26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Hazel

Once again, I'm waiting in line at the reservation desk, but I keep letting other people in front of me. I've been doing that for the last couple of days. I keep shuffling around the departure hall like a zombie, trying to decide between going back to Olivier to apologize and explain, or giving up and flying back home. Frankly, that's what I deserve. I lied to him. And given his history, I can't blame him for the way he reacted. I deserve the pain, the heartache. Yet I can't bring myself to make a decision. It's like my own brain is adding to the confusion, torturing me even more. And I know I've earned it.

I receive curious looks from the other travelers every time I step back in line, though now there's an additional hint of disgust. Granted, I haven't showered in two days, and I look like hell. The sink in the airport restrooms might actually be making me filthier every time I use it.

Frankly, besides the fact that I clearly enjoy torturing myself, I don't know why I'm still here. Waiting around won't change anything. It's not like Olivier is going to run into the terminal, all sweaty and searching for me because he loves me and doesn't want me to leave. I know I mentioned that my life was a romcom, but I've learned very well by now that I'm not the girl that gets the happy ending. Instead, I'm perpetually stuck at the beginning of the movie. And it's my own darn fault.

Yet somehow, I can't bring myself to walk up to that counter and schedule my flight home. Because the truth is, I don't want to go. Crazy, since I hated this city from day one. But things changed. Now, I want to stay. And I want Olivier.

No, I can't leave. Not until I've told him that I love him. What if those words could change his mind? Love is supposed to be one of the most powerful forces in the universe. If there was a rock-paper-scissors with love, I'm pretty sure love would trump everything else. Even lies. At least, that's what those cheesy romcoms try to teach us.

That's it. I've made up my mind. I'm going back. Whatever happens, I'm ending this story tonight—happy or not. If there's one thing this episode in life has taught me, it's that I have to be honest, with others and with myself, or I'll regret it for the rest of my life. So that's what I'll do. Even if it does twist the knife in my wounded heart.

I stumble over my suitcase as I try to back out of the line, apologizing to the three people who I've knocked aside in the process. Then, I speed-walk back to the metro station. I elbow my way across the platform, and when the train rolls up, I fight my way inside. Which is not an easy task when your suitcase is almost as big—and as heavy—as you. But there's no way I'm not catching this train. People curse in French at the rude American, but I couldn't care less.

I'm now scrambling like a maniac through the second station, where I'm going to catch the next line to Olivier's neighborhood. More French curses are spat at me as I run into people or hit them with my suitcase .

I'm wiping the sweat from my forehead when I collide with someone. But instead of a hard shock, the impact is soft and smells like cinnamon. And lemongrass.

My heart pounds harder as I raise my head, my eyes meeting Olivier's.

He opens his mouth at the same time as me. Then, he shakes his head, incredulous.

"What?"

"You?"

"What are you doing here?" we finally ask at the same time, and I bite my lip to contain my smile.

"I came back for you," I say, still catching my breath.

His lips tilt into a beaming smile, showcasing his delicious dimple. "Me too. I can't let you go, Hazel."

"I'm sorry I lied to you. I was there to critique your restaurant when we met, but I couldn't tell you. And then, you offered me a room, and it got complicated. But it's not who I am, and I'll never—"

He tucks a lock of sweaty hair behind my ear. "I know. I forgive you. And I overreacted. The whole thing brought up bad memories of my ex."

"You forgive me?" I breathe, my heart fluttering. "Are you sure? "

His eyes are brimming with sincerity. "Yes, I'm sure. You're nothing like her. I understand that. Please, Hazel, can I come with you?"

I do a double take. "What? To the US?"

He nods, cupping my face in his hands. "I can cook anywhere. As long as we're together, I'll be fine."

My heart explodes at his words. He's willing to leave his entire life behind—for me?

"But you love Paris," I say. "And your family is here."

He caresses my cheek softly. "All I need is you, Hazel. I don't want you to stay in a city you hate, just for my sake. And I wouldn't say no to some warm Floridian weather either," he adds with a chuckle.

That makes me smile. "But I don't hate Paris anymore. How could I when it's the place I found love?"

His features soften, and once again, I take in how beautiful this man is, even beneath the horrible fluorescent lights of the metro station. "You love me?"

I feel the blush heating up my cheeks. Maybe I should have held onto that or waited for him to say it first. But it's the truth, and I'm done lying to the man I love. "I do."

"I love you too," he breathes, sending my heart soaring on a bungee jump .

I tut. " En fran?ais, s'il vous plait? "

" Je t'aime , Hazel."

"Much better," I say, placing a hand on his chest. He covers it with his. "So, it looks like we're both in loaf , then?"

A smile is now slowly building on his face, but I don't give it time to reach his ears. Letting go of my suitcase, I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. He lifts me up, and we kiss until we can't feel our lips anymore, our bodies seeming to melt into one person. One very happy person.

You know the scene at the end of a romcom, where the couple meets in the airport, and they finally make up and kiss?

Well, this isn't like that at all.

The corridor we're in smells like trash and urine, there's a gap-toothed homeless guy huddled on a blanket right next to us, and people keep bumping into us because we're in the middle of the way.

There is absolutely nothing romantic about this scene. But it doesn't matter.

Why would I need some fictional romance setting when I've got the real deal? In a way, this is even more perfect. I came to Paris with my head full of fantasies, but fantasies don't exist.

And let me tell you something. Reality is a whole lot better.