Dreams

Chapter 1

Paris is the city of lights. The narrow road ways are lined with even more narrow buildings with lights glowing through their curtain-covered windows. The cars zip by along the Champs-Élysées, circling l'Arc de Triomphe, where the eternal flame burns. The twelve lane road has trees on both sides wrapped in twinkling lights. Sacré-Coeur sits in all it's glory at the top of the city; the white structure baths in the surrounding light of the sun. The flying buttresses jut out from Nôtre Dame, holding up the massive cathedral. But towering over it all, is the Eiffel Tower, one of the most well-known structures in the world. It stands up in the city, the strobe lights blinking every few minutes. The Seine river runs behind it, picking up the lights, almost making the dark water bright.

But Paris is beyond the beautiful cityscape; it is the people, the atmosphere. Love fills the old streets, embracing innocent bystanders. Men and women walk through the streets, holding hands, sneaking off into dark alleyways to sneak kisses. Old married couples stroll lazily along the Seine river, stopping every now and then to take in the warm, summer breeze and smile to one another. Lovers embrace on street corners, and the sound of love making fills the air late at night.

Meredith Grey sat in a café, a large coffee before her in a ceramic mug. She chose outside seating to give her a small glimpse of the Parisian life. She admired the women that walked past with their girlfriends, wearing the most dignified ensembles, chatting in French about their high powered careers and magnificent lives. Meredith did not have a high powered career or a magnificent life. She was a writer; a writer that needed to have her book finished and only six short weeks so it could get to the publisher on time, but she was dried up. She was out of ideas.

Carly Winston, Meredith's agent, had told her, if she wanted to write a great love story, the first place she should go was the most romantic city of the world - Paris, France. Meredith had laughed at the idea - traveling almost across the world, just for a novel. But the very next day, she was packing en route to Paris.

Now, almost twenty-four hours later, it was almost three in the afternoon, and Meredith had yet to get an idea at all. She watched the couples closely, trying to get inspired, but she was lost. Having never been in love, Meredith was probably not the right person to write about it. But the idea of it was so enticing, so intriguing, and her first novel had sold so well, so why not continue.

The men of France were unlike those of America. They had confidence and style. Meredith wondered if half of them were gay. But they did have something that was incredibly sexy, and it wasn't just their accents. Meredith was stared at by many of the men that walked past without a beautiful Parisian woman on their arms, and it felt good. She liked the feeling of them staring at her and smiling sexily with their five o'clock shadows.

With the small notepad in front of her void of any writing, Meredith decided to call it a day and retreat back to her apartment for the rest of the afternoon. The studio apartment was just one room, nestled below Sacré-Coeur, just outside the Red Light district. The long room housed a kitchen, a make-shift bedroom, a dining area, and a small bathroom, but it was all Meredith needed or wanted. She was there to write, not feel the comforts of luxury, but it would have been nice to come home to someone, or something, like a dog, but she knew she would not be in Paris long enough.

She threw herself face first onto the white bed, feeling the slight comfort of the mattress. It was almost four and most people were returning from their long lunches. Meredith could hear the hustle and bustle of the city through her open window. It was warm out, nearly seventy-five, quite warm for the beginning of June. She pulled off her tee shirt, throwing it to the floor, leaving her in a thin tank top.

Thirst overcame her. Meredith got up and opened her refrigerator, empty except for a bag of coffee beans and a bottle of water. She wanted an Orangina. She walked out of her apartment and down the stairs to the main lobby of her building, hoping to find a vending machine. She was disappointed and turned to head back upstairs to her room. When she turned around he noticed a man standing outside the building. He was of a nice height, lean muscles forming his body. His head was topped in unruly, black curls. He held a phone to his ear, chatting animatedly. His smile was warm as he paced slowly. Meredith watched his clothes moving across his body. She felt a surge of heat run through her.