“What’s your favorite flavor?” he asks suddenly. “When you’re not being forced to be bold.”
“In life or in ice cream?”
“Let’s do the ice cream first.”
I pretend to consider although I really don’t need to. “Pistachio. It’s underrated. Subtle. A little unexpected.”
“It’s dangerously close to toothpaste.”
“Mint chocolate chip is the toothpaste one.”
“You’re banned from ice cream selections from now on.”
We laugh outright at that, the sound warm and completely unguarded.
“And in life?” he presses.
I trace the grain of the wooden bench with my fingertip.
“I like things that look ordinary but aren’t. Paintings people dismiss until you step closer and realize the brush work is genius. Buildings with ugly facades and beautiful interiors. People who don’t advertise everything they are on the first meeting.”
His gaze shifts to me slowly. “Like you.”
“And you?” I ask, my voice lighter than my pulse.
“I like precision,” he says. “Control. I like knowing the variables.”
“That sounds very you.”
“It is.” He glances towards the cathedral again. “But I also like disruption. The thing you can’t spreadsheet. The element that doesn’t fit.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You like chaos?”
“Selective chaos.”
“Ah. Curated unpredictability.”
“Exactly… like spending a weekend in Paris with Joseph’s estranged daughter.”
And just like that, the air between us changes. Becomes charged. Like the second before a storm breaks, except there’s nothing violent in it. Just anticipation. Axel’s thighs shift. We are more than just touching now. Neither of us moves away. My brain searches for something to say to break this strange magnetic pull between us.
“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
“A basketball player.”
I laugh before I can stop myself.
He looks offended. “Hey! I was good.”
“I don’t doubt you were. I just …”
“Just what?”
“I just can’t picture you missing a shot and being okay with it.”
His mouth curves slowly. “I missed plenty.”
The honesty in that remark sits between us quietly with no bravado, no deflection. “That surprises me.”