Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
JEMMA
My stomach erupts into butterflies the moment I hear his key sliding into the lock. I rush to the entryway to greet him. I watch as he hangs his coat on the rack, desperate to find out how things went this morning with Colette.
Before I can say a word, Luca’s eyes fall to my suitcase sitting next to the door, but he doesn’t say anything.
That’s not a good sign. He’s not begging me to stay.
Okay, okay, I know I said I wasn’t ready to go home yet, but I packed so I don’t look too presumptuous. After all, he only offered for me to stay one night, and I’m hoping he’ll extend his invite for my entire trip. I feel crazy for entertaining the idea. But I really don’t want to leave.
I love his apartment.
I enjoy his coffee.
I’m in awe of the views.
And I adore looking at him.
“How did your thing go this morning?” I ask, greeting him with a cautious smile.
He rakes his hands through his dark hair, his face falling slightly. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
The stress lines creeping across his face make me think twice about pressing him further. I decide it’s best not to bring up his little visitor this morning.
I shift nervously from one foot to the other. “So, your note mentioned lunch,” I say, wondering if that’s still on the table given his current mood.
“Plans changed,” he mutters.
My heart drops to my stomach.
My vacation is over. Hail me a cab, and get me on the next flight home. Au revoir, Paris.
“I’m sorry. I can get out of your hair.” I reach for my suitcase.
“I didn’t say you need to leave.” His brows furrow. “Our plans have changed, as we’ve”—he swipes in the space between us—“been invited to my brother Henri’s home for déjeuner, lunch.”
Did I hear him correctly? Lunch with his brother?
I let a soft sigh escape.
The Colette thing must not be a big deal, or he’d let me leave. A sense of hope resurfaces. I bite my lip, attempting to quell the excitement flowing through my body. I want to pounce on the opportunity to ask if I can stay longer, but I want him to come to that conclusion on his own.
“Unless, of course, you have other plans,” he adds, knowing darn well I don’t have any other plans because if I did, I wouldn’t still be here.
“Um”—I rock on my feet, trying to play it cool—“Nope. I’m all yours.”
I’m all yours? Did I really just say that?
A sly smile smolders on Luca’s lips. “Perfect.” He rubs his chin. “I need to make a phone call, and then we’ll head out.” He walks away, leaving me simmering in embarrassment.
The sound of the balcony latch draws me into the living room, where I catch Luca pacing along the narrow terrace, phone clutched tightly in his hand.
Colette sneaks back in to my thoughts, but I shove her and her oversized sunglasses aside.
I quickly busy myself by walking over to the grand antique mirror, where I gather my long hair to one side and weave a loose braid that cascades over my right shoulder, resting along my collarbone.
Gazing at myself in the mirror, I notice my lips are pleading for a dash of color.
I pull a tube of cherry-red lip stain from my pocket and glide the wand over my lips before pressing them together.
With a satisfied nod at my reflection, I stroll back to the entryway, slipping into my long red coat, black scarf, and matching black gloves.
“It’s a nice day for a walk if that’s okay with you.” Luca appears behind me, reaching for his black jacket and this time choosing a gold scarf.
“Oui. J’aimerais ca.” I giggle.
“Ah, elle parle une peu francais.”
“Juste un peu.” I squish my gloved thumb and pointer finger together. “I took French in high school and then again in college, but I’m out of practice.”
“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity to practice your French while you’re here.”
Will I?
“Shall we?” I reach for the door.
A silly grin crosses his face.
“What?” I playfully ask, feeling self-conscious.
“You might want to rethink those.” He nods toward my shoes.
“What’s wrong with these?” I ask, kicking up one of the thin-heeled ankle boots adorning my size seven foot. “I wear these walking all over Manhattan. I’m a pro. Plus, they look cute with my outfit.”
“I don’t doubt that, but this isn’t New York.” He grins, studying my face.
“I’m fine,” I reply with a rebellious wave of my hand.
“Suit yourself.” Luca chuckles, placing his hand on the small of my back, steering me out of the apartment.
* * *
About two blocks into our walk, I understand why he questioned my footwear. Cobblestones! Everywhere! I thought the little alleyway last night was a one-off situation, but boy, was I wrong.
“You should have warned me,” I say, leaning into him for support as my heel wedges between a stone.
“I tried,” he quips, steading my wobbling frame with one hand, assisting me down the idyllic, but in my opinion, unfunctional street. A small I-told-you-so smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“You could have been more convincing,” I add, wearing a teasing grin as my heel catches yet another stone. I use the opportunity to cling tighter to him.
I feel his body rumble with laughter. “You’re finding this amusing, aren’t you?” I tout.
“Is it that obvious?” He grins, his single dimple mocking me.
“Okay, so maybe you were right.” Leaning into him, I take a deep breath, expecting a whiff of Luca’s intoxicating scent, but instead I’m greeted with a burst of buttery goodness mixed with toasted bread and spices—a pleasure for my senses.
I look up to find the quaintest little boulangerie with patrons spilling out of the building. Full tables of content people, laughing and chatting without a care in the world, line the narrow cobblestone passageway.
“Hello, Paris! Nice to meet you.” I make a sweeping motion with my free hand.
Luca bursts into a boisterous laugh.
“What?” I question.
“I like experiencing Paris through your eyes.”
My cheeks redden as I attempt to control the smile overtaking my face, but I can’t hold it back any longer. “This place is something else, Luca. I can’t believe you get to live here and experience all this beauty every day.”
“C’est Paris,” Luca states proudly.
I’m in absolute awe of everything we pass, from the magnificent stone buildings to the fabulous boutiques and restaurants, all beautifully decorated for Christmas.
I mentally note them all, creating an itinerary—if I stay.
And right now, that’s a big if. But he clearly doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry to get rid of me.
“So, how far away is your brother’s place, anyway?” I pull back to look him in the eye.
“Not far for someone in flats.” He smirks.
I playfully nudge my shoulder into his. I know we’ve just met, but I feel like we’ve quickly fallen into a rhythm.
Luca clears his throat. “We’re in the sixth arrondissement—think of it like a neighborhood.”
I tilt my head toward him, twisting my mouth upward. “I know what an arrondissement is, thank you very much.”
“Okay, okay. Not everyone’s an expert like you.” He laughs, tossing his free arm into the air. “So, we’re in the sixth, and Henri lives in the fifth, the Latin Quarter. We’re left bank kind of guys. Always have been, always will be.” He chuckles.
“I can see why,” I add, my gaze floating from one dreamy building to another.
“I thought since it’s a nice day, we could cut through the Jardin du Luxembourg. Snap a few photos for your blog”—he winks at me—“then it’s just a few more blocks.”
“I still don’t know about the whole blog thing, but I’d love to see the gardens.”
“Eh, come on, Jemma. You said you want to write a travel blog. You’re traveling, so blog about it. Easy.”
“It seems like a waste of time, since I won’t be able to keep up on it when I get a new job.” My stomach dips at the thought of starting from the ground up all over again.
Tension seeps back into my bones. The carefree Jemma from moments ago is quickly replaced with the overthinker shell of a person I’ve been for the past few years. My face drops, and my pace stalls.
“I’m sorry if I’ve said something to upset you,” he says, matching my pace.
“It’s just that I forgot I’ll be starting over with vacation time, along with everything else. I’ll be lucky if I get two measly weeks. Some companies make you jump through hoops just to earn that.” I let out a dramatic sigh.
Luca shakes his head. “That’s so depressing. We get five weeks off, plus eleven paid holidays. I’m actually on holiday right now. As a matter of fact, I’m taking the rest of the month off.”
“The rest of the month?” I gasp.
“I earned it.” He flashes me a quirky grin. “I wanted to take the rest of the month off, so I am.”
I scrunch my face upward. “Okay, you can quit rubbing dirt into my wound any time now.”
“In France, we work to live, not live to work. Joie de vivre; it’s the French way.”
“Well, I might have to move to France then.”
“Maybe you should.” He playfully bumps his shoulder into mine.
My pulse races at the thought. “If only it were that easy.”
“If you want something, Jemma, you have to make it happen. Like your blog. Just make it happen.”
“Now you sound like my best friend, Gretchen.”
“Gretchen sounds like a smart girl.”
“Gretchen’s great. She’s the reason I’m here right now. Well, she’s the one who put the seed of the idea in my head.”
The reason the seed grew is a much longer story and a little unbelievable. Fate, magic, Santa—eh, either way I’m here.
Luca turns to me, his blue eyes shimmering. “I’m glad she did,” he responds, and my insides turn into mush. “And if you wouldn’t have lost your job, by the sounds of it, you wouldn’t be here either. So, it’s a good thing you got fired, right?”
“I’d prefer not to be homeless in a few months, so I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“Everything happens for a reason, mon petit lapin.”
Did he just call me a little rabbit?
* * *
The brisk air kisses my cheeks as we enter the Luxembourg Gardens, arms still linked. I don’t feel the need to pull away, and it seems he doesn’t either. I like being close to him. He makes me feel safe.
Luca offers several facts about the gardens as we pass by happy people munching on baguettes and sipping wine from real glasses—not those flimsy plastic cups.
People-watchers are perched on green metal chairs and benches, while tourists wander the park with their phones glued to their hands, taking pictures of everything in sight.
Which reminds me.
I slyly slip my fingers into my clutch and fish out my phone.
As we walk, I snap a few photos of the scenery and some statues, but what my fingers are really itching to capture is a shot with Luca.
If today is the last day we see each other, I want proof he existed.
I want a memory of him, but how do I do it without looking like a total creeper?
As if reading my thoughts, Luca reaches for my phone. “Shall we?” He turns us around, and before I can even nod, he leans in and snaps a selfie with the Luxembourg Palace behind us, forming the ideal backdrop.
When he hands my phone back, I gleam with giddiness at the image staring back at me.
Gretchen’s getting this photo pronto!
Jemma: We make a cute couple—even if Luca doesn’t know it yet.
I click send, and immediately my phone buzzes with a response.
Gretchen: Hello, handsome!
I catch a smile forming as I slip my phone back inside my purse. The park finally spits us out to a busy street, where I spy several hotels in the distance.
“Think I should pop in and see if there are any vacancies?” I ask, with zero desire to follow through.
“We’ll deal with that later—we’re going to be late.”
“Luca, I’m falling in love with Paris more and more with every step. I’m not ready to go home.” I gesture to the street around us.
“Jemma, I told you things have a way of working themselves out in Paris. Everything will be fine.”
But as the words leave his mouth, his phone rings.