Chapter 8
PRESENT DAY
After a beautiful afternoon of throwing open her balcony windows to survey Paris as the sunshine warmed her skin, and exploring the neighbourhood she was staying in, Mia had finally arrived at the address that was scribbled in the back of Hope’s notebook.
She stood outside the restaurant, checking that she had the right place, because it looked nothing like she’d expected.
She’d thought it would be a bar, which was why she’d waited until early evening to visit—but from what she could tell it was an upmarket restaurant with a bar that stretched along one end.
It was typically French in style, with small round tables outside beneath a striped awning, and she watched as a waiter came to deliver mouthwatering plates of food to a couple seated near her.
She smiled. At the very least she could order something delicious to eat, if she came up empty-handed.
There was something magical about Paris, a feeling that was impossible to describe, and she was already loving every second of being in the city.
Mia pushed the door open and glanced around, before making her way down to the bar.
There were two empty high-backed bar chairs, and she chose to take one rather than sit at a low table in the restaurant.
Cigarette smoke was wafting in from outside in typical French fashion, and despite it only being early evening, she guessed that some of the patrons had already been there for hours.
She glanced around at the same time as an older bartender approached her, his smile kind.
‘Bonjour,’ he said.
‘Bonjour,’ she replied. ‘Sorry, I only speak English.’
He just nodded and smiled, as if it wasn’t a problem, and Mia wished she’d had time to brush up on her French before she came.
She refused to think of Ethan, who’d so effortlessly ordered for them last time they’d been in Paris.
If she closed her eyes, she could see him seated beside her, his smile so warm it could have melted her.
Mia pushed the thought away, giving the bartender her full attention.
‘Are you Joe?’ she asked, confused when he laughed.
‘No,’ he said, shaking his head as if she’d asked him if he was an elephant. ‘I’m definitely not Joe. He’ll be back soon. Would you like a drink while you wait?’
Mia ordered a white wine, not sure why what she’d said was so funny. He was still grinning when he came back with her glass.
‘Would you be able to tell him that I’m looking for him?’ she asked. ‘When he’s back?’
The man nodded and moved on to the next table, and after glancing around, Mia took out her phone to check her messages and then read the news for something to do. Until she heard a voice from behind her.
‘You were asking for me?’
Mia slowly set her phone down, her mouth dry as she connected the deep, heavily accented voice with the man staring at her from the other side of the bar. He had warm brown eyes and a thick head of dark hair that he ran his fingers through as she watched him.
Say something. Mia swallowed. Don’t just stare at him. Say something!
‘You’re Joe?’
He nodded, glancing down the bar to the people waiting, as if he didn’t have long.
No wonder the old guy laughed at me. Joe was about thirty years younger, handsome as hell, and with an accent that made her stomach turn to liquid. He wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting.
‘I was given your name by a bartender in London. He thought you might be able to help me.’
His brows knitted together as if he were confused, and she quickly reached for her bag and fumbled for the little bottle, not wanting him to walk away before she’d had the chance to tell him why she was there.
‘I’m trying to find out what you might know about this,’ she said, placing the bottle on the bar.
He said something in French to the older man, who stopped what he was doing to come and look. He shuffled over and stood beside Joe.
‘May I?’ Joe asked.
Mia nodded and watched as he picked it up, his brows still drawn together, before he glanced back at her.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘It belonged to my great-aunt,’ she said, looking between the two men.
The older one murmured something in French that she had no hope of understanding, before going back to his work, but Joe held her gaze, making her wonder what on earth she was doing, coming all the way to France and expecting to find an answer to the mystery from a stranger.
He passed it back to her, and she found herself talking to fill the silence.
‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you could just point me in the right direction, to someone who might—’
‘It’s such a busy time of night, I have to get back to work.’
Her hope faded. ‘Oh, no, I’m sorry, I…’
He glanced back at her, and she was flooded with warmth when his eyes met hers.
‘But if you can wait until closing, or come back later, I’ll help you,’ he said, already walking backwards away from her to take an order as the bar filled up. ‘Once we’re not so busy.’
Mia just nodded, her mouth so dry that even a sip of chilled white wine did nothing to help. So that was Joe. Well, I’ll be damned.
She smiled to herself and sipped her drink, before deciding to take a table outside to enjoy the balmy evening.
I’m in France. Mia stifled a laugh, shaking her head as she watched young people walk down the street in small groups and an old couple saunter past, hand in hand.
After so long hiding from the world, I’m actually in France.
She took a deep breath as she sat back in her chair, her wine glass cradled in her hand.
I did this. I’m living again.
And she was determined not to waste a second. Mia wanted to eat all the food, drink good wine and be open to meeting new people, to remember the woman she’d been before her life had been turned upside down.
Mia found herself glancing back into the bar, then quickly turning away when she caught herself watching Joe serving drinks, and facing back to the street.
She took out her phone to use Google Translate, deciding she needed to order something from the menu before the wine went straight to her head.
It also gave her something to do other than stealing glances back inside and praying she wouldn’t be as tongue-tied the next time they spoke.
Her phone buzzed then and she picked it up, trying not to laugh as she read the message from Georgia.
Is bartender Joe fat and balding or French man cute?
Mia took a sip of wine, resisting the urge to look back at him again before she replied.
He’s French man gorgeous.
Georgia sent her back a line of fire emojis, and Mia turned her phone over and left it on the table just as her steak frites arrived, not knowing what to message back.
But when her phone buzzed for a third time, she reached for it, seeing it was Georgia again.
When in Paris…
Mia laughed. It had been a long time since she’d messaged a friend about a man, and even though she doubted she would see Joe again after tonight, it felt liberating to entertain the idea.
I’m fairly sure it’s Rome, but…
Send me a pic of the bartender. I need evidence that he’s as gorgeous as you say he is.
This time Mia put her phone in her pocket, smiling to herself as she ate her dinner and listened to the couple beside her trying to decide whether to visit the Eiffel Tower next or the Louvre. Texting about him was one thing, but she was not going to get caught snapping a pic of him.
But thinking about taking a photo made a familiar warmth pool in her stomach, and she instinctively reached into her bag for her camera.
And then she lifted it out and held it up to her eye, her hand shaking a little as she took a shot of the people walking past as she let herself enjoy the feeling.
Mia smiled to herself as her hand steadied, and she didn’t know if it was the wine or being in Paris, or maybe a combination of both, but she took photograph after photograph, and it was like a little piece of herself that had been lost for so long had finally been put back into place.
‘You’re still here.’
Mia looked up, lost in a little world of her own as she nursed her second glass of wine.
It had been a long time since she’d been so comfortable in her own company, but tonight she’d found it easy to sit and watch the world go by without wishing she was somewhere else or that things could have been different.
Joe looked just as good as he had last time she’d stolen a glance at him, and she was fairly sure it wasn’t just because she’d been drinking.
‘I was going to leave and come back, but the food looked too good.’
She noticed that Joe was holding a glass of his own, filled with ice and what she imagined might be whisky, although she wasn’t sure.
‘May I?’ he asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside her.
‘Of course! Please, sit down, I…’ She paused, shaking her head. There was nothing to be nervous about. Just because he was handsome didn’t mean she had to get all flustered—he was just a man who may or may not be able to help her. ‘I’m Mia,’ she said, holding out her hand.
He took it. ‘Nice to meet you, Mia.’
She watched as he sat back, one arm casually resting on his leg, the other holding his glass. It took her a moment to realise he was waiting for her to say something.
‘Have you finished work for the night?’
‘The boss is being kind to me,’ he said. ‘Besides, it’s not often I have a beautiful stranger waiting for me.’
Mia blinked back at him, clearing her throat as she tried to remember what she’d been about to say.
He was the kind of guy who looked so relaxed and comfortable in his own body.
His smile was easy, his eyes were warm, his body angled to face her with his knee dangerously close to skimming hers.
Although she supposed the tiny French tables with the chairs crammed next to them were to blame for that, and she wondered if a man had designed them for exactly that reason.
‘So, tell me about your mysterious little bottle. I’m curious to know how you’ve come to be in possession of it.’
‘My great-aunt passed away and had the bottle hidden among her belongings, and I’m trying to find out anything I can to trace her history and understand how she might be connected to it.
’ She paused for breath and watched as he placed his glass on the table and slowly leaned forward.
‘I was told it might have been a bottle of French absinthe.’
‘You’ve travelled from—’
‘London,’ she said. ‘I’ve travelled from London. It’s very important to me to try to find an answer.’
Joe met her gaze for a fleeting second again before opening his palm. She placed the bottle there, waiting for his fingers to begin curling before she let it go. It was too precious to be accidentally broken.
He looked over it, his eyes seemingly considering every little part of the bottle, until he finally raised his head again. She could see that he was interested, that she’d shown him something that had made him at least a little curious.
‘What if your aunt just saved a bottle of her favourite liqueur? What makes you think there’s a deeper connection?’ he asked. ‘What is it you think you’re searching for?’
‘Answers,’ she said, without thinking. ‘I’m searching for answers, because I believe that my aunt designed the fairy on the bottle, and I want to know more.’ She blew out a breath. ‘I need to know more.’
‘You’re certain your aunt designed this?’ he asked.
Her pulse began to race. ‘I have her original sketches of the fairy, so yes, I’m fairly sure.
When you look through her sketchbook, it’s impossible not to see that she was the artist, and she hid it with some other things that were incredibly precious.
I don’t think she would have done that if this bottle didn’t mean a great deal to her. ’
‘Do you have the book with you?’
Mia reached down into her bag and brought out the sketchbook, leafing through some of the pages before passing it over to him. She watched as he slowly flicked from one sketch to the next, and she knew he agreed with her when he put the book on the table and looked up at her.
His smile touched his eyes, and she found her stomach flipping again when he leaned back in his chair, his glass of whisky back in one hand and the little bottle in the other.
‘Well, Mia, I hope you’re prepared for what you find out, because your aunt must have been quite the woman if she had something to do with absinthe production.’
‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.
‘Because getting caught making absinthe in the 1930s wasn’t for…’ He paused. ‘How do you say it in English? For the faint of heart? And if you’re right about your aunt, then she was very lucky not to have been caught.’