Epilogue
NOEMI
A Year Later
“Istill can’t believe you’ve never been to a Christmas market!” I shake my head at Melissa as we climb the stairs of the Concorde métro station toward the bright lights of the Champs-Elysées.
She arches an eyebrow. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Christmas markets are just such an institution…”
“We didn’t have them in Paris growing up,” she says. “They’re a recent institution.”
“Really?”
She nods. “And, besides, I just… I don’t like Christmas.”
Coming out of the mouth of the métro, I draw in a breath of crispy late-afternoon air and give Melissa an incredulous look.
“Before you call me a monster,” she says, “I’ve never let my strained relationship with Christmas ruin Ben’s holiday.”
“Oh good! You had me worried for a moment there.” I point to the wooden chalets lining the sidewalk all the way from Concorde to the Champs-Elysées Roundabout. “Meet the best marché de Noel of the capital.”
“Pleasure.” Melissa sticks both thumbs up theatrically and bares her teeth. “Charmed.”
I ignore her hints at impending martyrdom. “It’s going to be fun. Besides, you could find a present for Ben or your mom.”
“I buy their Christmas presents in the summer.” She gives me a sly smile. “Online.”
As we reach the first set of booths, a cheerful tune drifting from the vendor’s sound system lifts my slightly dampened spirits. Four or five chalets away, a food stall fills the air with delicious scents of fresh coffee, waffles, and mulled wine.
Too bad there’s no snow!
But a white Christmas is a rare occurrence in Paris, so the artificial snow on chalet roofs is what we have, and what we’ll work with.
Melissa halts in front of a costume jewelry stand and begins to sort through a collection of funky rings. “They’re cute!”
She buys one with a big blue flower, not unlike the ring she’s been wearing lately.
I scan the booths around us until I spot the unforgettable pashmina stand from last year. Woohoo! When we get there, I begin to finger the soft wool wraps on display. The astute vendor sees my picks and then pulls out another pashmina wrap from a shelf and unfolds it for me.
It’s perfect.
I turn to Melissa. “Look at this one! Touch it. What do you think?”
“It’s gorgeous.” She strokes the intricate reddish patterns on the azure blue wrap. “And it’s soothing to the touch.”
Even though I know for a fact she loves big wraps and this particular color combo, I still hesitate. She could have said those things just to be polite. I steal a look at her face. It never lies.
One of the many reasons I hired her four months ago.
At present, Melissa’s face tells me she really likes the wrap.
“Pure cashmere wool from India,” the vendor says. “It’s my most expensive pashmina, but it’s worth the price!”
I pay him, and hand the garment over to Melissa. “Merry Christmas!”
“What? No! You shouldn’t have! And… and…” She gives me a panicked look. “You’re my boss!”
“I am, and this is my first ever Christmas present to my first ever employee.” I give her a big-eyed Puss-in-Boots look. “I wanted it to be memorable.”
Her expression changing at once, she gives me a bear hug. “I love it. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
I turn away quickly to hide my self-satisfied smile.
Noemi Dray hasn’t lost her cunning.
Yep, still got the touch.
As crafty as ever.
The Forces of Good are lucky to have me, if I say so myself.
“Come on, I’m buying you a treat,” Melissa says, pointing to the food booth I’ve been eyeing since we got here.
The cinnamony smells wafting from it are too mouthwatering to ignore.
Melissa and I spend another hour at the market, sipping vin chaud from paper cups and nibbling gingerbread cookies, as we stroll in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe. Melissa often stops in front of handmade accessories, crafts, and regional food specialties.
Looks like online shopping doesn’t cut it on its own after all.
As we get nearer to the roundabout, I glance at my watch to see if it’s time to head to the 9th arrondissement.
As if on cue, Melissa pulls out her phone and makes a phone call.
“Everything OK, Mom? Is Ben on his best behavior?” she inquires.
Her mom seems to answer both in the affirmative. I can tell from Melissa’s follow-up questions that she’s trying to find a reason to skip the second part of today’s program, and go home. Except, it sounds like her mom is telling her to relax and enjoy herself.
Enjoying herself is something Melissa has yet to learn to do.
When she hangs up, I narrow my eyes at her. “Don’t even think of bailing this time!”
“I wasn’t…” She gives me a pleading look. “It’s just… I don’t know anyone except you and Julien.”
I put my hands on my hips in mock reprimand. “And why is that? Huh?”
“Because I always find an excuse to stay home,” she admits with a sigh.
I peer into her eyes. “You said the other day that you missed dating, and sex.”
“I do.”
“There will be seven or eight single hunks at the party tonight.”
She studies her feet. “They’re younger than me.”
“Only by a few years. It’s nothing!”
She looks up. “OK.”
“That’s my girl!”
“Where’s the place again?”
“In the 9th. It’s a bistro suggested by the team’s main sponsor, so obviously, no one dared come up with an alternative venue.” I check my watch again. “We better get going.”
Melissa tugs off her gray scarf, shoves it into her tote bag, and wraps her new pashmina around her neck. “I’m ready. Let’s do this!”