The man laughs and smacks my shoulder. “See? Your lady cannot stand cigarettes. You know that about her, right?”
“Of course,” I say, quickly, before it occurs to me what he truly means by your lady.
“We only found out yesterday when the previous occupant moved out. It is against our rules, but what can you do? Now we have to clean it out, and it’s awful. She won’t like it. She sent me a long list of likes and dislikes. I’m sure you know them all.”
“Yes, of course,” I say quickly, even though I pretty much only know that chocolate croissants, coffee, and adorable entryways are on the top of her list of pros.
“But the studio we have is quite large, and we will give her a discount. I wanted to explain this to her, but I thought it best to do it in person.” He turns to Joy. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.”
“It’s okay,” she says, beaming.
“And I will show you the studio now. I think you will like it,” he says with a smile, gesturing to the stairs. “Be very careful. This is an old building, and it has a narrow wooden staircase.”
Joy’s eyes twinkle as she takes the first step. She makes a sound like a squeak. “Oh my God, I love it. It’s uneven.”
I roll my eyes as I laugh. “First the door, now the uneven steps. Remember, you do have to walk up these every day.”
She marches up, head held high. “I don’t care. They are the complete opposite of my big fat driveway back home. Therefore, I love these uneven steps.”
When we reach the second floor, Stephen heads to a door at the end of a narrow hallway and unlocks it, opening into a relatively well-lit and admittedly spacious studio.
Joy wanders in, running her hand over the slim kitchen counter, along the back of a black leather couch, and then over the frame of a window that lets in a decent amount of light, considering it’s on the second floor.
She turns around. “It’s not bad. I had just hoped for more light.” She looks at me. “Know what I mean?”
I nod. “Yes. You do love your light,” I say, since I’m quickly learning Joy doesn’t just like things. She falls hard for them. She’s a woman who goes all-in. And, like that, my dirty mind slips to thoughts of things I’d like to put all in her.
Crap.
Must clean filth from brain now.
I glance at Stephen. That does the trick. He taps his finger against his lip. “Hmm.”
“You have a way for her to have more light?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath, claps his hands together, speaking to us both. “Okay, I like you two. I want you to have a good deal. You are young lovers and have so much energy. I have an idea.”
My instinct to correct mistakes kicks in. “We’re not—”
Joy steps on my toe. Hard. If there’s one language I understand thoroughly it’s shut the fuck up when I smack you. I zip my lips.
“This might not be to your taste,” Stephen says to me, switching to rapid-fire French again. “The flat I have in mind is one we don’t rent often. It’s usually just on Airbnb for those who want a true Parisian experience, and can brave the stairs.” He tips his forehead to Joy. “I have a feeling she might like it. She has a certain exuberance about her,” he says with a wink, and I nod in acknowledgement then turn to Joy.
“He says you’re exuberant, and he has something else that you might like.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Exuberant is my middle name.”
Stephen smiles. “But it’s on the sixth floor. You’ll need to climb up the uneven eighty-four steps every time to reach this place. We don’t have a lift.”
I nod and give Joy the overview.
To my complete non-surprise, she says, “I want to see it.”
We climb. Up and around. The steps groan and shriek their displeasure with every footfall. This is precisely the type of climb no one wants.
When we reach the top floor, Stephen unlocks a door and tugs it open.
Once inside, Joy gasps. She blinks, taking in the sun-drenched flat. The living room is dripping with natural light. It’s bathed in it, and Joy marches to the windows, places her hands on the edge of the floor-to-ceiling shutters that open onto a tiny terrace, and gazes outside. Honestly, she’s in a perfect position for all the things we can’t do anymore. I do my best to imagine she’s thinking deep thoughts about turtles or hamburgers, and that helps me navigate my way out of the dirty zone.
She spins around. “And it has parquet floors, too. Gah!”
I laugh. “Maybe wait till he gives you more details and a price.”
But she can’t even wait, because she pushes open the door to the bedroom. “More windows,” she calls out, and when she strides out of it, she points to an open set of stairs at the end of the living room. “Where do those go?”
“Ah, yes,” Stephen says with a quirk in his lips. “We have a rooftop terrace here. Like a garden.”
Her eyes widen, and she heads up the stairs and momentarily out of sight. I follow, quickly joining her on the roof. Potted plants and flowers line the edges, and an iron railing rises four feet high. She wraps her hands around it and stares at the endless view of Paris. “Everything,” she whispers, wonder in her tone. “I can see everything.”
Stephen cuts in. “This one is a little bit more. Because of the terrace.”
She turns around. “I’ll take it.”
Stephens smiles and shrugs. “It is perfect for lovers, no?”
Joy wraps a hand around my arm, squeezing my bicep. For a moment, I’m speechless, all from her hand
