Chapter 20
I awake to the sound of Esmé’s feet on the floor as she pulls open the curtains to welcome in the day. I look at myself. I’m a mess. My pages are creased, my spine is stretched, François’ ink has left a mark on me. And his scent is inside me. His pages are folded over me, holding me. I am absorbing as much of the delicious moment as my signatures will allow.
“Good morning,” I whisper to François.
“Quoi? Qui?” he replies, as he wakes. He shifts his pages slightly.
“Last night was . . . ” I look intently into his typeface, “amazing.”
François coos back at me. “Merci pour hier soir, mais j’ai beaucoup de choses à faire aujourd’hui.”
“Me too,” I respond to whatever he’s saying.
“Peux-tu bouger pour me laisser tranquille?”
“Yes. I feel the same way,” I say, inhaling his fiber
