The waiter appeared and Jeanine wasn’t certain if he said a word. Luke moved his hands when he talked. The palms were thick, fingers long and active as he described Angel’s prank on her high school sweetheart. Evidently, the couple was on a break, but Angel wanted to make certain that another girl felt uncomfortable whenever she went near Marcus.

“Angel would just bunch her hands,” Luke demonstrated, “when she said his name to this poor girl. She’d accidently, kill or pointed out a spider or some other predatory insect and then bring his name up or lead her victim into saying it. The worst was when the wind would whip up and somehow Angel would find a leaf or stick working its way across the girl’s back.”

“How did Marcus react?”

“He was livid,” Luke laughed. “He made certain that there were real spiders in Angel’s backpack, locker, and bedroom. He drew the line at her stable. They were in the cafeteria sounding like crazy people blaming the other for spider infestations and leaf attacks. But she learned the lesson; boundaries are about respect nor abandonment.”

“But she still has boundary problems?” The waiter placed two plates in front of them containing ham and cheese in subrolls next to a small salad.

“Oh, yeah.” Luke smiled gleefully. “We make absolutely certain that it’s necessary for her to stick her nose in and organize us.”

Jeanine took a bite and found butter in the roll with the ham and cheese. It wasn’t pleasant, not horrible, but not pleasant.

Luke mirrored her action when he’d stopped talking. His eye brows rose as he chewed slowly.

“Not my first choice of condiment,” Jeanine said after swallowing.

Luke exaggerated his sigh, mocking with his next words, “Being American is so hard.” He leaned forward, “I’ll probably miss it when I go back to The States.”

“I already feel that way about some of the dishes my friend, Stephanie’s family makes. Some of the dishes are Croatian and probably impossible for me to recreate any other time. It’s not the same without the people these who make it special. It’s like their presence colors the food regardless of taste.”

“I can see that,” Luke nodded. “Stephanie?”

“She was an exchange student when I was in high school. She stayed in my house. Most of us participating in the program hung out together. Steph and I stayed in touch.”

“Where are you staying?”

“With her in Butry sur Oise.” She fidgeted, “That’s next to the town where Van Gogh is buried. I was going to end with that church during my round.”

“I’m staying in that town,” Luke exclaimed. “It’s awesome.”

Jeanine stood. “We might as well get started.”

Luke had his payment ready before the waiter appeared with the check.

One church they visited had carvings of religious figures in the floor itself, where the peasants worshipped. Jeanine was dismayed at the willful destruction of the religious icons in all of the churches, especially this one where a sledge hammer would’ve been needed to pound out the faces in the floor. She’d known that it had happened during the French Revolution. The Madonna was heavily present in many churches and not just in relationship to Jesus Christ. She tried to catch the guide to see if there was any recognized significance to each “art”chitectural design within the building but kept missing them.

Between conversations, Luke inspected the buildings, the statues, and whatnot intently, while she pursued what she called Semiotic Anthropology. When she noticed his interest in the buildings, he explained, “For me and my company, landscape architecture isn’t just about designing the plant part of the gardens. I design the structure of the gardens, the drainage and some of the stone fencing and buildings that are included in a lot them.”

Jeanine had to admit that the tension in her lower abdomen and thighs indicated a serious attraction she felt for him. She stared enough at him to notice the sun made his hair seem coppery, though while indoors, it looked to be a rich brown. He had a jutting chin that bordered caricature-esque, but blended appealingly with his angular jaw line. His shoulders, thrown back and level, were broad and probably should have belonged on someone much taller than him. His posture showed off a nicely sculpted body and implied a commitment to a well-rounded fitness regimen. Then, he was tentative and gentle whenever he reached out to touch anything in the buildings. He was respectful and that, in itself, was sexy.

His reverence prompted her to ask, “Are you Catholic?” The building was crowded with faces, she wondered if anyone were listening to their odd conversations.

He smiled as if at an inner joke. “Ah. No.” He didn’t elaborate, and he seemed to close the subject in one word. It was then, as he took another photo and started typing that she realized he’d taken almost as many photos as she. Like her, he added text with each of them. Was he making a note and storing it somewhere? What were the texts about?

They were on the metro heading toward another famous church when his phone rang with Ray Charles’ “Sweet Georgia Brown.” He excused himself.

The metro stopped and she alighted out. He hung up when he joined her as she approached the building. She scanned the crowd around them seeing that he’d hung up. “What’s up?”

“The club tonight. Uh… our tour guide, Wynnona, has already arranged something that could be pretty cool. Evidently, it was the real reason why we ended up in France. But we’ll have to dress pretty fancy.” His lip curled a little showing his distaste with the last word.

“You don’t like fancy?”

“Usually, it’s very restricting, I think, pretentious on most occasions.” He examined how her body moved, or in this moment her rather sudden stillness a whirlwind of movement, as he explained, “I was hoping we might do something that was less choreographed and stressful.”

Luke followed where her gaze had alighted and asked, “Were you meeting someone here?” He realized that she frequently examined of her surroundings. Sometimes, she was discreet, but sometimes, overtly like that moment. He’d assumed it was eagerness to absorb the environment or to prevent another sandal induced stumble, but she seemed to still and wasn’t looking at the landscape.

Jeanine had no idea she was that obvious when she looked around. She performed the dizzying circumferential look-see and more serious than she’d been all day she answered, “No. Why?”

He grinned ignoring the increasing tension in the atmosphere. “No reason. Do you have a fancy dress?” He suspected his intense focus on her probably was what caused him to think another person might hyper focus on her as well. He had a hunch her apparently unconscious habit had brought on this feeling out of nowhere; the feeling that they were being watched. He looked around them again..

“Fancy dress?” Jeanine asked affecting a southern drawl like Mae West might have and angled her body close to his. She executed an exaggerated fluttering of her lashes at him. “Why, sir, by whatever do you mean by a fancy dress? Are you suggesting I am a fancy lady?” While a part of her wondered if he’d understand the old terminology for a prostitute, she multitasked in making a note to ask how often he’d had to decide if an event is pretentious or restricting or neither.

“Elegant.” He said getting the gist of her joke. “Formal. But if you want a little role playing…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He really enjoyed having her stand so close. Angled just so, he could almost see down her cleavage. It would be ungentlemanly of him to say anything. But then again, it was ungentlemanly motivation encouraging him to get closer much less enjoy the view. His gaze was pulled to view the a soft, playful look in her eyes, a quirk of her lips, the arch of a single brow. He felt her physically brush of her body against his; her fingers on his arm, her knee didn’t quite tap his, her breath danced up his sternum.

“No.” She whispered. With a little pride, she straightened to level a laughing, challenging gaze on him. She stated, “I don’t own an elegant dress, but I’m sure I can get one from a friend or something.”

He barely heard her answer when a vibrating buzz of his phone distracted him. He exhaled for an extended moment and abruptly turned sideways. He started texting away. “Would you like to bring someone; a girl about your age?” With his head bent, he missed the rapid change of her expressions.

Surprise arched her eyebrows at first. Then she relaxed and decided to pretend to be offended. “You just said a girl about my age,” her tone must’ve broken through because his head shot up in alarm only to find an amused expression on her face, “to someone studying women’s rights in a foreign country.” She smiled, “I might take offense except I’m curious. Why?”

Chagrinned, he tilted his head and affected these soulfully sorry eyes, “I’m really sorry. I just got a text. Judd had hoped he’d find himself a date by tonight, but didn’t. Later this week, I’ll take you to see … something.” He finished lamely.

“So, you want me to pimp my friends out.” She playfully accused then leaned a little to the side.

Now, he was on board with her playful banter, “That’s a take on it. But I did try more of bartering persuasion tactic,” He scanned the area before he stepped a little closer and lowered his voice for more intimacy and affectively changing the subject, “Would you like me to take you home?” It came out more suggestive than playful. He watched her pupils enlarge, her mouth drop open just a little, and heard her breath catch.

This sudden shift in his vicinity, tone, and topic startled her but not as much as her normally controlled response to aggressive come-ons. She found she was eating up his presence. She wanted to nuzzle right into his chest or maybe just pet it a little. It was an inclination so strong, it was foreign to her. She didn’t know how to respond to his question and froze. It had more layers to it than the teasing from earlier. After a few moments, she stepped back and put on her huge smile that crinkled her eyes and nose, “That’s alright.” The space seemed to lighten the pressure in her chest but sink her stomach, “I have to get on finding a dress that might fit and a person that might go.” She stepped backward a few feet more. “We can meet at say 8?” She stepped further away, “Where abouts?” She called across 12 feet of separation.

“Across the street from The Grand Rex.” He glanced at his phone for a split second to find the name of the facility; she’d moved yet further away toward the Metro and then, finally, turn away. He watched her leave, noting her movement high-lighted the femininity of her body.

A similar looking female, a brunette in a pink sweater with a scarf around her neck and huge sunglasses on her face, caught his eye. She was eating a croissant about 40 feet away half hidden by a pillar. She joined a group of youth who’d descended into the subway, she blended into the group but not quite. His common sense said it could’ve been his overactive imagination and Angel’s warning. His gut had his posture change. His vision started to blur and fix on the girl in pink. She could have belonged with the group, but the tightening in his stomach encouraged Luke to suspected Angel’s missive was about danger, Jeanine’s danger.

Then, the group were on the Metro, out of reach.