“TO THE CHURCH, PLEASE,” I SAY TO THE DRIVER, pulling Quinten in behind me and shoving half a breakfast bagel into my mouth.
It’s the first day of rehearsal for the Festival of Fools play, and we’re rushing to make it on time.
“Are you excited for the play, Quin?”
He bounces in his seat, looking out the window, and I smile, relieved I’m doing something right. If not for myself, at least for him.
The car rolls down the streets and I peer out through the tinted glass, watching as people try to stare inside. I feel guilty we’re in here and they’re out there, and there’s nothing I can do.
If I keep things good with Parker, then maybe one day there will be. It’s what I’ve decided to tell myself to make my decision more bearable. If I’m married to the “king of Festivalé,” then I’ll have more power to do something.
We pull up to the front of Notre-Dame, and my nerves ramp up as the car slows to a stop. There’s a good chance I’m about to see Cade. After our talk in his office two days ago, I’ve been semi- successful in not thinking about him. At least not when it’s light outside. At night, I still watch and wait, disappointment sitting like a rock in my gut when he never shows.
The main square is decorated for the holidays, green wreaths and red bows everywhere like Christmas threw up on the town. Quinten’s practically vibrating next to me, his little fingers gripping mine as we get closer to the cathedral’s steps, the gargoyles judging me with their stony gaze.
They’ve always creeped me out, but Quinten runs straight to them, crouching down slightly and jumping into the air.
“Hi, gargoyles!” he greets, then turns to me. “Did you say hi to the gargoyles?”
I walk closer, smiling. “Hey, gargoyles.”
“Gargoyles are spiritual protectors,” he says. “They ward off demons and evil spirits. A gargoyle is carved with a spout designed to convey water from a roof and away from the side of a building.”
I bob my head, wondering what he watched that taught him this script. It’s a superpower, really, the way he can hear something once and recite it word for word after. His brain is a wealth of knowledge, random facts and tidbits just waiting to come out. His mind is a vault, storing away every single fact and line and keeping them there for a rainy day.
He’s beaming right now, the tip of his nose as rosy as his cheeks, and I want to grab him in my arms and bottle up his emotion so I can feel it myself.
“Amaya.” Lydia, Quinten’s aide at school, smiles as she walks closer.
“Hey, Lydia.” I grin back. She wasn’t originally going to be at these, but I insisted, knowing she’s the only one who really gets Quinten and knows him in this setting even better than I do. “Thank you so much for doing this.”
She waves me off, walking straight up to Quinten and grabbing his hand. “Please, it’s my pleasure.” Her smile crinkles the corners of her eyes as she looks down at him. “Let’s go inside and see what it’s all about. What do you say, Quin?” He nods and they skip away together.
I frown when I realize they left me just standing here like the stone statues I’m next to. I had hoped that I’d get to be in there with him, but I guess it’s probably better that I’m not. Quinten has a tendency to get distracted by me and stick close instead of exploring. I just… I don’t know what to do while I wait.
My eyes flicker to the path in the back of the church leading to the cottage where Cade lives, but I quickly talk myself out of that idea.
Ridiculous, Amaya. It’s daytime. He’s most likely not even there.
To be honest, I have no clue what a priest does beyond Sunday services and confession throughout the week.
A burst of wind whips across my face and I shiver, moving up the steps and into the narthex, the heat wrapping around me like a blanket when I get inside. Immediately I start to wander, memories of when I used to come here every week playing like a movie in my head. I walk down the hallways where the offices sit, my heart skipping as I pretend I’m not looking in the windows to seek out a man I know better than to find.
The beige walls and muted carpet of the back halls are so different from the replicated Gothic architecture out front, making it feel like when I’m here, I’m straddling two different worlds, one that transports me into beautiful French history and the other that’s plain and an American construct, built quickly just to have it done.
When I hit the stairs leading to the basement, I continue my exploration, assuming it’s okay to do since there are no signs saying otherwise.
The basement hallway is stuffy, the air a little moist and the smell a little stale. It’s lined with doors, some open and some not, filled with miniature tables and chairs and removable signs on the walls that specify what age range which room is for. I glance into the one closest to me, but there’s no one there.
“Peeping in windows, Miss Paquette?”
My heart jumps into my throat and I spin around, pressing my back to the door as I come face- to- face with Cade.
Shit.
I narrow my eyes. “Nah, that’s your job.”
My pussy clenches at the memory and my cheeks flush.
Friends, Amaya.
He smiles, those annoying dimples showing themselves, and he looks up and down the hallway before stepping in close. And now he’s here. Right fucking here in my space, making my stomach rise and drop like a roller coaster.
“Thinking of me?”
I swallow, my hands pressing tightly against the wall behind me.
He has me in this position a lot.
“No,” I whisper.
His lips are so close to mine that if I breathe too heavy, they’ll meet. “Prove it.”
There’s tension growing between us, slipping into the middle
of my chest and latching on, tugging until it hurts. Knowing someone could walk around the corner and see us should make me wary, but instead, it makes fissions of electricity dance up my spine.
My body leans into his. “What if I was?”
His eyes flare, but he doesn’t let us touch.
“Tempting me again, mon trésor?”
I shake my head, biting the corner of my lip because being surrounded by him is overwhelming. “We said we’d be friends.”
“We are,” he groans. “Best friends, even.”
And now his lips do ghost across mine, so slight I could have imagined the touch, but it sets my entire body on fire anyway.
I’m two seconds from giving in, because I feel like I might die if I don’t, when a door at the end of the hall swings open and slams closed, light footsteps following the jarring noise.
We jump apart like we’ve been electrocuted, and I run my fingers through my hair, hoping like hell that I don’t look too out of sorts.
My panic grows when Florence Gammond walks around the corner, her eyes filled with suspicion as she sees the two of us together.
