Chapter 10
Ten
SOPHIE
Sophie couldn’t believe that she had agreed to this, but agreed to it she had. And now here she was, at a café not far from the gallery, tapping her foot and watching passersby stroll past, hoping that her tour guide for the day was a no-show.
She had just finished the last sip of her café crème when she spotted him crossing at the corner, wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket as earlier in the week, but looking even more handsome than she’d remembered—and she didn’t seem to be the only one who noticed if the appreciative glances other women gave him meant anything.
Her heart sped up as he approached the café.
Dread, she told herself. And nerves. Spending an entire day with a stranger in a foreign country would unsettle anyone.
She averted her eyes and went back to the notebook she’d bought yesterday, the first she’d purchased in…years. Right now it was still nothing more than a book of blank pages, but maybe…maybe…
She felt the table shake as Gabriel dropped into the chair opposite her, forcing her to look up at him.
No kiss on the cheek today, she noted. Not that she was disappointed. Certainly not!
“ Bonjour ,” she said pertly, hoping that her accent wasn’t going to spark another round of commentary.
“It is a good day, isn’t it?” Gabriel switched to perfect English, and Sophie considered asking him where he’d learned it but decided that she didn’t really care to know, or sit through the answer. No doubt it would turn into a comment about how rusty her French was, and she certainly didn’t want to have to explain why that was the case.
She firmed her mouth, defiantly looking out onto the street, a little thrill bubbling up inside her again when she remembered that she was here in Paris, yes, with an annoying French guy, but still, she’d done it.
At long last.
“How was your breakfast?” Gabriel asked.
Sophie looked down at the half-eaten croissant, which she intended to finish, whatever opinions he might have about that.
“Delicious,” she said honestly.
He gave what appeared to be a sincere smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him almost seem…approachable.
“Paris has the best food. I’ll show you.”
Sophie broke off another piece of her croissant and popped it into her mouth, savoring the buttery taste.
“What do you have planned?” she asked.
Ah. Once again, the smirk surfaced. “No plan. We just…live. We go where the day takes us.”
Spoken like a true artist, and she should know, having been raised by one. Papa would sometimes retreat to his studio for days without emerging when he had a new idea, or lapsing into silence at random, unable to think of anything but his newest creation at inconvenient times, like say, in the middle of her tenth birthday dinner. When he was in the zone, he was transported, as if he were in another world completely, and he lost all track of time, not resurfacing until he was satisfied with his current masterpiece.
No wonder her sister was worried about Gabriel coming through for her in time for the opening. She’d grown up with Papa, too.
And as Sophie had come to learn with time, he hadn’t changed much over the years.
“Unless…” Gabriel tipped his head and made a show of glancing into her tote bag that sat at her feet. Her open tote bag. “Perhaps you prefer to follow your guidebook?”
The question was posed with a mischievous smile and a devilish arch of his brow.
Sophie felt her eyes narrow on instinct. She’d seen this type of confidence before, the kind that sometimes accompanied handsome men who were used to charming and wooing women.
Men, she couldn’t help but think, like her father.
She’d seen this exact kind of smile long before she knew what it meant, when Papa would take her to the grocery store for items for dinner, and women would pause near their cart to comment on how cute she was, only to then let their eyes drift to Paul, commenting on his French accent and wondering aloud where his wife was, wondering if there was any wife at all. She’d seen it at school functions, when he attended, or the trips to the beach when her sisters visited. She’d hear women laugh, and she’d feel special that her father could have that effect on people.
She just didn’t realize until she was older what kind of effect it was.
But now she knew. It was charm. Appeal. Physical attraction.
And she felt all three at once from the man sharing her table, not saying anything, and not having to, either.
Sophie took a steadying breath and brought up Jack’s familiar face in her mind, suddenly longing for the security and safety he brought to her life. For the ordinary.
But before she could dwell on that feeling for too long, Gabriel said, “ D’accord . You want a plan? The first thing we’re doing is buying you a new bag.”
Sophie bit back a sigh of frustration. “You really think I’m going to get pickpocketed?”
Gabriel gave her a sly smile as he lifted his hand from under the table and triumphantly revealed her wallet.
She felt her mouth drop as she stumbled for something to say, but he just let out a laugh, long and rich, and not exactly grating, but oh so certainly boasting.
She snatched the wallet from him and shoved it back into her bag, which she picked up and held against her chest.
The first stop would be to buy a new bag. After that, she didn’t know.
All she knew was that today was going to be a very long day, indeed.
By the time Sophie checked her watch and realized that it was nearly one o’clock, they’d already visited the Eiffel Tower (because even Gabriel couldn’t deny her that experience) and taken a long walk along the Seine, eventually ending up in the Marais.
“Hungry?” Gabriel asked.
“Famished,” Sophie admitted.
“There’s a place on the corner that makes great sandwiches,” Gabriel said, gesturing with his hand to an awning that ruffled with the light breeze. “We can eat in the Place de Vosges.”
Sophie didn’t dare admit that the Place de Vosges was on her bucket list out of fear that Gabriel would alter their plans, but she secretly smiled and admitted to herself that so far the morning had been almost pleasant. Gabriel had only scowled when she’d asked him to take her photo in front of the Eiffel Tower, but he’d obliged, anyway, and if she didn’t know better, she thought she detected a hint of a smile when he rolled his eyes.
Once they had ordered their sandwiches and settled near one of the four identical fountains in the small enclosed park that Sophie knew from all her reading on the plane was surrounded by seventeenth-century redbrick townhouses, she pulled out her phone to scroll through the photos from the morning.
“You’re a good photographer,” she commented.
And he was. He had artfully captured each image, paying attention to lighting and making sure that there were as few people as possible in the backgrounds.
“It was my first love,” he said as he unwrapped his sandwich. He smiled as he chewed. “Actually, my first love was Claire. She lived next door and she broke my heart. I was five,” he added, pulling a smile from her.
Sophie supposed that this was the moment when she could easily ask if he was in love now, but that would just lead to him asking the same in return, and she didn’t want to talk about Jack right now.
Jack hadn’t texted or called since the proposal that never happened last week.
Last week. It was hard to believe so much could change in just a few days. That one day she could be sitting in an office in New York, and the next day she could be sitting on the grass in Paris, surrounded by beautiful buildings rich with history.
It felt so easy that she wondered why she hadn’t come here sooner.
Why she’d let a part of herself slip away. Why she’d stopped fighting for what she wanted most in life.
But then, she knew why. Just like she knew why she hadn’t written her book. Why she edited other people’s books instead.
Because it was safe.
“And what about you?” Gabriel asked.
“My passions? Or my first love?” Sophie took a bite of her sandwich, savoring the taste of the brie and perfectly baked bread.
“Your passion, I suppose,” Gabriel said. “I don’t even know what you do.”
“I work for a publishing company,” Sophie told him. She hesitated, but the intensity of his gaze told her that he would patiently wait for her to answer his first question. “I always loved to write. I guess I always thought I’d be a writer. Instead, I’m an editor.”
“And I am a painter.” Gabriel nodded. “Sometimes we find new loves when we find ourselves.”
And sometimes you lose yourself in the mess of everyday life and all its setbacks and disappointments and responsibilities , Sophie thought.
“So, being an editor is your passion?” Gabriel asked, shifting his position so he faced her better.
“Not really,” she told him. “But it pays the bills.”
“So why not write on the side?” Gabriel posed the question as if the observation were simple, and maybe it was.
“I work long hours,” she started to explain, seeing the lack of conviction in his face. “And I know firsthand just how difficult it is to get published.”
“Those are just excuses,” Gabriel said, leaning back to take in the view. “If you love something enough, you’ll find a way to make it happen. It’s no different than being in love with a person. You’d move heaven and earth to be with them, long for them when they aren’t there, dream of them once they leave, and only feel whole once you’re with them again.”
Sophie stopped eating to stare at him, wondering if she had ever felt that way about Jack.
About anyone.
And without having to soul search, she knew that the answer was that she hadn’t. She cared about Jack, and even believed that she did love him, but not in the way that Gabriel described.
“It’s the same way with painting,” Gabriel said. “I dream of painting, you know. I can’t stop thinking about it, even when I’m not working. And it’s never work, not really. It’s…a calling. It’s what I have to do. Whether I want to or not, it’s not what I do but who I am. I wouldn’t be happy without it. I wouldn’t be complete.”
Sophie nodded, even though she hadn’t dabbled in her writing in years. She’d neglected it, just like she’d neglected her dream of coming to Paris.
Now, though, she wondered if it was more than that.
If somewhere along the way, she’d neglected herself. If the part of her that was missing had been right there all along.
“Speaking of your painting,” Sophie said as she folded up her sandwich wrapper. “I should probably let you get back to your studio. My sister will be pretty mad at me if I keep you from finishing in time.”
“I will finish in time,” Gabriel said with a small smile, and for some reason, Sophie believed him.
He cared far too much about his art to not make it a success.
“Besides,” he said with a little quirk of his lips. “Maybe you are my muse.”
Sophie’s stomach swooped and tightened as she narrowed her gaze on him, determined not to fall for his practiced charms.
“And maybe you’re a flirt,” she replied lightly.
He shrugged, seeming undeterred. “Is that such a bad thing?”
Yes, it was, and she should have said that, but her cheeks flushed and she hid her face by turning to her left, taking in the cafés that lined the street level of the buildings, imagining what it might have been to live here when it was first built.
A phone rang then, interrupting this perfect Parisian moment. Sophie glanced down at her phone—seeing her mother’s name on the screen pulled her directly out of the present and brought her straight back to her life at home.
“I’ll call back,” Sophie said, quickly dropping the phone into her new bag and zipping it closed. She’d dropped her old tote off at the apartment on the way to their first destination—happy to see that Camille was nowhere around.
But she couldn’t avoid her sister forever—or her mother. She just didn’t want either of them to spoil this trip for her.
“Well,” Gabriel said as they stood and brushed the crumbs from their hands. “I suppose I should get back to my studio—only because I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”
There was a glimmer in his dark eyes that pulled another smile from her, and she sensed that this time he wasn’t having fun at her expense, but maybe with her.
And despite her better judgment and all her expectations for the day, she had to admit that she was having fun, too.
At least…a little.