A Parisian Love Story

Chapter 7: A Stroll Through Montmartre

The sun climbed higher in the sky as Amélie and Ethan stepped out into the bustling streets of Montmartre. The city had fully awakened, its streets filled with the hum of life. Artists were setting up their easels in the square, sketching portraits for curious tourists. Café tables spilled onto the sidewalks, with the clinking of glasses and the scent of fresh croissants filling the air.

Walking side by side, Ethan and Amélie navigated the narrow, winding streets, their steps unhurried, their conversation flowing naturally. The nervous energy of the morning had melted away, replaced by the ease of just being in each other’s company. Every corner they turned seemed to reveal something new: a street musician playing a soft melody on his accordion, a hidden courtyard with vines creeping up the walls, or a shop window displaying hand-painted ceramics.

“So, this is where you grew up?” Ethan asked as they wandered past a little bakery, its display case bursting with colorful macarons and éclairs.

Amélie nodded. “Yes, just a few blocks from here. I used to sit by the Sacré-Cœur with my sketchpad after school, watching the city from above. There’s something about the view from there—it makes everything seem possible.”

Ethan smiled, imagining a younger version of her, wide-eyed and full of dreams. “I can see why this place has so much meaning for you.”

They turned onto Rue Lepic, a steep, winding street dotted with charming shops and cafés. As they walked, Amélie pointed out landmarks from her childhood—a favorite bookshop, a café where she used to sneak away for an espresso when she first started painting seriously.

“I guess this neighborhood shaped me,” Amélie mused. “It’s where I found my passion, and it’s always been a refuge when life feels uncertain.”

Ethan listened, taking in the details of her life. He was captivated not just by her art, but by the way she saw the world—how she drew inspiration from the small, quiet moments of everyday life. “I’ve always admired people who know where they belong,” he said after a moment. “I’ve moved around so much, I’ve never really had a place that felt like home.”

Amélie glanced at him, her expression softening. “Maybe you haven’t found it yet.”

“Maybe not,” Ethan agreed. “But being here… with you, it feels like I’m starting to.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, though she tried not to show it. There was something about the way Ethan spoke that made her feel safe, as if he was as open to this connection as she was. No pretense, no pressure—just the promise of something real.

As they continued walking, they passed a small art gallery with its doors wide open, inviting passersby to step inside. Amélie stopped, her eyes lighting up. “Let’s go in. I’ve been meaning to check out this exhibit.”

Inside, the gallery was small and intimate, the walls lined with abstract paintings in vivid colors. Amélie immediately drifted toward a piece that caught her eye—a canvas filled with swirling blues and greens, evoking the motion of water. Ethan stood beside her, admiring the way she seemed to lose herself in the art, her eyes scanning every detail.

“I could get lost in this,” she whispered, as if speaking more to herself than to him.

Ethan watched her, a soft smile on his face. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Amélie turned, surprised by the sudden compliment. “Why do you say that?”

He shrugged, his smile deepening. “Because you see things differently. You don’t just look at a painting, you feel it. You see the world in a way most people don’t. I guess that’s what makes you such a great artist.”

Amélie’s cheeks warmed, a small blush rising at his words. “I’ve never really thought about it that way.”

“Well, you should,” Ethan said, his tone serious yet warm. “You have a gift, Amélie. And not just with your art. You have this way of making everything around you come alive.”

The sincerity in his voice made her chest tighten. No one had ever spoken to her like that before, like they saw her beyond her work, beyond the walls she’d put up. It scared her, but it also made her feel something she hadn’t in a long time—hope.

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted their quiet moment.

“Amélie?”

She turned to see a tall, handsome man standing in the gallery doorway. He had sharp features, perfectly tousled dark hair, and wore an expensive suit that seemed out of place in the casual art scene of Montmartre. Amélie froze, her eyes widening in recognition.

“Julien,” she said, her voice barely audible.

Ethan glanced between them, sensing the tension immediately. “Who’s this?”

Julien stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Amélie. “It’s been a long time,” he said, ignoring Ethan completely. His tone was smooth, but there was something in his eyes—a familiarity that hinted at a shared past, one that wasn’t entirely pleasant.

Amélie swallowed hard, the air suddenly thick with unease. “Yes, it has.”

Ethan frowned, feeling the shift in her mood. “Amélie, who is this?”

Julien turned to Ethan, finally acknowledging his presence with a slight smirk. “I’m Julien. An old… friend.”

The way he said “friend” made Ethan’s stomach twist with a sudden, inexplicable sense of jealousy. He didn’t know who Julien was to Amélie, but it was clear that his reappearance wasn’t welcome.

Amélie’s voice was tight, barely masking her discomfort. “We should go.”

Julien’s smirk faded, replaced by a look of disappointment, as if he hadn’t expected such a cold reception. “Leaving so soon? I thought maybe we could catch up.”

Ethan stepped closer to Amélie, instinctively protective. “She doesn’t seem interested.”

Julien’s eyes flicked toward Ethan, sizing him up, before turning back to Amélie. “Well, I’m sure we’ll run into each other again, won’t we?”

Amélie didn’t respond, and after a tense pause, Julien gave a curt nod before turning and walking out of the gallery.

The air seemed to rush back into the room once he was gone. Amélie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her body visibly relaxing.

Ethan touched her arm gently. “Who was that?”

Amélie looked away, the weight of Julien’s sudden reappearance heavy on her mind. “Someone I used to know. A long time ago.”

Ethan wanted to press for more, but the look in her eyes told him now wasn’t the time. Whatever history she had with Julien, it wasn’t something she was ready to talk about just yet.

“Let’s get out of here,” Amélie said, her voice soft but steady.

Ethan nodded, placing a comforting hand on her back as they left the gallery together. The streets of Montmartre seemed a little less bright, the easy rhythm of their morning now clouded by Julien’s presence.

But as they walked, side by side once more, Ethan knew one thing for certain: whoever Julien was, he wasn’t going to let him come between what was growing between him and Amélie.