Colin lived in a 19th century block of apartments and shops. His particular flat was above a boulangerie and every morning he woke hungry with the warm scent of rising bread and buttery croissants drifting through the floorboards. He was very happy if a little lonely. Sure, it was worrying to be poor, to be uncertain that he could make the rent and to have to choose between food and paint, but he was happy just the same. Happy in a way he had never been before.
It had something to do with pursuing his life's dream. It had something to do with finally being on his own–and surviving. And it had something to do with the way the morning light streamed through the old windows and the way the silver moon shone over the grey slate rooftops. It had to do with the rustling leaves of the chestnut trees, the old Parisian songs, and the muffled laughter from the cafés below.
It was all still new, still exciting and vibrant. Maybe that would change one day. Maybe the day would come when he didn't notice the light or the colors or the shapes and shades of this old and beautiful, foreign city. When he was tired of being hungry and being lonely. But for now every single day was an adventure.
And tonight felt like the greatest adventure of all. Thomas Sullivan was in Paris and tonight they would dine together. And, perhaps, if Colin was lucky…
He went through his meager wardrobe looking for something presentable to wear. Something that wasn't paint-stained or torn. Not a lot in the jeans, tees, and flannel shirts to choose from. He had not come to Paris to socialize. He found a clean pair of Levis and then he discovered a soft lambswool sweater in a lemony bisque color that he'd forgotten about. It looked nice with his blue eyes and dark hair. Speaking of which: he needed a shave and a haircut.
He couldn't do much about the hair; it was always a mop, but he shaved and studied himself narrowly. He looked presentable. More importantly, he looked his age. So hopefully there wouldn't be any problem there. Assuming Thomas's mind was running on the same lines as his own.
Thinking again of the way Thomas's gaze had held his, the way Thomas had watched him so closely, Colin was pretty sure he wasn't wrong in believing there was some interest there.