Page 38 of Say You'll Stay
Maybe it’s the lingering exhaustion from the cross-country trip. Or the unshakable sense that I’m being watched, studied, hunted. My hand clenches reflexively in my pocket, fingers brushing against the small canister of pepper spray that has become my constant companion.
Get a grip, Cara. You’re just being paranoid.
Louis’s familiar laughter cuts through the din, and I pivot instinctively toward the sound. He’s standing outside a trendy cafe, all effortless charm in a fitted suit as he chats with a stunning blonde woman. For a moment, the sight fills me with an irrational flare of something acidic—jealousy? dismay? Loneliness?
Thoughts of June fills my mind, and I find myself missing him…missing his touch.
Then Louis spots me and that signature smile, the one that could melt glaciers, stretches across his face. With a gentle hand on the small of the blonde’s back, he guides her toward me.
“Cara! You’re never going to believe who I just ran into.”
Before I can react, he sweeps me up in one of his trademark hugs, all warmth and solid reassurance.
My cheek grazes his lapel, and I inhale the intoxicating blend of his cologne and the faint traces of cedar and carnations that is uniquely Louis.
Instantly, the chill recedes, if only for a moment. Being wrapped in Louis’s embrace is like sinking into the comforting familiarity of a favorite sweater. Safe, secure, something to be savored until it inevitably slips from your shoulders.
All too soon, he releases me, though his hands linger on my shoulders as he pivots to make the introduction.
“Cara, I’d like you to meet my niece, Bianca. Bianca, this is Cara, the remarkable artist I’ve been telling you about.”
Bianca gives me a warm smile, all polished beauty and understated wealth. Up close, it’s apparent she and Louis share the same striking eyes, the same regal bone structure that seems to mark them as members of some nigh-untouchable aristocracy.
“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, Cara.” Her voice is lilting and melodic, cultured without being affected. “Louis speaks of you so fondly, I feel as if I know you already.”
There’s a knowing glint in Louis’s eyes as they meet mine, a silent acknowledgment that he’s been waxing poetic about my virtues once again. I shoot him a playful glare, but I can’t quite keep the grin from tugging at my lips.
“Is that so?” I arch an eyebrow at him. “I’d ask what kind of stories he’s been telling, but knowing Louis, they’re probably too scandalous for polite company.”
Louis clutches his chest in an exaggerated show of mock indignation. “Why, Cara! I’m wounded that you’d impugn my honor in such a brazen manner.” He turns to his niece, all teasing levity. “This is the thanks I get for simply celebrating the boundless talents of my dearest friend.”
Bianca laughs, the sound like a tinkling crystal chime. “Yes, well, if the stories are anything like the ones I grew up hearing about you, dear uncle, I can only imagine.”
Their banter is easy, the kind of effortless rapport that speaks of a bond forged in equal parts deep affection and gentle needling. I can’t help but feel a fleeting pang at being on the outside of that intimacy looking in.
But then Louis’s arm drapes casually across my shoulders, and the chill that had been whispering through my mind goes utterly still and silent.
“So, Cara, I was just filling Bianca in on the main reason for my extended stay.” The arm around me squeezes lightly, a comforting anchor. “My plan to spend some quality time getting to know my delightful niece a bit better, seeing as a certain scamp barely lets me visit anymore.”
Bianca lets out a long-suffering sigh far too theatric to be sincere. “Uncle Louis, you know that’s not true at all. I’m simply trying to give you space to focus on the extraordinary, globe-spanning adventures that make up your daily life as an elite international art courier.”
There’s an impish glint in her eyes, one I’ve seen countless times when Louis and I are winding each other up. Clearly, the teasing, affectionate banter is a family trait they both relish in.
“Yes, well,” Louis continues, his tone drier than the Sahara, “whatever mundane duties I may occasionally engage in pale in comparison to your roles as both philanthropic socialite and pearl of the western catalytic heritage scene.”
I feel a surprised laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest. Only Louis could make even the most banal exchanges seem like excerpts from the world’s most deliciously worded comic drama.
In that moment, some of the weight I’ve been carrying seems to lift ever so slightly. The tension leaches from my shoulders as I take in the warm familiarity of Louis and his childhood friends’ easy rapport.
This, here, is the kind of uncomplicated affection and acceptance that has been in such short supply lately.
“Well,” I chime in, giving Louis’s arm a playful jab with my elbow, “we all can’t be ridiculously wealthy and well-connected art dealers, now can we? Some of us poors have to make do slumming it in the creative gutter, trading our souls to the comic book ninja assassins one paneled page at a time.”
Louis’s eyes crease with mirth, and I realize just how long it’s been since I’ve allowed myself to simply…breathe. To lean into the easy camaraderie of friends and revel in the safety of companionship without agenda or expectation.
But the moment, as all too many seem to lately, is fleeting.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of movement - a tall, imposing figure in a dark suit and mirrored shades weaving through the crowd. My pulse kicks up a frantic staccato as something primal and instinctual sets every nerve afire.