The car pulled to the kerb on the narrowest of streets that seemed only really large enough for two bicycles to pass. Townhouses rose upwards from the pavement, iron Juliet balconies aglow with festive fairy lights, the sound of jazz a whisper in the night air. Milo, the driver, had opened her door and Keeley stood in the street regarding the place Ethan lived. It suited him. It was everything she thought it would be. Individual and soulful, just like him. She hurriedly fastened up her coat then, before ducking her head back into the rear of the vehicle.
‘Do you need any help?’ she whispered.
‘No,’ Ethan replied. ‘It is OK.’
Milo opened the door on Ethan’s side of the vehicle and Ethan stepped out onto the road, before diving back in and gently pulling a sleeping Jeanne into his arms. ‘Thank you, Milo. I will call you when Keeley wishes to go back to her hotel.’
‘D’accord.’ Milo touched his hat and got back into the car.
‘She’s fast asleep,’ Keeley said, walking next to Ethan has he headed towards an archway built into crumbling brickwork. Just to the right was that bakery on the corner he had told her about, a dim light coming from inside that suggested someone was already at work to make the next morning’s baguettes. It was so charming. It wasn’t anything like the hustle and bustle around the Eiffel Tower. It was traditional yet also a little quirky, with brightly painted front doors, some with tiny hedge-edged front gardens creeping onto the pavement with room only for one small table and a chair. Keeley followed Ethan under the archway and into an inner courtyard not visible from the street. There were old-fashioned streetlamps, an area fenced off in the centre with wrought iron benches and more lights hanging from trees growing among the slimline homes. It looked like a walled garden solely for its residents.
‘Keeley,’ Ethan whispered. ‘Could you… help me? The key to my apartment is… in my pocket.’
‘Oh, sorry, yes,’ Keeley said. ‘Where? Should I…’
‘The left side,’ Ethan said, turning a little to aid her search. ‘Or maybe the right. I do not remember.’ He flushed a little and it was cute. ‘Je suis désolé. Sorry.’
Keeley slipped her hand inside the pocket of his coat, needing to stand close to get her fingers in to the very bottom. She was conscious of his proximity and could only imagine what he smelled of. She tried to inhale and inject some vigour to her dulled senses like she had when they had overlooked the Seine. Masculinity. Mystery. Adventure. Although she wasn’t sure it was possible to actually smell any of those words her brain had dealt up. She swallowed and made herself focus on the task in hand. There was nothing in his left-hand pocket.
‘Sorry,’ she breathed. ‘There’s nothing there.’ She moved around the still sleeping Jeanne, and dug into his other pocket. This time she produced a set of keys. ‘Which one?’ she asked. ‘I’ll open the door.’
‘The brass one,’ he whispered.
It was a nice front door, the paint a faded green and peeling off in places, but in complete keeping with the rest of the courtyard of doors and the old, scuffed brickwork. She slotted the key into the lock and turned, stepping back as the door opened and she let Ethan with Jeanne in first. Keeley followed, moving in behind Ethan, taking in the bare brick walls and aged wooden boards beneath her boots. A black iron spiral staircase led upwards and Ethan seemed to have to rearrange Jeanne slightly to avoid knocking any parts of her against the curve of the stairs.
There were photos on the bare bricks – black and white prints of city scenes and people. Some places Keeley recognised – the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame – and others she didn’t – street cafés, a man playing an accordion. It was minimalist, but it was a small area down here. A front door, a hallway and this staircase that wobbled quite a bit with every step she took.
She reached the top and Ethan turned to look at her.
‘I will put her into bed,’ he whispered. ‘The lounge is through there.’ He indicated a closed door just in front of her.
‘Are you sure you don’t need any help?’ she asked him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long. Please, sit down, relax.’ He turned then, manoeuvring into another room on what was a pretty tiny landing area.
Keeley put her hand on the door handle and opened. With the very first crack of opening, Bo-Bo came barrelling through, barking and whining and nearly knocking Keeley sideways in his attempt to get out. The dog made for the room Ethan and Jeanne had gone into and Keeley stepped on into the living area.
It was small but perfectly formed. Wooden floorboards again, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf against one wall containing all manner of items. There were many books, then piles of magazines, toy cars, board games, Rubik’s cube style puzzles, empty wine bottles with burned down candles poking out of them, others that looked like they contained copper strings of lights. Some people might describe it as cluttered, but to Keeley it looked like all of the places she had been with Ethan during their time together. It was acutely him.
She moved to the window – only a few steps and she was there – and looked out over the street below. Even with the window closed against the cold she could still hear the subtle jazz and see those lights on the balconies.
‘Jeanne’s bedroom has a view of the courtyard garden,’ Ethan said.
Keeley hadn’t heard him enter the room and she swung round, knocking something on the floor with her boot. ‘Oh, sorry, I think I…’
‘It is OK,’ Ethan said, crossing the room in two paces and bending over. ‘It is Bo-Bo’s water and food bowl. I will move them.’ He picked up the bowls she hadn’t seen and strode another two paces and through a small arch in the wall into what Keeley could see was the tiniest of kitchens.
He came out again, standing under the arch, looking a little unsure of himself. ‘You would like hot chocolate?’
‘If it isn’t any trouble,’ Keeley answered. ‘The person who invited me has fallen asleep and the dog who was supposed to be pleased to see me couldn’t wait to shoot past me.’ She smiled.
‘The dog is trying to wake Jeanne up,’ Ethan replied. ‘Licking her face like she is an ice cream.’
Keeley stepped towards him. ‘Let me help.’
‘It is OK,’ Ethan said. ‘The kitchen… it is… petite.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Keeley said. ‘I would like to see it.’
Ethan smiled. ‘There is only about a metre to regard.’
‘Aren’t the very best things supposed to come in small packages?’ The second the sentence left her lips she blushed.
His smile widened then, a look of pure sexy mischief dancing in his eyes. ‘Ah, Keeley,’ he breathed. ‘But, sometimes, also what you see is not always what you get.’
Now her blush was turning bonfire hot and she wondered whether she could stand next to him in a confined kitchen space without wondering exactly what the true dimensions of his package was…
Ethan laughed then. ‘Come.’ He beckoned. ‘I will show you what the French stockpile in their cupboards.’