He grins. “I know someone who works here. She slipped my name in.”
A girl? Jealousy turns my stomach over. Of course I have no right to be jealous. Maybe this is the way he scores his dates, with favors from old ones. I might get a call someday asking for a book recommendation so he can woo some other nerdy girl. “I’m glad I didn’t wear jeans.”
“You would have looked great either way.”
A flush makes me turn away. Then I remember that I’m my mother’s daughter. We may be shy, but we’re fierce. “Is this why you really came to Paris? To romance all the girls?”
“Romance isn’t why I’m here.”
“Then sex?”
Surprise flashes through his emerald eyes. “Not that, either.”
My heart thumps, and I’m surprised by my own daring. “Then why spring for dinner?”
He gives a rough laugh. “Because you’re a goddamn delight.”
Now my cheeks really burn, way more than when he complimented my looks. “I’m a delight because I call you out?”
“That. And because you stare at Mona Lisa like she has the secrets of the universe. Because you defend your family even when they left you behind. Because you read books about vicious mermaids.” He gives me a sharp look. “Though you never did tell me what they did to the dragons.”
“I thought that part would be obvious. They lure them to their deaths on the rocky shores. Like the sirens in the Odyssey.” A deep breath. Then a plunge. Let’s see if he still finds me a delight when I’m speaking my truth. “Did you ever notice that all they did was look beautiful and sing a song? That was enough to drive the men wild. That was enough to blame the sirens.”
“You think they weren’t luring them on purpose?”
“There’s no reason to think they are.”
He nods once. “You’re right.”
“That’s how it is with the mermaids. They’d be on a warm rock, their scales flashing in the sun. Then a dragon would fly by, see her, and swoop down. She’d dive into the water, and he’d crash from the momentum. Now who would get blamed?”
“So you’re a mermaids’ rights advocate?”
“I’m a fairness advocate, I guess.”
“I think you’re like one of those mermaids. Minding your own business in the Louvre. You can’t help that your scales flash in the sun, can you? And then there I go, swooping down.”
“The analogy only works if I slip into the water. If you crash into the rocks.”
“Does it?” he says, raising one eyebrow.
God, his eyes are so green. “Are you? Going to crash, I mean.”
“Almost definitely.”
After discussing with the waitress, who’s pleasantly friendly and conversant about the menu, I order the canette de barbarie, a duck cooked in honey and thyme. Elijah orders the quail, which comes with grapes and tiny onions. The star of the dinner is definitely dessert. We both get the éclairs, made from choux pastry, vanilla cremeaux, and dark chocolate with cacao nibs on top.
When the check comes, the waitress hands it directly to Elijah, but I pull out the wallet from my crossover bag. “Let me pay half.”
“No.” He doesn’t even look up.
“Elijah.”
“Holly.”
“You said my clothes cost as much as your rent.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m coming into some money soon. Besides, this is a date.”
“People go Dutch on a date,” I argue.
“Not with me, they don’t.”
I don’t know how else to make my point, especially without hurting his pride. Maybe I like the quaintness of having the man pay for the date.
But I cringe to think about this check on a security guard salary.
This kind of place should be an anniversary dinner with a girlfriend, not a first date. At least I think so. This is actually my first date that wasn’t a high-school party. The truth is I’ve never had to worry about money. I have cash in my purse, along with a credit card. Dad is always extra careful to make sure we each have money and identification when we travel.
When we step outside, the rain has stopped but the streets are still wet.
He leads me away from the line of people waiting for valet toward the streetlight. I glance at him curiously. “Don’t we need to get your car?”
“I’ll come back for it. It’ll be nicer to walk with you.”
My heart melts a little then. I do like the walk. Over the line of buildings I can see the top of the Eiffel Tower. It’s muted in the fog left over from the rain, which makes it seem ethereal.
“I’m glad you asked me on a smoke break,” I say, feeling almost shy. “Out of the thousands of girls who come through to see the Mona Lisa every day, I’m glad you saw me. And wanted me.”
His green eyes flash in the darkness. “And took you?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I know a diamond in the rough when I see one.”
