One Step Closer

When Fanmuir returned to his dormitory, he was immediately bombarded with questions. Although Ronny Spencer and the others couldn't miss the military jeep parked outside the building, Fanmuir dismissed their curiosity with a simple explanation: "Just a friend from back home."

In the following days, an unusual series of events caused quite a buzz in Paris. Though these incidents weren't dramatic enough to capture international attention, they were nonetheless significant locally. A German company in the Sergy Industrial Park was abruptly ordered to shut down its operations—a move unprecedented in Paris, especially in a city so focused on attracting foreign investment. German enterprises, typically treated with utmost care by the Parisian government, had never before faced such extreme measures.

Meanwhile, in a discreet building in Munich, Hans Ralph, leader of the German Nazi Party, stood drenched in cold sweat as he endured a ferocious dressing-down from his superior, Mark Marcus. Mark's finger jabbed relentlessly at Hans' bald head as he fumed. "Yes, sir! Understood!" Hans stammered in reply, too terrified to do otherwise. Finally, perhaps tiring of his tirade, Mark Marcus waved Hans away, rubbing his temples as he began contemplating how to approach negotiations with the French government. Hans, feeling as though he'd escaped from the gallows, scurried away as quickly as he could.

The German people, known for their nobility, diligence, and resilience, often exhibit wolf-like discipline and determination. Yet, as in any group, a few rotten apples occasionally slip through the cracks.

On a chilly Saturday morning in early winter, Fanmuir set out for Caroline's house bright and early. Caroline lived in a charming, vintage two-story villa by the Seine.

The night before, she had invited Fanmuir to join her for a hike up Montmartre.

Montmartre, Paris' highest hill at 130 meters, is located in the northern part of the city. Renowned for its picturesque views and vibrant artistic atmosphere, the hill is especially famous for the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, a must-see destination for tourists and pilgrims worldwide.

How could Fanmuir possibly decline an invitation from such a beauty? So, early in the morning, he made his way to her home.

When Fanmuir arrived, he found little Chloe waiting at the door, clutching her pink teddy bear. Her bright, expectant eyes sparkled with a mix of eagerness and nervous excitement, much like a young girl preparing for her first fairy-tale date.

A fond smile spread across Fanmuir's face as he looked at Chloe.

Dressed in a crisp white Nike tracksuit and matching sneakers, Caroline had chosen a practical outfit for the hike. The casual ensemble, paired with her luminous, fair complexion and youthful charm, gave her an almost ethereal beauty, reminding Fanmuir of Snow White herself.

Despite her life experiences and her role as a mother, Caroline always felt like a young girl in Fanmuir's presence. Now, as Fanmuir stared at her, captivated, the composed, confident woman found herself blushing like a shy maiden. She playfully scolded him, "What are you staring at? Haven't you ever seen a beautiful woman before?"

Her teasing snapped Fanmuir out of his daze. Feeling a bit awkward, he stood in the courtyard and asked curiously, "Sweet Chloe, why aren't you dressed for the hike yet?"

"Chloe has her piano lesson today, so it's just the two of us hiking," Caroline explained with a sly smile. Then, feigning a pout, she added, "What? You're not excited to spend the day with me?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Fanmuir exclaimed dramatically. "Spending the day hiking Montmartre with the stunning Caroline—how could I possibly refuse? My ancestors must have done countless good deeds to earn me such a blessing!" His exaggerated expression and tone sent Caroline into peals of laughter, drawing curious glances from passersby.

Fanmuir and Caroline said goodbye to Chloe before heading to Montmartre from the southern entrance. Caroline walked beside Fanmuir naturally, their arms occasionally brushing as they strolled along the Seine. Though it was still early, the riverside was bustling with people out for a walk or their morning exercise. Many passersby cast admiring glances at Fanmuir, envious of the elegant woman walking so closely beside him. Of course, not all the stares were friendly—plenty were tinged with jealousy.

Fanmuir couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and contentment under these gazes, yet he was also a little on edge. Caroline's soft figure brushing against his arm, combined with the faint floral fragrance that lingered in the crisp morning air, was a test of his composure.

Although Montmartre wasn't far from Caroline's home, she had never climbed the hill before. Since returning to France five years ago, her time had been consumed by running the bar and taking care of her daughter. She simply never found the energy or interest to explore Montmartre, a regret she only realized now.

But since meeting Fanmuir, everything had subtly changed. His clear, sincere eyes, his warm and approachable demeanor, his extraordinary skills at the bar, and above all, her daughter's attachment to him—all of these made Caroline inexplicably drawn to him. Although they hadn't spent much time together, being with Fanmuir made her feel at ease, secure, and genuinely happy. For the first time, she felt herself gradually leaving behind the painful memories of her past in America.

Mountain climbing proved to be a truly uplifting experience. The lush greenery, peculiar rock formations, and invigorating fresh air were all rejuvenating. For Fanmuir, however, the highlight was watching Caroline's graceful figure in motion and hearing the delightful sound of her laughter echoing through the valleys.

Surprisingly, despite her appearance as someone who rarely exercised, Caroline turned out to be remarkably energetic. She climbed with the lightness and enthusiasm of a carefree bird, her cheerful chatter filling the morning air.

When they reached a uniquely shaped rock near the top of Montmartre, Fanmuir spread out a disposable tablecloth he'd thoughtfully brought along. They sat down, and Caroline naturally leaned closer to him. Unintentionally, they had picked the perfect spot. From here, they could see the golden light of dawn spill over Montmartre, transforming the rocks into glittering treasures under the sunlight. The view was nothing short of spectacular.

Caroline gazed at the scene, a sense of awe mingled with regret washing over her. She realized how little she had appreciated such beauty in recent years and how her life had been overshadowed by work and struggles. Turning to glance at the man beside her, she suddenly felt vulnerable—a deep yearning for a steady shoulder to lean on.

"If only I could rest on Fanmuir's shoulder like this forever," she thought. The suddenness of the idea startled her, leaving her both flustered and uneasy.

Fanmuir had always made Caroline feel a natural sense of closeness. Yet, as a woman significantly older than him and a mother to a five-year-old daughter, she couldn't ignore the realities of their lives. Fanmuir, after all, was just a freshman in college. Their lives were like two parallel lines that should never intersect. It was this belief that had allowed Caroline to act so comfortably and openly around him, treating him as though he were her younger brother. But now, with this sudden thought surfacing, she found herself overwhelmed, her mind a chaotic tangle of emotions.

Fanmuir, seated beside her, immediately sensed that something was amiss. In a gentle voice, he asked, "Caroline, is everything okay?"

Hearing the warmth and concern in his voice, Caroline felt even more flustered, as though her innermost feelings had been exposed. She quickly ran her fingers through her wind-tousled hair to mask her inner turmoil and replied, "The view stirred up some memories… memories I'd rather not revisit."

Slowly, Caroline began to recount her story.

She had lost her mother as a young girl, and it was her father who had raised her.

Her father had once been a prominent businessman in Paris, a man respected across both legal and underground circles. However, not long after Caroline returned from America, he passed away from illness. Left without her father's support, Caroline could do nothing as her relatives divided up his estate, leaving her only the small villa by the Seine.

Through sheer determination, Caroline had managed to carve out the modest life she now led. Thanks to her father's widespread connections and goodwill, no one dared to trouble her or demand protection fees from her bar. Without this unspoken shield, she would never have been able to run the bar alone.

As Caroline recalled her late father, an overwhelming sense of loss washed over her. Tears slipped unbidden down her porcelain cheeks. To Fanmuir, who had always seen Caroline as a strong and capable woman, her vulnerability at this moment was striking. It reminded him of his own loving parents, filling him with a bittersweet ache. Gently, he pulled Caroline into his arms, offering her solace.

Resting against Fanmuir's strong, steady shoulder and surrounded by the faint, masculine scent of him, Caroline felt a profound sense of comfort and security. It was as though she were a child again, nestled safely in her father's arms—a warmth and safety she hadn't felt in years.

After a long while, Caroline's storm of emotions began to settle. She let go of her worries, her gaze softening as she quietly watched the Seine's rippling waters and the people moving steadily along its banks.

The two of them leaned against each other quietly, neither willing to break the peaceful harmony of the moment. But, as is often the case, good moments are rarely uninterrupted. A group of boisterous young men clambered up to the same spot, their loud chatter shattering the unspoken warmth between Fanmuir and Caroline.

"Do you know why I asked you to join me today?" Caroline asked softly.

"No idea," Fanmuir replied.

"Take a guess."

Though Fanmuir hadn't been in the mortal world for long, he had already picked up on many of its customs and holidays. Since today wasn't any kind of official holiday, it must have been a personal occasion for Caroline.

"Let me think—could today be the birthday of the stunningly beautiful Miss Caroline?" Fanmuir teased, his voice full of exaggerated charm.

His flamboyant compliment immediately caught the attention of the nearby young men. Although Caroline wasn't a girl anymore, being publicly called "beautiful" in front of strangers still flustered her. Embarrassed, she stomped her foot and gave Fanmuir's shoulder a playful shove, though, of course, it didn't faze him at all.

Watching Fanmuir clutch his shoulder and cry out dramatically, Caroline burst into laughter. Still giggling, she leaned closer and whispered, "Let's see if you dare to run your mouth like that again!"

Fanmuir gave her an innocent look, pretending to be aggrieved. "Is it a crime to call you beautiful?"

Seeing his exaggerated expression, Caroline couldn't help but laugh again. Her smile was radiant—filled with charm and grace that were impossible to put into words.

Fanmuir found himself gazing at her, completely mesmerized, before blurting out, "You're stunning."

This time, Caroline didn't reach out to pinch him or playfully retort. Instead, a blush crept across her cheeks, and she quickly turned away, pretending not to notice him. Yet, deep in her heart, she felt an undeniable sweetness and happiness bubbling up.