways glances at her on the metro and while she was ordering at the fromagerie. She’d caught him staring when she was looking up the hours of operation for the Musée de l’Orangerie on her phone, and from across the table while she was ordering their dinner in semi-broken French. She’d stared back that time and watched as his pupils briefly dilated before he blinked, smiled, and looked down to grab some more bread, seemingly not embarrassed to have been caught in his admiration of her.
It’d been a perfect day and dinner was the cherry on top. It was all so nice. So easy. They talked about everything and nothing, almost as if there weren't years of awkward history and drama between them.
She tells him about her life in Paris and the trip she took to Madrid over spring break. He asked about what she and Taylor got up to over the holidays, and she told him about the New Years party they went to, how Taylor face-timed Steven at midnight and how she’d wanted to throw Taylor’s phone across the room at 5:58am the next morning when it’d lit up with a face-time from Steven, until she saw the happiness on her friend's face lit up by the screen’s brightness. He asked about her friends and she told him about how she’d been more reckless than she’d like to admit when she first met them. About how Gemma hooked her up with a good French tutor, about Max’s latest foray with sculpture, and about how Celine likes old Hollywood movies almost as much as she does. She doesn’t tell him about Benito exactly, but she tells him about how she’s learned to appreciate photography and has gotten good at darts.
He tells her about school, and California, and how he meets up with his aunt and Skye every few months. She asked about the bits and pieces of his life she’d heard via her mom over the years; what motivated him to start playing football again, why he disliked pharmacology, and what happened with that girl Agnes. He answers it all; because he realized that he missed it and that he could do it for himself and not for his dad’s sake, because his professor couldn’t teach, and that she’d become his best friend (she doesn’t push for more details, she doesn’t think she actually wants to know, and isn’t sure why she’d asked in the first place).
“You okay?” He’d asked, putting down his glass of wine.
“Yeah, it’s just… this is really nice.”
“It is.” He smiled, and so did she.
They'd fallen into a comfortable silence after that, both enjoying their meals and continuing to look across the table at the other. Smiling whenever they lock eyes, knees bumping occasionally underneath the table.
Before she realizes it she’s finished her meal and most of her wine and she’s staring again, lost in her thoughts. She can’t believe he’s really here. He’s really sitting across the table from her, plate empty, wine glass half full.
She’s captivated by him. By the way his sea-green eyes remind her of her favourite place in the world, a piece of home on the other side of the globe that she thought she’d lost forever. The way they sparkle when he smiles, as captivatingly beautiful as the eiffel tower at night. She's missed that - seeing him smile. She can’t remember the last time she saw him smile so much. She can’t stop smiling either.
He’s looking at her again too, this time with the tiniest hint of a smirk. There’s something in the way that he looks at her from across the table that she can't quite put a finger on. She thinks that it's the same way he's always looked at her, but something's different. She wants to kiss the smirk off his face.
They need to talk. Really talk. But as they stand to leave, all she can think about is how there's something about the way he holds her that she hadn’t realized she'd missed until now. Now that she could be realistically close to having it again. Something like electricity prickles her skin from where his hand casually brushes against her lower back as they leave the restaurant and she's feeling bold, and once they're out on the street she nudges his shoulder with her own.
Except she’s also a little tipsy, and she’s wearing heels on uneven pavement, and she mis-judges and stumbles in front of him instead. He catches her shoulders to help steady her.
“Careful.”
She’s flushed and embarrassed, and his hands are on her shoulders while he looks down at her with a teasing smile and that damn sparkle in his eyes.
“Thanks.” She blushes and wants to look away, but she can’t.
“Of course. Thanks for showing me around today.” He lets her go, trusting that she’s stable on her own two feet again, and moves to stand by her side, never breaking eye-contact.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for asking me to.”
A thick silence settles over them then, and Belly is about to do it, to ask the questions that she’s been thinking all day, all month, all year (all her life really). To ask if he still means what he said on the beach, in the kitchen, at the country club, and in his letters. If he feels the pull in his chest the way she does, if she’s really not dreaming - when he smiles at her softly before flickering his eyes down briefly and tentatively takes her hand in his.
Her brain short circuits, no longer able to think about anything other than the butterflies in her stomach and the feel of his hand in hers. She tightens her grasp and watches his shoulders relax slightly as she does so.
“Where to next?”
She takes in the smile on his face and spots the sparkle in his eyes before saying; “I know just the place.”
They start walking, conversation picking up right where they left off at dinner. They hop on the metro and it’s pretty crowded for a Wednesday night, so they end up standing, his body acting like a shield for hers, and even though she can feel his gaze stay on her when she encourages him to enjoy the view out the window as they go over the bridge, she knows he has probably figured out where they’re going.
Checking her phone as they exit the station, she realizes that they have to move fast or they’ll miss it, so she grabs his hand and all but drags him behind her towards the water.
It’s a nice night out so it’s incredibly crowded, but when they get to the walkway and Conrad falls into step beside her, Belly feels like they’re the only two people in the world. And when the clock hits ten and the show starts, lighting up the eiffel tower with sparkles, it’s more magical than any other time she’s seen it. Maybe because he takes the hand that was holding his and presses a kiss to the back of it, and maybe purely because of the fact that she’s sharing this moment with him.
They’re quiet while the lights continue to sparkle, both basking in the moment, and it’s over before she can think of what to say to express how she’s feeling. They stand there in silence for a moment and she panics for a second that this perfect day has come to an end.
“Well, what do you think of the Belly Conklin Paris tour guide experience?” She jokes.
“10 out of 10, would do it again.” He smiles and without letting go of her hand, starts walking down the waterfront pathway. “What’s next?”
“Um... that’s it.”
“Oh.” He stops briefly in his tracks before continuing, his longer legs making up for the break quickly so that she doesn’t have to adjust her gait.
“I mean, your visit is so short I had to be really selective. I would’ve loved to take you to the Louvre or the Jardins de Luxembourg, there’s a medical museum I thought you might like but I’ve never been before and wasn’t sure if-”
“Belly,” he interrupts, “this was perfect.”
“Oh.”
“I mean you could’ve taken me around in circles all day and I wouldn’t have complained so long as it was with you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He says softly, and she thinks she can see a bit of a blush creeping over his cheeks. It’s as close to a confession as he’s gotten all day and it makes her brave.
“Conrad, I…” This time it’s her that stops their progress, moving to the side of the path to allow others to pass by unimpeded. He follows and turns to face her, a serious note creeping back into the edges of his expression as if he knows that she’s about to bring up the elephant in the room. But when his gaze meets hers, she can see that he’s still the boy she’s always loved and that gives her courage. “I’m still mad at you for a lot of things, and we have a lot to talk about and sort out. But thank you for making me be honest with myself and for giving me space. And thank you for coming today, it was really lovely.”
He’s silent for a second and then he takes a step closer, close enough that she has to look up to look at him looking down at her, a hint of sadness in his expression.
“It really was. And I’m sorry. For all of it.”
“Don’t be.” She responds instinctively, then corrects herself. “Well, maybe there are some things you should be sorry for, but the same applies for me. And I am sorry about things too... But ultimately everything that happened is what got us here.”
His gaze softens as it holds hers, his hand tightening it's grip at the same time.
“I suppose here is pretty great.”
“Yeah, it is.”
She smiles slightly, reaches up, and moves a strand of hair off his face. He doesn’t pull away. So she leaves her hand on the back of his head and starts leaning in, giving him time to say something or pull away if this is not something that he wants. But then he’s leaning in as well, quickly closing the distance between them and capturing her lips with his.
It's everything she wanted it to be and more. She wants to convey everything she's feeling in the way she kisses him so she pushes up onto her toes to get closer to him, holding onto his neck and wrapping her other arm around his shoulders. But it's hard to convey a lifetime of love and longing in one single kiss so she focuses on what she's feeling in this moment - the mix of her nerves and her excitement, the underlying lust she won't try to deny, and the way her heart has only ever truly beat for him.
She thinks it's working because she can sense how he's feeling in the way he wraps her up in his arms - like he's been waiting for this as long as she has, and like his love is trying to escape the confines of his chest. She can feel his heartbeat from where they're pressed together and she swears hers is beating in time with his.
She doesn't know how long they stay like that, lost in each other's kiss, but when they do eventually pull apart she's out of breath and she feels like she's dreaming except this time she knows it's real. She can feel the smile on her face and the taste of him on her lips. It's addicting.
“I'll walk you home.” He whispers against her lips, forehead pressed to hers and hands holding on to her waist tighter than she thinks he realizes (she’s not complaining), before he pulls back and takes her hand again, clearly preparing to continue their stroll.
Suddenly, she feels sixteen all over again, a love-sick girl, giddy and already so far gone for him. But she also feels twenty-two, a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go for it, not anymore.
“Actually, want to walk to your place instead?” This time it’s him who almost trips.
"What?”
“If you want, I mean. It’s just that I don’t really want today to end, and my place has Gemma and-”
He kisses her again, both his hands coming up to cup her face and he’s kissing her with an urgency and a gentleness that suits him. Suits them .
When he pulls back their eyes lock again and she’s drowning in his eyes once more. Mesmerized by how they’ve widened as they take her in and how it feels like the rest of the world has disappeared.
“I don’t want this to end either.”
His hand is still on her jaw, the other grabbing for her hand, and she has a feeling he’s not just talking about this night. She leans up and kisses him once more, unable to fight the smile on her lips and the way she can hear her heartbeat.
They can talk more about everything else later. Right now what they both need is just this.