𝐈𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄 when he says it might be both. If anything, it only makes the whole thing worse, because he looks far too pleased with himself for a man who has just admitted that three unnamed surprises may come with questionable intentions. She turns her head toward him, her brows lifting as if she is considering the evidence very carefully. ❝ You know, zat sounds less like reassurance and more like a confession, ❞ she says, though the smile at the corner of her mouth gives her away before the words can sound too serious.
When he admits he is worried about giving her control of the radio, her eyes narrow again, this time with clearer amusement. ❝ You should be, ❞ she says, as if the matter is very serious. ❝ I could 'ave terrible taste. You do not know. ❞ But again she does not reach for the station. His car, his city, his plan, his music. She had asked to see Los Angeles through him, and perhaps that includes the small things too. The songs he leaves on. The streets he knows without thinking. The places he chooses first because they have already become part of him. So she leaves his station untouched, though her fingers begin tapping against her bag in time with the song. Apparently, his music taste has survived the first test.
Then he asks what brought her to L.A and she lets her head turn slightly toward him, the corner of her mouth lifting. ❝ Ze sun, obviously, ❞ she says first, as if that alone should explain everything. ❝ I am very delicate. I require warmth, good light. ❞ It is a joke, though not completely untrue. Los Angeles does have that quality, as if everything in it is already waiting to become part of a story, too bright, too vast, too much to understand in one look. She turns her gaze back to the road, watching the city pass in fragments through the windshield. The cars, the palm trees, the sharp sun on the buildings. It is still unfamiliar, still loud and wide in ways Paris never was, but perhaps that is exactly why she had come.
❝ I needed something new, ❞ she continues. ❝ I think I was waiting for my own life to feel like a story again, not only ze ones I give to other people. I just needed a place zat did not already know me. ❞ Her heart-shaped mouth softens a little, then she looks back toward the road. ❝ Do not get me wrong, I love Paris. But I do not know… ❞ Her bare shoulders lift in a small, delicate shrug. ❝ I wanted somewhere different enough to frighten me a little. ❞ Then she turns her head from the road to him, her eyes resting on his face a little longer this time. ❝ L.A. seemed bold enough. ❞
Bold enough. The city had been that, certainly. So had the move. And perhaps, now, so was the man sitting beside her, carrying a day full of surprises and a smile that made her thoughts less obedient than she would like. She should look away, but she lets herself stay there for another moment, her smile softening.
