Chapter 11 #2
His eyebrow quirks up, and he opens his mouth to respond, but the waiter arrives with the mussels. Good timing too; he probably thinks I’m an irresponsible nut. It’s better to put an end to this conversation now.
I slide a mussel onto my plate and seize the moment to shift the spotlight. “What were you doing in New York?”
“I was there on business,” he replies, leaning back in his chair. “I travel where I’m needed,” he says with very little enthusiasm.
“That sounds fun.”
“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Honestly, it’s getting quite tiring. I’m thinking about switching things up, maybe finding a new job,” he admits, giving me a little shoulder shrug.
“Oh,” I respond softly.
I expect him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he flashes me a mischievous grin and asks, “What would you want to do if money were no object?”
“Oh, wow. This took an interesting turn.” I stroke the stem of my wine glass.
“Well, you just lost your job, so it’s time to open up your possibilities, right?” He raises his brow. “So, what is it that calls to you? Like, what’s your passion? You can’t tell me you were working your dream job.” He brings his glass to his lips and watches me while he takes a sip.
I take a generous gulp of my wine, appreciating the full-bodied, earthy flavor, while mulling over his question. I know I wasn’t working my dream job, but was my goal of getting into marketing simply settling? I take a deep breath and go for it. I let my wild and crazy dream leave my lips.
“Alright, if money were no worry, I would be a travel blogger,” I foolishly admit. “But you’ve got to travel to blog about it.” I let out a nervous, self-deprecating laugh.
“How long are you staying?” he asks.
“I’m leaving on December 26.” Or sooner.
“Okay, it’s settled. Jemma Jones is going to start gathering information for her first blog post: Christmas in Paris.”
“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here. First, we should figure out where I’m sleeping tonight.”
Luca chuckles. “First, I think you should enjoy your food. What do you think of the mussels?”
I use my tiny fork to scoop out the tender meat and slide it into my mouth, closing my eyes in surprise at the burst of flavor. “Wow. This is amazing.”
“I’m pleased you enjoyed it,” Luca says with a giddy smile.
“So, have you lived in Paris your whole life?” I ask, keen on switching the focus back onto him.
“Yes, well, most of my life. When I was younger, we lived in Italy for a year. My mother was from a small village in Toscana and wanted to be closer to her family again. But it didn’t last long; we all missed France—even my Italian mother.” His eyes momentarily flicker. “She was amazing.”
“Was?” I ask softly.
“Yes, I lost my mother about five years ago.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I understand.
“I also lost my mother—three years ago. This time of year hasn’t been the same since. I pretty much avoid all things Christmas now.”
Wow, I can’t believe I just admitted that—out loud—and to a stranger.
“Is that why you’re not with your family for the holiday?”
“You could say that. My dad remarried someone much younger, and he’s happy, but I’m not. I think he moved on too quickly.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, but Jemma, life is short. The living should live.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I shift uncomfortably. “I feel bad that I don’t visit much. I know my dad misses me, but it’s hard to see him settled into his new life without my mom.”
“Family can be hard sometimes.” He nods, his forehead crinkling as he reaches for the wine bottle.
“You can say that again.”
He frowns as silence settles over our table for the first time since we’ve met. Luca pours more wine into his glass while he studies me. “You’re fidgeting.”
I crinkle my nose. I hate when people point things out that I’m doing. It makes me insecure, and I hate feeling insecure. I push around the food on my plate before noticing that’s a form of fidgeting too. So, I slide another piece of meat into my mouth.
“I’m just getting nervous about finding a place to stay. It’s getting late.”
I’m halfway through a bite when Luca announces, “You’re staying with me tonight.”
I choke on my appetizer. “Excuse me. Your translation doesn’t seem to be coming across right.”
“I have to confess something,” he says, his tone turning serious.
“I had my brother, Henri, check hotels in the area. The hotel employee you spoke to was right: there’s nothing reasonable available tonight.
I invited you to dinner to make sure you’re not a crazy person before I offered you my place to stay. ”
“Wait, so you knew when you picked me up?” My mind races to process this information.
“I knew you were having a bad day, and I wanted to help. I knew if I told you right away that your search was useless, you’d have me take you straight to the airport. And you would be missing out on the trip of a lifetime.”
“Some trip,” I mutter, dropping my head. “I’m in one of the biggest cities in the world, and I don’t believe there’s nothing available.” Agitated, I yank my phone from my bag, desperately scanning for options they might’ve missed.
I shouldn’t have let Luca distract me; I’ve wasted valuable time.
As the waiter places our main courses on the table, Luca studies me, an amused grin dancing at the corners of his mouth.
“What?” I snap, feeling the heat of his gaze.
“You Americans—always trying to figure out the impossible. C’est comme ca.” He chuckles. “It is what it is, and you can’t will a different outcome, Jemma.”
Ignoring his playful jab, I dive back into my search, fingers flying across the screen.
With each swipe, my heart sinks deeper; utterly unaffordable rooms flash before my eyes. “I think I should leave—go back to New York.”
“I think you’re making a big mistake,” he counters. “What’s waiting for you in New York? You lost your job, and clearly, you chose to spend Christmas here instead of with your family. You should stay.”
“It’s one thing to accompany you to dinner, but it’s a whole other thing to sleep at your home, Luca. I can’t. That’s crazy. We just met.”
“I understand, but we’re friends now—amis.
You don’t have to decide right now, but I think you’d be making a huge mistake if you went home tonight.
Enjoy your meal first, then think about it.
I know my word might not mean much, but I promise you I’m not a creep or anything.
I’m just a guy extending his kindness to someone who had a terrible week.
Plus, it’s Christmastime. Everyone deserves a break at Christmas. ”
“I’ll think about it,” I respond, draining my glass in one shaky gulp.