Fleurs pour une fleur

I walked into the hotel feeling confused and a little nauseous. Whether the latter was because of the wine I’d drunk or something else, I couldn’t tell.

At the reception desk, I picked up my messages: one was from Mom, the other from my roommate Daisy (probably wanting to know where she’d put the remote or something equally ridiculous).

I decided to take a nice, long shower before returning their calls. The heat of the water cleared my head and soothed away the beginnings of the headache I always got after drinking red wine.

Toweling off my hair in the bathroom, I heard a knock at the door.

“Coming,” I called, wondering who it was. My thoughts went immediately to Sebastian. I slipped on a robe and went to open the door.

A hotel attendant stood there barely visible over a large bouquet of red roses.

“Meez Nichols? These are pour vous.”

I thanked him and took the roses. As I placed the vase on a table in my room, a card fell out from between the roses.

The card read simply: Fleurs pour une fleur. Sebastian. Nothing more, nothing less.

If he liked me, why didn’t he kiss me?

Oh, Emily, stop being a child. You finally meet a guy who respects you and you’re not happy? Come on.

He probably thinks I’m a prude.

I’d rather he think you’re a prude than a slut! And besides, he did bring you roses. Twice.

Oh my god, I was going insane. I was actually speaking to myself. Out loud. I put my hand to my mouth and hoped the walls in this hotel were nice and thick.

Tomorrow was Monday and I had the whole morning and afternoon to myself. The museum closed at 7:00 PM, so I probably wouldn’t hear from Sebastian until then.

I had a week left in Paris before my return flight. The new semester at NYU started the following Monday. Seven days left in Paris. Seven days to visit museums, go shopping, eat French bread and French cheese, and be with Sebastian.

And possibly even fall in love.

All of a sudden, seven days didn’t sound like much time at all.

The End

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