Page 44 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“We’re here for only one day,” Pepper says excitedly. “And we’re looking for suggestions of places to go and things to see other than museums.”

The couple exchanges a look, and the gray-haired woman says, “A happy couple like you must see the Wall of Love.”

Pepper’s brows knit, as if a lightbulb in her head went off and she is wrestling with fling versus couple. I don’t want her to overthink it, so I drape my arm over her shoulder and say, “Hear that, honey? I guess we’re going to see the Wall of Love.”

“It’s in the Jehan Rictus Square in Montmartre,” the man says helpfully. “You can catch the métro.”

We take the train, which smells like old sneakers, and we act like silly kids, joking about the smell and trying to guess what the Wall of Love is. “A mural of an orgy, of course,” I say, making her laugh.

“Only if it was designed by a man. I think it’s a graffiti wall, like the one at the Stardust Café in Oak Falls.”

“I don’t remember seeing any graffiti in town.”

“It’s inside the café. We call it the Let It Out wall. It’s covered with decades of proclamations of love, or more likely, lust.”

“And what did you write on that wall?”

She arches a brow. “Nothing I’m going to tell you.”

“You giving me sass, Reckless?” I put my hand on her thigh and squeeze. “I’m not above coercing it out of you.” I lower my lips to hers, taking her in a long, slow kiss that leaves us both breathing so hard, we go back for more.

When we get off the train, there’s a massive number of steps to climb. Pepper huffs out a breath. “We should’ve taken the elevator.”

“You don’t get much exercise, do you?”

“I got plenty of exercise last night.”

I laugh and hug her against my side. “Come on, Montgomery. Show me what you’ve got. I’ll race you, and I’ll even give you a head start. Go.” I smack her ass.

She squeals and bolts up the steps, her arms pumping.

She’s so cute, I can barely stand it. I catch up to her in seconds. “Gotta go faster than that to beat me.” I wrap my arm around her waist, lifting her off her feet, and race up the rest of the steps with her tucked against my side like a football. When we reach the top, we’re both cracking up.

“I can’t believe you did that!” she pants out between laughs. “Don’t your thighs burn?”

No, but my shoulder aches like a bitch. “No, but I’d like to make your thighs burn.”

She blushes a red streak, and I tug her into another kiss, which I can’t seem to stop doing. Nor do I want to. Seeing her unguarded and carefree like this is as spectacular as watching a touchdown play out on the field. I keep my arm around her, wanting to be closer as we head into the garden, which is surrounded by tall buildings and iron fencing. The plants aren’t green or flowering since it’s January, but it’s easy to imagine them with colorful blooms and lush greenery. There are several couples taking pictures in front of the Wall of Love, which is not a mural of an orgy after all or a graffiti wall. It’s a massive, dark-tiled wall with elegant white calligraphy all over it in different languages, and several oddly shaped red areas. “What do you think, Reckless?”

“I think it’s beautiful. There’s a plaque.” She points to it. “Let’s read about it.”

I snag her hand, pulling her back to me. “Isn’t that like googling?”

She winces, and I press my lips to hers.

“I like when you try to break the rules.” I can’t resist stealing another kiss before turning to two middle-aged women, a blonde and a brunette, holding hands. “Excuse me. Do you speak English?”

“Yes, we do,” the blonde answers with a British accent.

“What’s the deal with this wall?” I ask. “Is there a meaning behind it?”

“Yes, a very important one,” the blonde says. “It was designed by two artists, and it says ‘I love you’ in more than two hundred languages, symbolizing love in all its forms.”

“See how the words cross over the lines between the tiles?” her partner asks. “Walls usually divide people. This is a reminder that love can overcome boundaries and connect all of us.” She goes on to tell us more about the artists and the eight-year journey of collecting the I love yous in different languages. “The red marks represent a shattered heart, showing how the human race can be torn apart by a lack of love. If you pieced them all together, they’d form a complete heart.”

“Wow. That’s powerful,” Pepper says, gazing at the wall like she can feel the messages behind it.

I pull her closer and kiss the top of her head, wondering if she’s thinking about a past love. That’s a surprising and uncomfortable thought, but now I want to know if she is.