Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 80: Stolen Moments in Montmartre

Chapter 80: Stolen Moments in Montmartre

Paris at night was magic.

The streets of Montmartre glowed under the golden streetlights, the air carrying the faint scent of fresh bread, coffee, and the soft perfume of blooming flowers from the balconies above. Cobblestone paths twisted through charming alleys, leading toward the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, perched high above the city.

Ava had been running on adrenaline since they arrived in Paris. The competition, Julian’s sabotage, Mei’s unpredictable schemes—it was all too much, too overwhelming.

But tonight, it was just her and Ryan.

She let him lead her down the quiet streets, their hands occasionally brushing against each other as they walked. It was something so simple, so easy, yet it sent a thrill up her spine every time his fingers grazed hers.

Ava glanced sideways at Ryan. "Are you ever going to tell me why we’re here?"

Ryan smirked, his usual playful confidence in full display. "Montmartre is where artists, poets, and dreamers come to fall in love."

Ava rolled her eyes. "That sounds like something off a postcard."

Ryan shrugged, stopping in front of a quiet café with twinkling fairy lights draped over the terrace. "Maybe. But I thought you could use a break from all the matchmaking chaos."

Ava hesitated. A break. It sounded almost foreign to her.

Ryan didn’t wait for her to argue. Instead, he nudged her toward a small empty table tucked against the railing, where the view of Paris stretched below them in all its breathtaking beauty.

"Come on," he said, pulling out a chair for her. "Sit. Breathe. Enjoy Paris."

And for once, Ava didn’t fight it.

---

The waiter brought over a bottle of red wine and two glasses, speaking in rapid French as he smiled at them. Ryan, to Ava’s surprise, responded in fluent French, ordering for both of them.

Ava raised a brow. "Since when do you speak fluent French?"

Ryan smirked, pouring her a glass. "Since always. You just never asked."

Ava accepted the glass, narrowing her eyes at him. "You continue to be annoyingly full of surprises."

Ryan leaned in, his voice dropping to something low and teasing. "You love it."

Ava felt her cheeks flush. She took a sip of wine to buy herself a moment.

And maybe, just maybe, Ryan had a point.

---

They talked. Not about matchmaking, not about Julian, not about the competition.

Just them.

Ava told Ryan about the first time she visited Paris with Mei when she was younger. How she had fallen in love with the bookshops along the Seine, the way the street musicians played like they were performing for an audience of thousands.

Ryan listened, watching her with that infuriatingly unreadable expression, like he was memorizing every word.

At some point, his fingers brushed against hers, resting lightly on the table.

Ava could have moved her hand away.

She didn’t.

Ryan tilted his head, his thumb tracing slow circles against the back of her hand. His voice was softer now. "You know, you could stop overthinking for five minutes."

Ava let out a breathless laugh. "Impossible."

Ryan smirked, his fingers tightening just slightly around hers. "Try."

And so she did.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself just be.

---

They wandered through the quiet streets of Montmartre, the wine leaving Ava feeling just a little lighter, a little braver.

Ryan walked close beside her, his hand at the small of her back as they moved toward the steps leading to Sacré-Cœur.

When they reached the top, the entire city of Paris sprawled beneath them, a glittering sea of lights against the dark sky.

Ava exhaled slowly. "It’s beautiful."

Ryan, still watching her, murmured, "Yeah. It is."

Ava turned, catching the way his gaze lingered on her. The soft breeze carried the scent of lavender from a nearby florist, the world around them falling into a perfect hush.

Ryan stepped closer.

His hands slid gently along her arms, slow and deliberate, sending warmth spreading through her.

Ava’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.

Ryan’s voice was almost a whisper. "Can I kiss you?"

Ava’s heart pounded, but there was no hesitation this time.

She nodded.

Ryan leaned in, closing the space between them.

His lips brushed lightly, just barely, a feather-soft tease that sent a shiver through her.

Ava tilted her chin up, pressing just a little closer—

And that’s when they heard a loud, obnoxious camera flash.

Both of them froze.

Ava snapped her head toward the sound. "What the—"

Standing a few feet away, an overenthusiastic tourist couple grinned at them, holding up a phone.

"Sorry!" the woman giggled in broken English. "You look so romantic! We thought you were movie actors!"

Ryan groaned, burying his face in Ava’s shoulder.

Ava, torn between laughing and screaming, sighed dramatically. "Unbelievable."

Ryan tilted his head up, his mouth right near her ear, and whispered, "To be continued?"

Ava smirked, linking their fingers together.

"Definitely."

And this time, she was certain of it.

---

Ava still felt the heat of Ryan’s near-kiss lingering on her lips as they walked down the quiet streets of Montmartre. The tourist couple’s interruption had broken the moment, but it hadn’t erased it. If anything, it had only made the tension between them thicker, charged with unspoken words and unfinished touches.

Ryan still held her hand, his thumb occasionally brushing over her knuckles, as if to remind her that the moment was far from over.

Ava was hyperaware of the closeness between them—the way their steps synced as they walked, the way Ryan’s fingers occasionally tightened around hers, grounding her.

Montmartre had quieted, the late-night revelers dwindling as the cafés dimmed their lights and the artists packed away their canvases. Paris, however, was still alive—the distant hum of street musicians, the occasional laughter from couples strolling by, the soft clinking of glasses in the last open bars.

It felt like the city had shrunk down to just the two of them.

And for the first time in a long time, Ava let herself savor it.

---

Ryan suddenly stopped in front of a small, tucked-away bookstore, its window illuminated by a warm glow.

Ava blinked at him. "A bookstore?"

Ryan shrugged, smirking. "You love books."

Ava narrowed her eyes, but her heart did a stupid, fluttery thing at the fact that he remembered. "That’s dangerously close to being romantic."

Ryan chuckled, nudging her inside. "Just don’t tell Mei, or she’ll start planning our wedding."

Ava rolled her eyes but stepped into the shop. The scent of old paper and leather-bound novels filled the air, the kind of smell that felt like home. The store was empty except for an elderly shopkeeper who barely looked up from his desk, letting them browse in peace.

Ryan trailed behind her as she ran her fingers over the spines of classic French literature, the weight of the night settling between them.

When she turned, Ryan was watching her with that look—the one that made her feel completely seen, the one that sent a slow, warm ache curling in her chest.

"You know," Ryan said, his voice softer now, "I think you’re the only person who would look at books this way in the middle of the night."

Ava tilted her head. "This way?"

Ryan took a step closer. "Like they’re magic."

Ava’s breath caught, because the way he said it—**the way he looked at her when he said it—**made her stomach flip.

She swallowed, suddenly too warm despite the night chill. "Well... books never let me down."

Ryan’s lips quirked, something teasing yet impossibly tender in his expression. "Unlike people?"

Ava hesitated.

Ryan stepped even closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, the faintest trace of coffee and something purely him.

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know how to—not when he was standing so close, looking at her like that.

Ryan reached past her, plucking a small poetry book off the shelf. He flipped it open, scanning a few lines before lifting his gaze to hers.

His voice was low, almost intimate as he read, "There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved."

Ava’s throat went dry.

She knew that quote. She had read it before.

But hearing it from him, here, now?

It felt like something else entirely.

Ava let out a breathy laugh, trying to shake the weight of the moment. "Quoting George Sand to me now? Dangerous territory, Ryan."

Ryan smiled, but this time, it wasn’t teasing. It was something deeper.

Something real.

"I mean it," he said. "You deserve to be happy, Ava."

Ava’s pulse hammered in her ears.

Ryan never pushed her.

He never forced her into conversations she wasn’t ready for, never demanded that she label whatever this was between them.

But he knew.

He knew she was scared.

He knew she had walls.

And he was patient enough to wait.

Ava exhaled slowly, her fingers curling into the fabric of her coat.

"Come on," she said, nudging him toward the counter. "Buy your book before I regret letting you have this moment."

Ryan smirked but didn’t argue.

And when they stepped back out into the Parisian night, his hand found hers again—easily, naturally.

Like it belonged there.

---

They walked in comfortable silence toward their apartment, the streets nearly empty now.

Ava wasn’t ready to go back inside yet.

Not when the night felt unfinished.

Ryan must have sensed it, too, because he didn’t immediately lead her inside. Instead, he turned toward the small garden courtyard next to their building.

The iron gate creaked softly as he pushed it open, revealing a tiny, hidden oasis with ivy-covered walls and a quiet stone bench beneath the glow of an old-fashioned streetlamp.

Ava sighed. "Okay. This is actually unfairly romantic."

Ryan chuckled. "I’ll take that as a win."

They sat down together, the air cool but not too cold, the night settling around them like a blanket.

Ava rested her head against the back of the bench, letting herself feel the weight of the evening—the near-kiss, the bookstore, the way Ryan’s fingers had absentmindedly traced circles on her palm as they walked.

"Tonight was nice," she admitted, turning her head toward him.

Ryan was already looking at her. "Yeah. It was."

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

Because the space between them was too full of something else—something unspoken, something waiting.

Ryan reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers lingered, barely touching her skin, but enough to make her breath hitch.

Ava could feel her heart pounding against her ribs.

Ryan’s voice was quieter now. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Ava swallowed hard, her pulse thundering.

She could have said no.

She could have laughed it off, turned it into another joke, another moment deflected.

But she didn’t want to.

Not this time.

Ava nodded, barely a whisper of movement.

Ryan’s eyes darkened, his hand tilting her chin up just slightly—

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t demanding.

It was soft, patient, like he was giving her the chance to pull away.

Ava didn’t.

She let herself lean into it, let herself feel the warmth of him, the way his fingers skated down her jaw, the way her own hands found their way to his collar.

When they finally pulled apart, Ryan rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her lips.

"Worth the wait?" he murmured.

Ava let out a breathless laugh, her fingers still tangled in his shirt. "Yeah."

And when Ryan kissed her again, slower this time, deeper—

Ava finally stopped overthinking.

And simply let herself fall.