+TYPED OUT-

+SACRÉ COEUR-

Baffled, Kenneth took time to surface from the call.

Though frustrating, Monday's answer relieved the man. She hadn't seen the message he had left for her. Kenneth imagined and hoped she verified since. Even so, the woman didn't call, and Kenneth found himself doing something he didn't know himself capable of doing. It began with a clear reflection.

What if he catered what the woman expected?

Monday wanted the ROMANCE in capital letters. He wasn't her type, but what would happen if he provided and played a Noah Letterman?

Kenneth had not read the book, but Gina gave him an overview. Monday was right when she guessed the man always got what he wanted, except Kenneth dealt with the unwanted want for the first time.

Hence, the man found himself listening to his voice mail in a taxi passing Le Moulin Rouge.

"Kenneth, where are you? I saw you postponed your appointments for the next two days, including the one with Merkel Investors. Is something wrong? Please let me know where you are and how I can assist you. I also noticed you booked a flight for Paris. There's nothing on your schedule there. Le salon du livre is in September. "

The man hung up; the best way Meredith could assist him was by staying where she was. Meredith quickly fell into the parole officer role; the man had not realized it. No, he didn't pay attention until he wished to escape.

Morgen often said he was a sadist. At that instant, Kenneth believed his friends' analysis. Who in their right mind flew to see a woman who didn't seem interested and with whom they had no plans in mind.

"Love with your mind Kenneth; the heart is a carpet peddler pretending to sell you a Persian rug when it's one made of Olefin."

Kenneths' mother was pragmatic regarding love, as all women betrayed. His father left her; she spent her life cursing the man only to cry like a baby when he died. The woman still loved his father. Kenneth witnessed how passionate love killed one.

Cancer.

A broken heart is an open door for malignant illness. Kenneths' mother's cancer declared itself shortly after his fathers' death. It nibbled her so fast the man hadn't even had time to inhale that she was gone. An unconscious fear recorded itself and limited what the man could give.

Kenneth was cautious, calculating the dose of the sentiments he could distribute and taking back when it overflowed. Practice makes perfect; he quickly learned how to control his feelings, refusing any solid emotional attachment to anyone. Monday was not a random choice; he could not get attached to someone who didn't tick off the boxes of his girlfriend checklist, could he?

As Kenneth told Monday, he loved to be where no one expected him.

What did she represent? Nothing, except an essence of desire.

"Hello."

"Monday."

"Kenneth?" Monday looked at her phone screen; the number was local. The two women on the couch, ready to watch a movie on Netflix, gave each other a bewildered stare.

"How are you?" Kenneth said as he began to pace.

"I'm fine, thanks," Monday replied.

"You didn't call?"

"Eh," Luce frowned beside Monday, "eh, I was busy. Sorry if you waited."

"Yes, I waited." Kenneth didn't like lying. The truth destabilized people and forced them to have a spontaneous reaction.

Suddenly feeling on the grill, Monday adjusted her position, "I said I'm sorry."

"Apology, accepted. Still, I want reparation," the man replied.