Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“My currency is…knowledge. Boring answer, isn’t it? No wonder my family set me up with a country widower.”
“Oh, stop,” I chided. “And don’t downplay your achievements. You’re a researcher, a professor, an explorer, a scientist. You do important shit.”
His lips quirked. “Very important shit.”
“Indeed,” I replied in an exaggerated British accent.
“Thank you. That’s a nice compliment.” Alistair paused for a moment, adding, “I think you misspoke. Your currency is joy. That’s a rarer quality than you’d think.”
My cheeks were warm, and I didn’t know where to look all of a sudden. He made me feel exposed, vulnerable. And yet…somehow…safe. “I—thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Also…you’re not a stick figure, and you’re not too skinny. You’re just as you’re supposed to be.”
Before I could sputter an awkward acknowledgment, Alistair tapped the table and launched into tour-guide mode. Did I know that the nearby Place des Vosges was the oldest planned square in Paris and that Victor Hugo lived there for sixteen years? Did I know that the Hôtel de Ville was the city hall and that it was the headquarters of the French Revolution?
No, I hadn’t known any of that and until this very second, that had been okay by me. But my God, the professor sounded like a poet, using words like an artist with a paintbrush on smooth canvas, his deep voice conjuring images of historic figures who’d walked these streets hundreds of years ago.
My tea went cold as the sun crested the sky, lengthening shadows. And when a gust of cool wind whistled across the terrace, we left the museum and crossed the Seine.
We stopped at a couple of book vendors along the riverside and gift shops on the Boulevard Saint-Germain. I took endless photos of buildings and flower stalls and selfies with Alistair. In front of the Pantheon, the Sorbonne, the bridge with the locks, and more in the park.
And all the while, we talked…and talked, covering major topics like French desserts, popular songs, and the headaches of traveling. Nothing important in the slightest.
I walked on air, my hand tucked into Alistair’s coat sleeve, my heart happy and for once, blessedly content.
It was the best day ever.
10
ALISTAIR
“The pyramids of Dahshur, the Fifth Dynasty…the priestess and royal burial site.” I reread my findings regarding religious artifacts found and cross-checked the latest information, noting political shifts to nonroyal leadership due to drought and financial hardship during that time.
Fascinating stuff, I mused, plucking my glasses off my nose and staring into space as I pictured men with kohl-lined eyes decked in gold and priceless gems, jockeying for clout and influence in changing times. Like ancient versions of ruthless tycoons. Nothing ever really changed. Fashions and ideologies rode waves of popularity, but the fundamentals were the same. Humans organized systems of cooperation to advance their causes…the price varied.
If I closed my eyes I could travel through time. I could be there. I could feel the blistering hot sun on my skin, hear the hum of conversation in a language long dead, and I could see the great pyramids on the horizon.
When I was a younger man, I’d imagine a constant companion with hazy features and no name who traveled with me up and down the Nile. I’d discuss the finer points of what I’d learned that day, and he’d listen. Silly, I know. We all had ways of coping with loneliness.
It wasn’t that I was a shut-in. I’d had my share of lovers over the years, but the only one I’d ever confided in was Colin, and that relationship had exploded in my face quite spectacularly. If anyone had asked me a month ago, I’d have sworn I was content to be alone.
Hell, I preferred solitude to anxious dating games. I didn’t want to “get to know” a new man. I didn’t care about anyone else’s favorite song, the name of their first pet, or their worst experience with alcohol. I’d heard all the stories, done the phony laugh bit, and had clandestinely checked my watch, wondering if the possibility of sex was worth another hour with someone I’d never see again.
News flash: it wasn’t fun. I’d rather be in ancient Egypt…if only in my head.
But now I wanted Winnie.
All the bloody time.
I wanted his constant chatter, his curious mind, and his beautiful smile.
And yes, I wanted his body. I couldn’t get enough of him.
Three weeks of traipsing around Paris and playing tourist with Winnie had opened a portal that had always been there but somehow seemed so…new. I loved Paris. I’d just gotten into the habit of thinking of it as work.
I only went to museums with archives that were useful to my research. I stayed at a hotel near the Louvre for the sake of convenience. I liked French food, but I could get by with room service.
Winnie wouldn’t hear of any of that. He’d bulldozed his way into my quiet world and turned it upside down.