We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1) (34 page)

“Why are you in this school? Don’t British colleges have their own study abroad programs?” I didn’t mean to sound nosy, but I was curious.

“Study abroad is a thoroughly American idea. Joe and I are here for international business studies and language immersion. Different program, but we share the château for a week of orientation and immersion.” Christopher pointed at the boot-trunk guy.

“And him?” I gestured to the dark haired one.

“He’s Joe’s twin, James. And a complete prat.”

James attempted to trip Christopher by sticking out his foot. Christopher nimbly jumped over the obstacle without breaking his pace.

“Why did he call you Kit?” I followed behind the trio of guys carrying our bags into an enormous mansion.

“Kit’s my old name from nursery days. I prefer Christopher.”

“I prefer Lizzy, if I’m being honest.”

He set my bag down at the bottom of an enormous stone staircase. “Then Lizzy is what I shall call you. Girls’ rooms are upstairs and to the left. Your names should be on the door. Leave your bags here if you don’t want to heft them up the stairs. Someone will bring them up for you later.”

The three of them said good-bye and left us.

“This place is a palace.” Maggie’s voice was hushed like we were in a church. The château dated back to the eighteenth century. Its pale plaster exterior with enormous shutter-flanked windows and long gravel drive were understated compared to the ornate interior.

“I feel like I’m in a fairytale.” She spun around in a small circle, her head tipped back to take in the high ceilings and carved moulding. “This is definitely not Olympia, Washington.”

Watching her face light up for the first time since we woke up yesterday morning restored my faith this would be our greatest adventure yet. “Let’s go find our room. Maybe there will be rows of little twin beds like in Madeline.”

We giggled and raced each other up the stairs like little girls. When we got to the top, something golden below caught my eye. Christopher and his arched eyebrow still stood in the foyer, his face impassive with the exception of the aforementioned eyebrow. I couldn’t tell if it arched in amusement or judgment. I gave him a little wave like I’d seen the Queen of England make to her loyal subjects and another curtsy.

He smiled, shaking his head, but returned the wave with a slight bow. I didn’t know what about him made me want to curtsy, but if he gave me his gorgeous grin again, I’d keep doing it.

“Keep Young and Beautiful” ~ Annie Lennox

OUR ROOM HAD
four twin beds lined up in a row along one wall. A mural of a blue sky covered the middle of the ceiling. Fat cherubs holding ribbons decorated the corners of the room. Every single roll of their chub had been carefully detailed, a reminder not to over-indulge in all the amazing buttery, fattening food in France. As much as I wanted to eat everything in sight, I also didn’t want to gain back all the weight I’d fought hard to lose in high school and kept off so far in college.

Maggie and Jo were lucky. They seemed to be able to eat anything and never really work out yet never gained weight. Selah embraced her curves. Hell, she flaunted her breasts like prizes she won at a carnival. Meanwhile, I carefully monitored calories, the scale and how my clothes fit on a daily basis.

The other beds in the room had been claimed. Our two roommates were from different colleges. Tall Amy went to Middlebury and glasses wearing Lara attended Antioch. In an attempt to memorize all the new names, I began assigning physical characteristics to names. Ginger James. Brown Joe. Eyebrow Christopher. I couldn’t forget his name.

The four of us wandered down to the dining room for lunch. My catnap in the car had given me a second wind. Maggie moaned about it being the middle of the night and the wrong time for sandwiches.

The longest dining room table I’d ever seen centered the equally enormous room. Three chandeliers twinkling with crystals hung above it. A buffet lined one wall, filled with tiny sandwiches and cold sides.

“I feel underdressed.” Maggie wore a sundress and sandals. If she felt underdressed my jeans and Chinese Mary Janes were probably some social faux pas.

We followed Amy and Lara through the line and sat across from them at the long polished wood table. I glanced around for the three other familiar faces and spotted them clumped together at the far end. Christopher gave me a small wave, and because I was already sitting and couldn’t curtsy, I bowed my head.

“Are you saying grace?” Amy asked me.

Maggie snorted into her hand.

“Amen,” I whispered while pinching Maggie’s thigh under the table.

She pinched my hand in retaliation.

I moaned loudly when I bit into what appeared to be a cheese sandwich, but tasted of creaminess and butter surrounded by delicious bread. It probably had a thousand calories, but I didn’t care.

Apparently my moan had been louder than I thought. I lifted my gaze and met the cocked eyebrow of judgment. I didn’t care. Butter!

Madame Picou and an older man in a neckerchief entered the room, calling everyone’s attention to them.

“Is he wearing an ascot?” Maggie whispered to me.

“It’s a neckerchief.”

“I am awed and disturbed you know the proper name for men’s neck fashions.”

“You forget my uncle works in fashion in Miami. He’s educated me on all things having to do with style.”

Madame Picou cleared her throat. “This is Monsieur Laurent. He’s the coordinator of the château and our sister programs in Paris. Please welcome him.”

He spoke in a rapid stream of French and I caught about every third word. Even though it sounded like he said
haricot vert
, I felt pretty confident his speech didn’t include the topic of green beans.

Everyone chuckled and I joined them, lost in confusion but laughing. My laughter continued after the others stopped. All thirty faces turned to focus on me. I ducked my head, but not before my eye caught the arched eyebrow of judgment.

I focused on folding and refolding my napkin on my lap until the speech ended.

Maggie, sensing my discomfort, summarized the introduction in a way that sounded like she had questions she wanted me to clarify.

I reached under the table and squeezed her hand in thanks.

The Paris program enrolled students from all over the US, whose own colleges didn’t have study abroad campuses. We’d only be roomies for the week of orientation. When we returned to the city for the semester, we’d be assigned to live with a French family. I hoped Maggie and I wouldn’t end up on opposite sides of Paris. Even with the Metro and bicycles, the city sprawled for miles.

The first several weeks of classes were a blur. I had beginner’s level language classes while Maggie took intermediate. Our host families lived about six blocks from each other not far from the Pantheon in the 5
th
Arrondissement
.

Christopher and the twins lived in the same beautiful beaux art apartment building close to
Les Invalides
in the 7
th
. Unlike our host families, their situation involved tiny studio apartments and a shared hall bathroom on the top floor. An older grand-mere figure fed them breakfast and dinners in her grand apartment two floors below. Their living arrangement sounded romantic, like struggling American authors and painters who moved to Paris in the early twentieth-century.

My own host family lived in a more modern building without all the character and ghosts of artists past. Julie, Sebastien, and little Olivier were all trés nice.

Quickly, I figured out part of my housing situation would be to tutor Olivier in English while they taught me French. I soon discovered my French was worse than I thought. A precocious five year old regularly beat me on vocabulary tests.

Mags’ family consisted of a single mom, Bernadette, and her daughter. When the daughter went to stay with her father, the mother went out. And typically took us with her. She knew the coolest clubs and jazz bars. Bernadette turned out to be one of the best parts of Paris.

She also knew of a broken payphone along the Seine near Shakespeare and Company, the famous bookstore and gathering place for English language ex-pats and homesick exchange students. The phone wasn’t really broken. It allowed international calls for domestic rates. Knowledge of the phone was top secret, carefully shared, and protected.

The nine hour time difference made calling the West Coast almost impossible. We decided middle of the night our time would be best to reach our friends in Washington.

One night, Maggie and I rode our bikes to the secret phone at one in the morning. Tucked near the fence of a small park on a narrow street, the phone appeared the same as any of the hundreds of others scattered around the city.

We huddled with our heads next to the receiver in order for both of us to talk and hear at the same time. The phone rang and rang before Quinn finally answered. Maggie cried when she heard his voice. I got a little teary, too. He passed us around to Ben and Jo. Selah picked up last and told us Gil was at work. Seeing the disappointment in Maggie’s face at the news, I wrapped my arm around her waist and gave a squeeze.

A short line formed behind us, despite the late hour. I recognized Christopher’s tall form at the end with the twins. He waved at us. I smiled at him.

We promised to call back soon, giddy we could call home on our limited budgets. After hugging, we pulled our bikes from the fence and walked toward our friends.

Christopher greeted Maggie with the standard double-cheek kiss. When it was my turn, I went right instead of left. His lips brushed against mine for a brief second before he corrected himself and kissed my cheek. He held my shoulders still as he repeated the kiss on my other cheek, never acknowledging our kiss faux pas.

My giggle and the heat on my cheeks betrayed my surprise. Was this a first kiss? “I’ll get the double-kiss right eventually.”

His own laugh sounded cocky, confident. “Let me know if you need a practice partner.”

I stepped back and slipped on a cobblestone, righting myself as I laughed nervously.

“Out past your curfew, young ladies?” Christopher tugged on my coat sleeve, drawing my attention back to the conversation.