Page 60 of The Stipulation
“I promise. Maybe I’ll even dream of you when I use it.”
He smiles and shakes his head, but I know he’s pleased with my response, as he goes to the counter and pays for the soap.
We leave the boutique and continue down the street until we reach the famous Berthillon ice cream shop. Even at this early hour, there’s a line of people waiting. The tiny bell above the door jingles as we enter, and the smell of fresh cream and sugar envelops us like a big friendly hug. I peer at the display behind the glass, my eyes wide at the vivid colors. I read the flavors from the cards, and I am glad they are written in both French and English. There are pistachio, raspberry, salted caramel,chocolate orange, lavender, praline and so many others, I have to stop. I can’t possibly choose if I take in any more options.
“What are you getting?” I ask him.
He glances at the array and frowns thoughtfully. “Something daring. Something you’ll never expect.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, is that a challenge?”
He grins. “Maybe. What about you? Are you going safe or wild?”
I consider his question, scanning the tubs again. The lavender calls to me, delicate and unusual, almost ethereal. I think it counts as a wilder choice. It’s not something you see every day.
“Lavender,” I decide.
“We’re going wild, then,” he says, turning toward me with a look that’s half amusement, half admiration. “I like you wild.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I tease, brushing past him to the counter.
I watch as he makes his choice, noticing his little quirks, like how his fingers tap lightly on the counter as he waits. Finally, we step back outside, cones in hand, the morning sun warming our faces. I take a cautious lick and taste the subtle floral flavor blooming on my tongue. Axel watches me, a grin spreading across his face, before he leans in, mock-serious.
“Your verdict?”
“Surprisingly good. Much better than I imagined,” I say.
I hold the cone up for him to try it. He licks the ice cream cautiously and considers the flavor.
“Well?” I ask.
“It’s … I don’t know. I can’t decide if I like it or not.” He holds his cone out towards me. “Here. Try mine. Salted caramel with a hint of chili.”
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued, and taste it. It is sweet, buttery, with just a faint, thrilling burn at the end.
“Oh. That’s … daring and unexpected.”
His grin widens, triumphant. “You like it?”
I nod. “I do. Maybe I need a little more daring in my life.”
He laughs, the sound rich and warm, carrying across the empty street. “I could definitely arrange that,” he murmurs, his eyes locking on mine. There’s an unspoken promise in the look, a thrill that makes my pulse skip.
We wander further, meandering past tiny book shops and boutiques, the quiet streets make the city feel like it belongs only to us. I notice little details, paint peeling on shutters, a wrought iron balcony with flowers, a bronze statue, the way the sunlight flickers across the cobblestones. Axel notices things too, pointing out a carved door frame here, a hidden fresco there, and I feel a shared sense of discovery between us.
Finally, we reach the Notre Dame gardens. Even in its sad and damaged state, the cathedral holds a kind of solemn beauty that cannot be denied. The charred and skeletal upper sections contrast sharply with the manicured lawns and flowerbeds below, creating a surreal, almost poetic juxtaposition.
We wander among the gardens, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot, passing fountains that glint in the sunlight. The ruined façade rises above us, quiet and monumental, a testament to resilience. I feel a shiver at the stark beauty, the quiet strength as I glance at Axel. He’s studying the cathedral as intently as I am, but turns to me when he catches me looking at him.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” I whisper.
He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair back from my face. “It is,” he says softly. “It is the nature of the world. Nothing is forever, so every moment is precious.”
My breath catches, and I feel a strange warmth spread through me. Confused, I glance away and pretend to look at a rosebush.
We wander to a bench beneath a row of linden trees, the dappled sunlight falling in patches on the gravel. I sit down, savoring the quiet serenity of the moment, the way the city feels suspended around us. Axel sits beside me, close enough that our thighs touch lightly, and the contact sends a thrill through me. Axel stretches one arm along the back of the bench behind me. Not touching me. Just resting close enough for me to feel the heat from his skin. Casual in a kind of possessive way that I must admit to liking.
“So,” he says, watching a little boy chase pigeons with ruthless determination. “Explain something to me.”
