“You left me that message?” Oliver turned to face me.

“You’re quite the detective.” I was still staring at him as if he was some kind of strange, boredom-induced illusion.

“How did you know where I was staying?”

He smiled slowly, I could have sworn his cheeks flushed for a second, but I must have imagined it.

“I persuaded one of the flight attendants to flirt with your teacher. Fortunately he wrote his phone number on the back of a spare itinerary.” My eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Are you serious? You got someone to chat up Mr Walton?”

“I think they hit it off.” He grinned, sitting back on the bench, hands behind his head.

“Why did you want to meet me here?” I asked slowly, avoiding his gaze. Every time I looked into those eyes of his, I felt inescapably bewildered.

“For some reason, you made me forget my problems. I Don’t know many people who can do that.” I didn’t know how to reply to that, luckily he broke the silence. “Hmm, that may have sounded overly cheesy.” Oliver grimaced, playing with a curly tendril of hair awkwardly. It surprised me to see him look embarrassed, when we last talked, he seemed to ooze confidence, maybe a little too much. He composed himself quickly, as if reading my thoughts, and looked at his watch.

“I have a couple of hours free, if you fancy lunch?”

“I don’t think so, I have to get back.” I managed to meet his eyes, and something twisted in my stomach.

“It was nice to see you again.” He stood up and rather formerly shook my hand. “I hope you have a great trip.” He smiled down at me before walking off towards the gallery’s exit. Watching him walk off, I stood up and before I knew what I was doing, I went after him.

“Hey!” I called out as I passed though a long gallery, lined with large, white statues. Oliver stopped and turned round, while my shoes clacked against the marble floor, walking towards him.

“I might be able to have a quick lunch, and I mean really quick.”

“Follow me.”

“This is your idea of quick?” I asked, staring out of the metro train’s window at the dark underground.

“The next stop is ours.” He replied unfazed, putting his feet up on the seat beside me. I had followed Oliver, to the Concorde metro station, nervously looking at the time the whole way there. I was about to check it again, until I saw Oliver, shaking his head at me, the amusement on his face evident.

“Sèvres-Babylone, that’s us.” I quickly sprang up and hopped off the train onto the platform. When we emerged at street level, I had no idea where I was. However Oliver was already ahead of me, heading over the road to a small patisserie. By the time I caught up with him, he was coming out of the shop holding a bulging paper bag.

“Nearly there.” I had no idea where ‘there’ was, but I was hoping we got there soon, before Newt put me on the next flight back home. The sun shone down on the quiet cobbled street, we had just tuned into, and Oliver abruptly stopped by a red brick wall. Handing me the bag from the patisserie, he walked over to a tiny gate, I hadn’t noticed before and pulled it open.

“After you.” I walked past him and was pleasantly surprised. Through the little iron gate was a spectacular garden, blooming with flowers and virtually empty, except for two elderly woman sitting on a distant bench.

“Wow, what is this place?” I breathed, walking further down the path.

“Jardin Catherine Laboure” He explained, in his perfect French accent. Though he normally spoke with an English accent, it surprisingly didn’t come across as pretentious. “It’s not very well known to tourists, so it’s never really busy. Making it an excellent place for a picnic.”

“I never really had you down for a picnic kind of guy.” I raised my eyebrow sceptically. He reached for the bag, brushing my hand with his.

“I’m full of surprises.” He took off his coat and lay it down on the damp grass, gesturing to me to sit down. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a selection.” Sitting down next to him, I watched as he produced four filled half-baguettes, five different cakes and pastries and two bottles of lemonade.

“Not very hungry I take it? He laughed and opened a bottle of juice.

“Bon Appétit.” I happily munched my way through two of the sandwiches: A.K.A a whole baguette! I lay back for rest, before I even thought about one of the cakes. Luckily I had inherited a fast-metabolism from my mother, or I definitely would be struggling to fit into my jeans tomorrow.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl eat as much as me.” Oliver mused, sounding somewhat impressed.

“That was nothing, I’ve won the hot-dog eating contest, two years running at school.” I opened my eyes, completely mortified I’d let that slip. Instead of looking disgusted, Oliver fell about laughing.

“This is such an honour, I can’t believe I’m actually sitting here with the St. Richard’s hot-dog eating champion.” I glared at him, my face becoming hot, then a smile started to curl at my lips.

“Shut it you. You’re just jealous!” I responded, kicking his leg, trying hard not to laugh. Oliver carried on guffawing, reaching a hand up to brush hair away from his eyes.

“Oh man, it’s nearly two!” I cried, spotting the time on his watch.

“Are you sure?” Oliver said hurriedly, looking at his watch in a panic. His phone started to vibrate in his jacket.

“Right, we’d better go.” He said a little despondently, gathering up his coat and dashing to the gate.