He was looking at her, waiting for her to say something, but her mind was struggling to remember what it was they were talking about.

“Look,” Emily said out loud as she shifted a little away from Tyler, then flicked through the book they had discovered in Hatchards, to the very last page of the story. She pointed to a picture of the girls standing in an art gallery filled with abstract paintings. In the corner was a tiny, cartoonesque replica of the Mona Lisa.

“Everything we added was for a reason.” Emily began to type again, trying not to register the warmth of his breath on her neck as he read. “Just as with every other book, there is a list at the very back, asking the readers to find each and every item that is of importance. This book isn’t just about a girl in a wheelchair named Ophelia getting to ride a horse, it’s about teaching children not to follow the crowd.”

Her grandmother always told her not to care what other people thought. Emily looked away as she felt the weight of Tyler’s eyes on her again. She tried not to imagine his mind working through all the possible reasons someone would need to teach their grandchild such a lesson.

Emily wondered if he would connect the dots, realize the book was written shortly after she went back to school, when most of her physical scars were healed. It was when she found out how cruel children could be to anyone who didn’t quite fit in, no matter the reason.

“You are allowed to talk to me, you know.”

His words surprised her, given how he witnessed firsthand the extent of her injuries. He knew how long it took her to learn to talk, to walk again, to do all the things she once took for granted.

“I can’t.” She didn’t talk to anyone. It was a habit she didn’t know how to break, because modern technology, the dominance of email, texts, and the Internet, meant she never had much reason to speak to anyone, other than her grandmother and the birds.

“Can’t?” Tyler said, watching as she drained her glass. “Or won’t?”

“Please,” she whispered, turning her face away.

For a moment he waited, hand resting on the table between them, and she couldn’t help but think of how it would feel if he were to put those hands on her. Then he sighed, shifted his weight, and she felt him lean away.

“Paris it is, then. First train leaves St. Pancras International just after five-thirty tomorrow morning, but personally I’d rather not drag myself out of bed at such an ungodly hour.” He stopped and saw the look of horror on Emily’s face. “You want to go now?” He exhaled slowly, shook his head as he looked at his watch. “I assumed you’d want to at least rest for a bit, but I guess we could go today if there are still seats available.”