Chapter 18

“This rain is relentless,” Eliza said miserably after I put the macarons in the oven. She stood at the balcony door, staring wistfully outside, though she couldn’t see much, considering how aggressively the rain pounded against the glass.

“Are you in a hurry to leave?” I grumbled, pulling a bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge.

“That’s not what I-” Eliza said, breaking off and running her fingers through her hair in frustration.

I shook my head. “You came here, Eliza. You came to me because you were lonely or whatever, so you don’t get to be frustrated that I’m here.”

She clamped her jaw shut, glaring at me fiercely from across the room. “You’re infuriating.”

I scoffed. “What have I done? Except follow your every whim like a lost fucking puppy dog.”

Eliza blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

I tossed one arm in the air in exasperation before removing the reusable cork of my wine bottle and pouring a glass to the brim. “I take you to see the Tuileries, you leave. You show up again, and I take you to Parc Monceau and the aquarium—you bolted without a word. And then, there you are again—asking me to take you to the Eiffel Tower.”

“Which you left,” she interrupted coldly.

“And I should have stayed away from you,” I snarled. “Because the next time you showed up, I let you make me feel like shit about what was the right choice, and then I let myself believe we could be friends—or something more—and you flipped a switch on your attention so damn fast you gave me whiplash. And then today! You show up at my damn door because you’re lonely, and I let you inside because I’m a poor sap who can’t bear to see you cry, but we both know how today ends, don’t we? You’re going to leave again.”

Eliza stiffened as she contemplated whether to bolt and brave the rain. I silently dared her to challenge what I’d said.

But she didn’t. Because she knew I was right.

When the rain stopped, Eliza was going to leave again.

And I no longer had the strength to go after her.

I turned away from her, leaning against the counter and taking a long, deep drink of my wine. It buzzed as it coursed through me and I sighed, afraid to face Eliza again.

I let the wine give me the courage to talk again. “If you were always the person you were at the park, at the aquarium—in the moments before you leave—then I would sell my soul to kiss you senseless, to make you mine.”

“But I’m not,” Eliza whispered.

“No,” I said. “And I’m your punching bag.”

Eliza walked across the room, stepping into my line of vision. “And what if I wasn’t leaving?”

“You will,” I breathed. “I don’t know why you’re choosing to wallow in your pain, but if you don’t gain control of it, it will destroy you.”

She drew in a breath. “What if I wasn’t leaving?”

She was avoiding her reality—that she had so much emotional baggage she needed to deal with before she could be a part of my life.

But my eyes dropped to her lips as she stepped forward, and I felt my body melt at the sight of her. I met her gaze, and in it, I found the same Eliza I’d been searching for all along—the girl at the park with a crêpe who got excited over jellyfish. The girl with a laugh that could stop my bleeding heart once and for all.

And so, even though she would leave tonight, I kissed her.

I kissed her because the idea of her leaving again made me sick to my stomach. I kissed her because, all at once, the pink of her lips became so damn irresistible that I couldn’t think of anything else.

I kissed her because I longed to know if her lips were as soft as her eyes when she laughed.

Eliza’s mouth molded to mine in perfect symphony, and my eyes fluttered and closed as we leaned into each other. She stepped closer, pinning me between her hips and the kitchen island with no hope of escape. Our kiss was slow and sensual while we tasted each other—like every moment we’d spent together had been leading up to this.

For the briefest of moments, I chose to forget that Eliza was a runner and she would do anything to get out of this. I planned to let her go this time—let her run, let her disappear, let her leave me.

But that was later. After the macarons were finished. After the rain stopped.

This was now, and right now, I was going to slip my tongue past her teeth and make sure she remembered the taste of me. I’d be damned; she could leave all she wanted, but she would remember me.

I moved forward then, gripping her hips and guiding her backward until she was the one trapped against the countertop. I lifted her easily and stepped between her legs, tilting my head back to continue kissing her. Eliza twisted her fingertips through the ends of my hair. She responded to each of my kisses like we had all the time in the world to be here.

I wished we did.

I moved my lips off hers, flicking my tongue against her sharp jawline. I tasted the remnants of rain on her skin and moaned softly before moving lower. Eliza tilted her head back to allow me better access; breathy pants escaped her lips, coming deeper and deeper the longer I kissed her. With each kiss I placed on her throat, I could feel the racing of her heart as vividly as I could hear it echoing through the room.

As I reached the top of her pajama shirt and gripped the button with my teeth to pop it open, the oven timer dinged.

Disappointed, I let out a long, shaking breath. Eliza caught my mouth in one last kiss before allowing me to step back. I crossed the kitchen and peered into the oven, tentatively tapping the top of one macaron before deciding they were done. I pulled one batch out before replacing it with the second, setting the hot baking sheet on the stove to cool.

“You’re a magnificent kisser,” Eliza breathed from her seat on the countertop. “Would you like to kiss me again?”

I blushed brightly, approaching her again and leaning up on my tiptoes to kiss each of her cheeks, then her nose, and finally, her mouth.

“What if we existed like this for a little while?” she asked, tapping my chin with her index finger.

Despite every cell in my body telling me to run, I agreed.

“Okay,” Eliza chirped, staring at the batch of macarons I’d given her to pipe chocolate buttercream onto. “How are these?”

I peered over at her work from where I stirred the now-cooled strawberry compote to pipe in the middle of her buttercream rings. Amusement coursed through me; less than half were circles, most were haphazard ovals, and a couple had come out as messy blobs.

“Those are great.” I did my best to sound serious and cover my laugh.

“Liar,” Eliza huffed.

I grinned and pointed to the only one that looked half-decent. “That one’s good.”

Eliza picked up the cookie half and shoved it in her mouth. “You can’t take my masterpiece,” she said around the crumbles.

I burst into laughter. “Now you have to eat a naked half so we have an even number.”

She piped some buttercream onto another bun and held it out to me. I leaned over and took it between my lips, laughing as I tried to pull it fully into my mouth without using my hands. Buttercream smeared across my lips and crumbs fell onto my shirt.

Before I could lick it off, Eliza stepped forward and kissed me deeply. I melted into her, barely suppressing a whimper as she dragged her tongue along my top lip. “Even sweeter than I imagined,” she teased against my mouth.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach, and I stepped back to clear my throat.

If she kept kissing me, she was going to break my heart.

“Okay,” I rasped. “Keep going on the other tray, and I’ll follow with the strawberry.”

Eliza saluted and continued with her messy piping. I gathered my strawberry compote in a piping bag and placed a small dollop in the middle of each pink macaron. They would be chocolate-covered strawberry flavored.

When we finished piping, we got to work side-by-side assembling the cookies. I hummed as I worked, purposely letting my hands brush against Eliza’s when we reached for cookies. A few times, she glanced over at me with hooded eyes. Once, I caught her licking her lips while she watched me.

I didn’t look over at her. If I did, I would kiss her again.

Finally, when the macarons were done, the rain had subsided. I peered out through the balcony windows, drawing in a deep breath. The downpour had become a gentle drizzle.

If Eliza wanted to leave, she could.

I watched her cross the room and lay back on the couch with a long breath. “I’ve never put so much work into cookies before,” she said. “That was exhausting.”

She was procrastinating. I raised an eyebrow but sat on the other end of the couch. “All in a day’s work,” I replied.

Eliza looked me up and down. “What are you doing so far away?”

I swallowed. “Guarding my heart.”

She held out her hand, beckoning me closer.

I took it.