As they switched back towards the 401 at Belleville, Abby gazed back at the water. She watched it fade into the distance like the school earlier.
They arrived in Montreal at seven that evening. Abby loved the vibe she sensed in the city, full of old stone buildings that spoke of culture and history. They drove down Rue Notre-Dame Ouest, passing the Notre-Dame Basilica. She remarked to Jake how beautiful the church looked. It stretched so high to the sky, as if in direct communication with the Almighty. She noticed how the architectural designers of the city found an ingenious way of preserving the old buildings alongside brand new skyscrapers. She previously thought cities should be all one or the other. But seeing them together worked in a way that made Montreal seem timeless. Like the old had just as much to offer the present as the new.
Perhaps even more so.
Jake stopped outside a beautiful five-star hotel. Abby stayed in her seat, hoping to risk embarrassment if this was just a brief stop and not the hotel they would be staying at. The valet attendant came to the car. He opened the door for Abby.
“Thanks,” Jake said, handing him the key and a tip. Abby stepped out. Grabbing her bag out of the back seat, she accepted Jake’s outstretched hand and followed him into the hotel. She noticed the marble floor first. Tan-and-black checkered pattern. The lobby stretched up three storeys, giving her the feeling of freedom that comes with an open sky. A large spiralling staircase wound its way up to the second level. Couches and chairs in an old French colonial style matched the elegant carpet.
“Wait for me here, okay? I’ll get us checked in,” Jake said.
Abby nodded and sat down on a green couch with gold trim. The polished brass casing surrounding the bottom of a nearby column cast her reflection back at her. Straightening her back she sat up, edged her way to the front of the sofa and smiled to herself, thinking for a moment that this was what French nobility must have felt like. She admired her reflection. Despite the road trip, she liked the way she looked. Then she thought perhaps the brass helped to hide her imperfections, like an effect on a computer program to enhance her image.
“All set?” Jake asked, holding a key card in his hand.
They took the elevator to the sixth floor. When the doors opened, Abby noticed that the hallway decor matched the style of the lobby. She loved it, finding it tasteful to see a hotel take as much care designing and maintaining the consistency in the higher floors as they did the lobby.
They walked down the hallway. Jake looked at the numbers and stopped at their door.
Abby felt her pulse in her throat quicken. A jolt of nervousness shot through her stomach.
Jake opened the door.
Oh, wow.
French doors off to the side led to a separate suite. The king bed in front of her revealed a colonial style. She dropped her bag on the ground and approached a large window with a glass balcony door beside it offering a view into the clear Montreal night.
“This is amazing, Jake,” she whispered. Pulling the curtains back farther, she looked out at the glimmering lights and felt the city convey both a vibrant and a peaceful atmosphere. Like it could pick you up if you were down and bring you to a state of fun and enjoyment. Opening the balcony door, she stepped onto the concrete floor. She leaned against the railing and breathed in the night air. She took in the aroma of a steak restaurant nearby. A knock at the door. Strange. We don’t have any luggage coming up.
She looked to Jake.
“A little surprise,” he said.
She couldn’t read his expression.
Jake walked to the door. Abby watched from the balcony. Police? Hotel attendant bringing something Jake forgot at the counter? Her parents? Couldn’t be. The knock didn’t sound like a parent’s knock. It would have been more deliberate. Authoritative. This was timid. Almost weak. Like the person on the other end was unsure of themselves.
Jake opened the door. She couldn’t see the other person. The conversation was quiet and brief. Jake came in. Turned around.
Abby smiled.
“Now you have to be careful,” Jake said. “The last time I opened a bottle I nearly broke a window. So watch out.”
She laughed as Jake aimed the champagne bottle top at the open balcony door. Abby playfully pushed him to the side. “You can’t shoot that thing outside! It might hit someone.”
“A cork. Big deal.”
Pop. The cork flew outside. He poured them each a full glass. They clinked glasses and sat down on the brown wicker balcony chairs. She felt the soothing burn of champagne go down her throat. It seemed like the drink knew exactly how to reach into every part of her to bring her a tingling sensation.
“I love you, Abby.” Jake looked into her eyes. She was so taken by his comment, she found herself unable to respond. Jake poured them each a second glass. Abby felt disappointed in herself for not responding to him. The obvious reply was I love you, too. She wanted to ask something else but fought for the courage to say it.
She felt a sense of wooziness in her mind. That was one quick drink. But who cared? They weren’t in a bar. They weren’t going to have their ID checked. Weren’t going to have any parents or friends walk in on them.
She took a large drink of her second glassful. Whatever the first glass had figured out to do for her, the second one did it even better. She hoped she hadn’t let the silence drag on too long.
“Why?” Abby asked, her eyes shy, looking for that stamp of approval. She looked into his brown eyes with all the nervousness and honesty that filled her and allowed him into her heart to validate her if he wanted to. “Why do you love me?”
She felt the affection of his gaze. “Because you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my entire life.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. She leaned in, wanting more. He pulled back and poured her another glass.
Abby didn’t feel any different between the second and third glass until she stood up. It felt like the blood had drained from her face. She steadied herself on her chair, and Jake put an arm around her waist and helped her inside. She hugged him. He brought her over to the bed. She felt herself relax in his arms as they slept together.
When they were finished, she felt the comfort that came with not having a worry in the world. She rested her head against her pillow. She could not remember ever feeling this comfortable. Her stomach growled. He laughed. She laughed.
“Time for something to eat?” he said.
Yes and no.
Yes, I’m starving, and I would love to go out and eat with you. No, I don’t want to leave this feeling.
They showered. Changed clothes. “I only brought one other set,” she said. “Sorry.” She felt awkward. She had better clothes back home, but he said she only needed to bring enough to fit in her backpack.
“That’s the whole point of rue Sainte-Catherine,” he said in his best French accent. “Let’s go shopping!”
If Montreal had atmosphere during the day, then it became positively electrifying
