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building, pulling me behind him.
    Like many Parisian apartment blocks, this one had been constructed around an internal courtyard sheltered from the street. The most modest courtyards are barely as big as a king-size bed, with only enough space to hold the building’s trash bins. Others are large, some even having trees and benches, forming a quiet haven for residents away from the busy street.
    This courtyard was massive and had little shops, and even an outdoor café, scattered among the ground-floor apartments, something I had never seen before. “What is this place?” I asked.
    Vincent smiled and touched my arm, pointing to another open doorway on the far side of the courtyard. “This is just the beginning,” he said. “There are about five of these courtyards all linked together off the street, so you can wander for as long as you want without seeing or hearing the outside world. It’s all art galleries and antique shops. I thought you’d like it.”
    â€œLike it? I love it! This is incredible!” I said. “I can’t believe I haven’t been here before.”
    â€œIt’s off the beaten path.” Vincent seemed proud of his knowledge of Paris’s out-of-the-way spots. And I was just happy that he wanted me along to explore them with him.
    â€œI’ll say,” I agreed. “It’s almost completely hidden from the outside. So . . . you’ve been here before. Where do we start?”
    We strolled through stores and galleries packed with everything from old posters to ancient Buddha heads. For a city heaving with summer tourists, the shops had surprisingly few visitors, and we wandered through the spaces as if they were our own private treasure troves.
    As we browsed through an antique clothes store, Vincent stopped in front of a glass case that held jewelry. “Hey, Kate, maybe you can help me. I need to get a gift for someone.”
    â€œSure,” I said, peering into the case as the shopkeeper lifted the cover for us. I fingered a pretty silver ring with a cluster of flowers curving outward from its surface.
    â€œWhat would someone your age like?” he said, touching a vintage jeweled cross pendent.
    â€œMy age ?” I laughed. “I’m only three years younger than you. Maybe less, depending on your birthday.”
    â€œJune,” he said.
    â€œOkay, then two and a half.”
    He laughed. “All right, you got me there. It’s just that I’m not sure what she’d like. And her birthday’s coming up.”
    I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. What an idiot I had been: totally misreading his intentions. He obviously just saw me as a friend . . . a friend with good enough taste to help him choose a present for his girlfriend.
    â€œHmm,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to hide my dismay. I forced them back open and stared at the case. “I guess it depends on her taste. Does she wear more feminine, flowery clothes, or is she more into . . . um . . . jeans and T-shirts like me?”
    â€œDefinitely not flowery,” he said, stifling a laugh.
    â€œWell, I think this is really pretty,” I said, pointing to a leather cord with a single teardrop-shaped silver pendant hanging from it. My voice wavered as I tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow the lump in my throat.
    Vincent leaned closer to the piece. “I think you’re right. It’s perfect. You’re a genius, Kate.” He lifted the necklace from the case and handed it to the shopkeeper.
    â€œI’m just going to wait for you outside,” I said, and left as he fished through his pockets for his wallet.
    Get a grip, I chided myself. It had seemed too good to be true, and it had been. He was only a really friendly guy. Who said I was cute. But who must just like to hang out with cute girls while buying vintage jewelry for his girlfriend. I wonder what she looks like. My