Not A Temporary Love | Finley & Harlyn #1

Chapter 27

"I know." I say it too quickly, and there's an edge that I hope Harlyn doesn't think is aimed at him.

He stares at me, unconvinced, but he doesn't push it. He just kisses me and leaves to shower. I know I'm pushing him away, running away. It's easier. He's tried to help, tried to get me to talk about everything in my head, so many times since Wednesday night. But I've brushed it off. Like I told him last night, he's got enough on his plate without adding my stuff. He doesn't need me to word vomit all the crap going on in my head when I wouldn't even know where to start.

So, I try all day to be less in my head. Well, I try to make it look like I'm less in my head. I'm pretty sure I fail, because Harlyn keeps giving me concerned looks when he thinks I'm not looking, the tilt of his head a dead giveaway. Even Max keeps close. He doesn't know either. He just knows my anxiety is high.

But we see the Arc de Triomphe and climb the many many stairs at the Eiffel Tower. And we take a quick train ride out to the Palace of Versailles. By the time we're back at the hostel, resting before going out to see the lights at night, I'm not sure I have it in me to go out again. But we do. And I'm glad we do. Because it's spectacular.

"So, this is why they call it the City of Lights," Max breathes as we wander along the river.

It is a fitting name. All the streetlights cast a warm glow, and they criss cross the river, lighting up the bridges for what seems like forever. We're passing Notre Dame again, and I think of the picture we have now, the two of us kissing in front of it. I don't know why it shot such panic through me. Maybe I'm scared Harlyn won't want to date me anymore if I move back to the States for good. Maybe I'm scared of letting him in any farther. Maybe it's both of those. It's probably both of those.

We start up the long avenue to the Arc de Triomphe, and Max starts humming a tune, singing broken phrases here and there. "City of lights...just for me..."

"What are you singing, Max?" Harlyn asks, swinging our clasped hands between us slightly.

Max turns in front of us and walks backward. "That song...um..." He hums again, and I recognize the tune.

"You mean City of Stars from La La Land?" I ask.

"That's it!" Max exclaims, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk so we have to stop, too. "Yes, thank you. I could not put my finger on it."

"That's City of Stars, though. Not City of Lights," I remind him.

Max wrinkles his nose. "Oh yeah."

"And it's about LA, not Paris," I say.

"Yeah. She does sing about Paris, though, right?" Max asks, turning back around and starting to walk again.

Harlyn nods. "Yeah. I mean, there are probably also a million and one songs about Paris."

"Yeah, but that's the one stuck in my head," Max whines. I flip through the songs about Paris that I do know. There aren't many coming to mind, though I'm sure Harlyn is right. There's got to be a million. And then inspiration strikes.

"What about Anastasia?" I say, swinging Harlyn's hand this time. "The last third is set in Paris. They sing a whole song about it. And Anya sings a whole song about the Alexander bridge in the Broadway show."

"Oh yeah!" Max blurts, abruptly cutting off his one man musical and spinning around again.

I lean toward Harlyn and stage whisper, "Max has an obsession with Anastasia." Max stops again and scowls at me.

"I do not have an obsession!" he says, looking like a four year old who doesn't want to go to bed on time.

I scoff. "You do. You dressed up as Vlad for Halloween when we were ten. You had a stuffed dog named Puka." I turn to Harlyn. "And he has a major crush on Anya."