He cut himself short. The smile, I was beginning to adore, dimmed as he came to a halt in a dark narrow court between four buildings.
The space appeared completely deserted. Then I spotted large, tall figures sneaking in the surrounding shadows.
“Zeph?” I half-whispered, sensing his body suddenly tense.
Gently nudging me behind him, he tugged the sleeves of his shirt up past his elbows. I noticed long silvery scars running up the back of his forearms.
One of the large shapes stepped out of the shadows, emerging as a massive man. He was completely bald with a large, intricate tattoo running around his neck and down one of his arms.
The tattoo on the stranger’s arm flashed with streaks of red. They twinkled along the lines of his body art, dove under the short sleeve of his t-shirt, then skimmed around his neck before disappearing completely.
That must be a trick of the light from the street behind us. I blinked, perplexed and worried at the sight of this silent, ominous shape in front of us.
“On the other hand.” Zeph took my arm, stepping back, away from the menacing stranger. “Taking the long way may be more enjoyable tonight.”
Shielding me from the scary figures in the courtyard, Zeph quickly retreated back into the well-lit street.
“Who were those guys?” I asked when we were back in the relative safety of light and people once again.
Leading me down the street, Zeph glanced over his shoulder a few times.
“I’m not sure.” He yanked his sleeves down again, concealing the pale lines on his arms. “Don’t worry about them. They’re gone. All is good.” His voice lifted, and he hugged my waist again. “We’re going up, remember?”
No one seemed to be following us from the courtyard, and I slowly allowed my body to relax against his again. Since Zeph had dismissed tonight’s incident, I decided to do the same.
Another block down the street, he maneuvered me between the pedestrians to another basement door. This one was painted with red, white, and blue stripes.
“This is down. Not up,” I pointed out, as we descended the concrete steps. “Down is the opposite of up, Zeph.” I giggled, my mood lifting again, along with his.
“Sometimes you need to go down before you can go up.” He opened the door to a small ice cream parlor. “What flavor is your favorite?”
Choosing just one flavor of ice cream proved to be impossible. Most of the space was taken up by a long counter flanked by two tall refrigerated display cases, with dozens of different flavors and thousands of possible combinations.
After scouring through them all for a few minutes and tasting nearly half of them, I finally asked for a double scoop of pistachio and lemon ice cream layered with mango sorbet.
“One scoop of strawberry ice cream, please,” Zeph ordered, after I had gotten my combination of flavors tastefully arranged in a tall glass, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with shredded coconut.
“That’s it?” I couldn’t believe my ears, hearing his order. “Just the good old plain strawberry?”
“Is strawberry not adventurous enough for you?” He took the small waffle cone from the man behind the counter.
“Only one scoop? How is that nearly enough?” I shook my head.
“To be honest, I’m counting on stealing a lick or two of yours.” Lifting an eyebrow, he stalked my way, pretending to go after my ice cream.
“No way!” I giggled, dashing for the door. “There are no friends in love, and war, and...ice cream.”
He caught me by my elbow.
“I’m not sharing.” I said firmly, a wide smile refusing to leave my face.
“This way.” He opened the door, next to the one we came in. “We need to go up, now. Remember? Way, way up.” He started to ascend the narrow staircase behind the door.
Holding my ice cream in one hand, I placed the other on the metal railing and followed him up. One flight of stairs after another, and another, and another...
After a while, the concrete steps were replaced by a narrower set of wooden ones, then they turned into a metal, spiral staircase.
“Does it ever end?” I panted from the effort of climbing up for what felt like forever.
“Eventually,” Zeph replied cheerfully, taking another bite of his ice cream. “Almost there. Trust me, the view is worth it.”
I stomped up a few more steps, licking my ice cream above the edge of the glass as it started to melt.
“Voila!” Zeph opened the door at the very top of the winding staircase.
Warm summer breeze blew in playing with my hair as I followed Zeph onto a tiny patio outside.
“The Eiffel Tower is on the other side of the rooftops,” he explained. “But I like the view on this side probably even more. It’s less tired, you know.”
“It’s beautiful,” I agreed, gliding my gaze up the rows of rooftops that ascended the hill to the Sacré-Cœur Basilica. Backlit by bright lights, its building sharply stood out against the night sky.
“Sound travels well over all of this.” Zeph swept his arm in front of us.
“You sing from here?”
“Not as often as I’d like.” He laughed. “And definitely not as loud as I would want to. You may be surprised, but there are some people in this world who have no appreciation for music.” He shrugged, finishing his ice cream in a few more bites, then stepped closer to the metal railing, facing the city.
His chest rose with a deep breath before he unexpectedly belted out a line of Alfredo from La Traviata by Verdi,“Libiamo, libiamo ne'lieti calici—”
“Tais-toi!”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Ta gueule!”
Immediately came in French and English from quite a few directions.
“See?” He spread his arms wide, grinning at me. “There are no music lovers in this building.”
I hid a chuckle behind my hand. “You know, the time of the night might be severely impairing their appreciation right now.”
Something about Zeph singing his heart out from a Parisian rooftop seemed exceptionally hilarious to me. Personally, though, he could sing anything to me anytime. As far as I was concerned, I’d listen to him day and night.
“You have an amazing voice, Zeph. I’m no expert, but your range is impressive. I mean, that was just one line, but opera singing is not an easy feat.”
“According to Lero, opera is the most acceptable way of singing.”
“Lero? But he owns a cabaret not an opera theatre.” I’d heard a wide variety of music performed at Le Loup Solitaire that night.
“That is probably the only reason why he suffers through my performing other music genres. Cabaret crowds love variety.”
“What genres do you prefer?”
“Honestly? All of them. Why limit yourself? People need all kinds of music. I like to sing what I feel like, depending on the mood I’m in.”
“Really?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Surely, someone who could execute an opera aria this well would have a word or two to say about popular music. “Any genre? Rap, techno, pop, Latin? Rock?”
“They all can be fun,” Zeph insisted. “All have their purpose.”
Tousling his hair in a sexy way, he yanked the collar of his shirt up. With a smoldering look for me, he suddenly broke into the male part of “Señorita.”