When Love Blooms in Paris: A sweet, escapist, springtime in Paris romance. (Chateau de Belliveau Boo

Chapter 1

Lyam was gone. Gabrielle sat cross-legged on the cold cement of her tiny Parisian balcony with her eyes tightly closed, rocking back and forth. She took a deep shuddering breath, scrubbing at tears long since dried on cheeks that ached from the force of her pain and anger.

There was frost in the air. She shivered, but the chill that seeped into her bones went unheeded. On the streets beyond the black iron railings that surrounded her, twilight fell like a damp blanket. The fading light of a cold February evening marked the desolation of her heart.

Lyam was gone, yes, but she had ended it, not him. After listening to what Gabrielle had to say, the police took him away. She reached for her wine.

* * *

Two months later

Gabrielle stared at grey sheets of rain that splashed into puddles outside the café window. She watched as people hunched under bobbing umbrellas of all colours and sizes, hurrying to escape the deluge. Leaden clouds hung over Paris. Sidewalks glistened, and cars drove slowly, their headlights creating beacons of light in the rainy gloom.

Yet, a scent of spring was in the air. The smell of damp earth and the regeneration of leaves, grass, and flowers soon to bloom again in dormant gardens, wafted through the door each time it opened, welcoming in a soggy customer.

Gabrielle warmed her hands around a hot glass of mulled wine, glancing hopefully at a fire burning in the hearth not far from where she sat. But it was mostly for show. Very little heat reached her small round table. With a sigh, she closed the heavy book she’d been reading.

Steam rose from the beverage as she lifted it to her mouth, breathing deeply to fill her senses with the sweet, spicy scent of orange peel, cloves, and cinnamon. Tipping the glass, she allowed it to trickle down her throat, thawing her from the inside out. She closed her eyes.

It wouldn’t be a good idea to sit here too long, she mused. Moving to check the time on her phone, Gabrielle looked down at her favourite moss-green cardigan. She knew it went well with her mane of ebony hair often twined into a thick braid running the length of her back. Though today she wore it down as an extra layer of warmth. The weather wasn”t supposed to be this cold. The forecast had been clear. It was meant to be spring-like outside, as warm as summer. But then the rain had started, preceded by a rumble in the sky. Now, even the trees outside were cowering and the sidewalk tables were dripping and desolate.

It was dark for two o”clock on a quiet Saturday. She wrapped her sweater around her, shrugged deeper into her jacket, and zipped it to the top. How she wished she”d grabbed her winter coat before dashing down the street for this much needed respite. The idea was to get some fresh air before heading home to study for final exams, not freeze to death.

“Gabrielle!”

A voice called her name, but it couldn”t have been meant for her. There was no one she knew in Paris this weekend. Her friends had taken advantage of the time off to go home or spend vacation with their boyfriends abroad. She”d chosen to stay in the city to study. Besides, there had been no man in her life—since Lyam. She looked around. The place was almost deserted. How many other Gabrielle”s could there possibly be?

Her back was to the door, but she heard footsteps approaching and familiar laughter ring out. Turning, despite herself, Gabrielle couldn”t believe her eyes. She blinked uncomprehendingly, her mouth falling open. Three of her family members stood before her, grinning and folding away their umbrellas. She leaped up and regardless of their wetness, hugged each one tightly, kissing cheeks. The love in their embraces instantly lifted her mood.

“What are you doing here?”

“We came to rescue you from yourself,” her cousin-in-law Angelina said with a grin. “We have a day planned you”re going to love.” She reached into a bag she had slung over one shoulder and withdrew two bottles of wine which she clunked onto the table before Gabrielle’s startled eyes. “Compliments of Chateau de Belliveau,” she announced with a grin.

“But...”

“Before you argue,” Angelina interjected, “we”re aware you have to study. That”s why we”re only going to take you out for the day. We have a hotel booked for the night and our overnight bags are already there. It isn’t far from here. No, don’t say it...” She raised a hand to silence the protest on Gabrielle’s lips. “You have all of tomorrow to yourself for studying.” She moved closer to the fire and extended her hands toward the flame.

“Come on Gabby.” Annette spoke up, using the childhood name she’d always used for her older sister. Her voice rose with excitement. “We ”ave a plan…the afternoon for shopping, and to end the day, dinner at an amazing restaurant.”

Sarah, another cousin by marriage, beamed at Gabrielle too, the glow of the fire turning her freckles into golden constellations. Gabrielle couldn”t help but admire how Sarah always appeared to light up a room. “We want to take you out on the town!” the young woman chimed in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She pulled a bag from behind her back and set it on the table with a flourish. “And, we”ve got a surprise for you,” she said, gesturing towards a cherry red dress, just visible through the plastic.

“Ooh la la,” Gabrielle exclaimed breathily, picking up the dress. “Thank you. C”est incroyable.” She dabbed at her eyes, overwhelmed and unable to prevent tears from flowing at the sight of these women she loved. “I can”t believe you came all this way for me.”

Annette winked and said, “What”s family for if not to pounce on you when you least suspect it? We ‘ave shoes for you also, but they were too heavy to bring from the hotel. It is decided that we will all prepare for our evening at the ‘otel. D’accord?”

Gabrielle nodded. Happily, she gulped the rest of her wine, and paid her bill, while the group prepared their umbrellas to brave the dreary Parisian weather. She was so pleased to see them. She would have agreed to almost any idea they came up with at this point.

“I want to take my books back ‘ome, first,” she said, sliding the heavy volume from the table into a worn leather bag at her feet. “It will only take a moment.”

Huddled close together, conversation flowed freely amongst the women as they trekked along the blustery street. Drawing near to her apartment, Gabrielle glanced up at the building she’d lived in for almost four years. Made of creamy white brick, it was typical Parisian and boasted intricately wrought steel railings at her balcony and kitchen windows. Although the rain had dampened its appeal for the moment, she loved her little sanctuary on the top floor.

Stopping at the tall, navy-blue doors leading to the foyer, she keyed in her passcode. They clicked open and her family piled through behind her.

Five flights of stairs later, they entered Gabrielle”s tiny apartment and filled la salle de séjour with lively chatter.

Gabrielle felt a sense of comfort wash over her. She”d missed her family—the acceptance and love of home, especially lately. She looked at each one of these precious women, thinking how much they”d changed in small ways since she”d last seen them. They grouped before her as she dropped her bag on the floor beneath the coatrack, popped the vin rosé wine into her small refrigerator to chill, and grabbed something warmer to wear.

Annette, her sister and the youngest of this generation, was always vivacious with glossy, chocolate brown, shoulder-length curls. Her hazel eyes sparkled with warmth as she glanced at Sarah through oversized glasses and grinned, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. She was petite and wore an outfit that belied her love of fashion—baggy jeans that boasted more holes than material, a cropped, sky blue t-shirt, and well-worn trainers. She had an air of confidence that could only come with being eighteen and freshly graduated, ready to begin art school at university in the fall.

Sarah”s long, golden hair tumbled to her waist in soft waves, a perfect complement to her bright blue eyes. She’d gained a few pounds since Gabrielle had seen her at Christmas, but it only served to enhance her lovely hourglass figure. Married only a few months earlier to Gabrielle’s cousin, Rapha?l, she looked perfectly happy. She wore chic, yet comfortable high-waisted skinny jeans, a grey cable-knit sweater with a matching scarf knotted around her throat, and chunky heeled boots.

Gabrielle lether eyes drift toward her cousin Julien”s wife, Angelina. In her late thirties now, she still radiated youth. Her shoulder-length, dark brown hair was tied back with a mauve ribbon at the nape of her neck and her petite frame was clad in lightly faded jeans, cinched at the waist with a brown leather belt and topped with a simple but elegant white blouse. Contentment saturated the air around the group as Gabrielle slowly buttoned her jacket, absorbing the conversations of the women.

She relaxed for what felt like the first time in months as she hung the dress her family had brought for her to wear. Tears stung her eyes for the second time that day. She hadn’t dressed up and gone out for a long while. Her degree in psychology had always come first. And of course, there’d been Lyam. He hadn’t liked going anywhere in the evening—unless it was by himself.

“So, it is nice to chat and catch up, but we should go. We are in Paris after all.” Annette waved at the door, turning to look at each woman in turn. “I’d like to wander along Rue de Rivoli and do some shopping. I think it’s even stopped raining.” She leaned back to glance out the balcony window. “What do you say ladies?”

No one needed any more urging and they piled back down the corkscrew staircase to the darkened foyer below. Gabrielle snapped on the light and caught sight of the post boxes. She hadn’t checked her mail in days.

“Une minute, s’il te pla?t,” she called out.

The others paused by the huge doors leading to the street as she dug into her purse for the key. Yanking the small metal door open with a protesting squeal, she reached inside and grabbed the envelopes, giving them a cursory glance before slamming it shut. Amongst the pile there were the usual bills and a flyer advertising real estate in the area. However, one envelope stood out from the rest. It looked personal and addressed by hand. Who would be writing to her? Even her parents sent texts or called. No one had ever written her a letter—except Lyam, but those were in the early days of their relationship. They’d been left for her to find around the apartment, filled with lines of poetry and sentiments of young love. She didn’t want to think about any of that. Yet, the handwriting looked eerily similar.

A trickle of fear shivered down her spine. No. It couldn’t be him, could it? Gabrielle refused to allow anxiety or memories of the past, mar this perfect day. None of her family were aware of the circumstances surrounding the breakup and she wanted to keep it that way. The less they knew, the safer they were. She stuffed the wad of papers to the bottom of her voluminous bag, along with her concerns, and forced a grin on her face.

“Ready?” she asked. The four women stepped onto the street. Linking arms, and giggling, they headed for the nearest métro, the transit system that served all of Paris with a complex web of underground trains.

They spent the next few hours wandering in and out of stores and tiny boutiques on Rue de Rivoli. Everyone but Gabrielle bought something. Another pair of boots for Annette, a top and two sweaters for Sarah, and Angelina purchased clothes for her daughter, Celeste and Philippe, her young son. Tired, but happy, they returned to Gabrielle’s apartment.

The four women filled the small entry. Somehow, the space managed to house Gabrielle’s coats, her neatly organized shoes, a miniscule washer/dryer that was tucked into a corner, and high shelves filled with boxes. They left their wet things to dry a little before they moved into the living space which consisted of a mere two rooms. They weren’t grand, but prettily decorated and cozy.

The tiny kitchen held everything she needed, with a small round table at the center where a bowl of fresh pink peonies reposed. Long narrow windows were pushed open to allow a breeze to waft through filmy white curtains when the weather was sunny. The cupboards on the left and a squat buffet on the right were painted a deep forest green. They would have darkened the room if not for the gold swirls of metallic paint Gabrielle had used to lighten and accentuate them. The floor was a checkerboard pattern of green and white tiles. White ruffled drapes ran around the base of the cupboards, masking the presence of larger utensils and pots.

Gabrielle opened the wine and poured each of them a glass. Handing them around, she took an appreciative sip. It was like a taste of home.

They moved into the salon and occupied every available seat. Annette spoke excitedly about her latest art project and gossip from home. While Sarah teased Annette about the cute young desk clerk at their hotel, and Angelina relayed news from Chateau de Belliveau, the estate where she and Sarah lived with their husbands, Gabrielle”s cousins.

Two high-backed wing chairs, covered in a pale gold fabric, stood on either side of balcony windows that were almost replicas of the ones in the kitchen only bigger. A small, paisley-patterned sofa in soft blues, golds, and creams was tucked between a tall bookcase filled to overflowing with books and several antique figurines her parents had given her as a child, and what must have been a working fireplace in its day. A few art nouveau paintings she’d picked up from a gallery she’d visited with Lyam graced the walls, and a small flat screen television hung overtop the mantle, but Gabrielle seldom used it. She preferred to read whenever she wasn’t studying, which wasn’t very often.

“I can ‘ardly wait for you to take the dress out of the wrapper and try it on,” Annette gushed, from where she perched on one of the two chairs in the salon. “I want to see if Sarah guessed your size correctly.” The young girl leaned back and assessed Gabrielle’s figure. “Can a woman be slender and voluptuous at the same time?” Annette swivelled around to ask the other two, holding her glass between thumb and forefinger.

Sarah balanced on the other chair, closest to the long windows leading to the balcony. She answered with a chuckle.

“That is a bit of a contradiction.” She tapped a finger on her chin, also giving Gabrielle a once-over. “But in this specific instance I’d have to say it fits.” She grinned and spoke pointedly to Gabrielle. “I don’t think you understand how absolutely gorgeous you are. Back when we first met, and I thought you were dating Rapha?l, I wanted to hate you for how beautiful you were. But I couldn’t since you were just too sweet.” Sarah hurried across the room to hug her cousin-in-law and released her just as quickly.

“It’s true,” Angelina added with a smile from where she reclined on the tiny sofa. “You have a way of turning heads everywhere you go, but it’s your inner beauty that truly shines.” She became serious, reached across, and laid a hand over Gabrielle’s own. “Just so this is absolutely clear, we’re here for you whenever you need us, okay?” She nodded encouragingly. “I don’t know what happened between you and Lyam, but if you ever need to talk…”

Gabrielle felt the love roll off these women in waves. She looked between them, not trusting herself to speak, and blinked rapidly. With a swift intake of breath, she gave each one a wobbly smile.

“Merci beaucoup. You ‘ave no idea what it means to me that you came ‘ere today.” She jumped to her feet, almost spilling her drink. “Now, let’s get ready and go to dinner! I’m ravenous.”

They lost no time in leaving, and soon stood in the spacious but plain, adjoining rooms of the hotel in the tenth arrondissement where the women were staying.

Considering four women were getting dressed at the same time, with only one bathroom, it didn’t take them long. There was laughter, good-natured teasing, and a lot of perfume before the dust settled, but soon they were ready.

The fitted red sheath they’d gifted her, hugged Gabrielle’s curves to perfection. She gazed at her full reflection in the mirror she’d been allotted, knowing she looked her best despite feeling stressed with finals and the whole relationship turmoil she’d gone through with Lyam. She flipped her long black hair over her head and brushed it vigorously. It needed trimming, she noted, tipping it back and smoothing the flyaway ends. It had grown well past her waist. As a final touch, she put on some gold hoop earrings she dropped into her purse as she’d left the apartment, and then added a matching shade of red lipstick before sliding into the glossy black stilettos they’d thoughtfully included. Done.

“Ready,” she called, lifting a long black, double breasted trench coat from the back of a chair and entering the miniscule salon where the others were waiting. Throwing it over her arm, she smiled. Sarah wore a fitted, knee-length, dusty rose dress with a long slit reaching mid-thigh, a square neckline, and bows tied on each shoulder. It set off her long blonde hair perfectly. Angelina looked almost regal in an emerald, green midi. Large, embossed black flowers covered the A-line skirt and long sleeves.

“Oui! Je suis prêt.” Annette poked her head around the corner of the bathroom with curls bouncing. She did a little twirl to show off the frills of her short, frothy concoction of white chiffon. “Allons-y. Let’s go, I’m starving.” She snatched up her coat and grabbed her purse. “By the way,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried out the door, “Sarah was correct in picking out your size. You look so ‘ot.”

“Merci,” Gabrielle said with a smile.

Closing the door, she waited while Angelina checked to make sure it was locked before following the clattering group along the corridor. She fell behind, pushing away thoughts of her recent ordeal, and of the letter that lurked at the bottom of her bag. Nothing would spoil this night. As the door banged shut behind them, Gabrielle stepped forward to hail a cab splashing its way toward them on the glistening street.

* * *

As they had hoped,it was a wonderful evening. The four of them spilled onto Boulevard Saint-Germain-des-Prés after a leisurely meal and several glasses of champagne. What they were celebrating, Gabrielle wasn’t sure, but it was fun. She forgot her troubles, and that was all that mattered.

Sarah waved to a taxi who pulled up to the curb. They sobered, realizing that this was goodbye. Gabrielle kissed each face several times and hugged her family tight.

“I don’t want to let you go,” she said, stepping back and crossing her arms. “It ‘as been a perfect day. Thank you so much for coming.”

“How will you get home?” Annette asked with a worried frown, hanging back when the other two had climbed into the car.

“Same as always, the métro.” Gabrielle hugged her little sister one last time and ushered her into the waiting cab.

Just before the car pulled away, Annette rolled down the window and called to her. “I’ll be back soon for a visit. Just you and me.” She blew her sister a kiss as the car sped into the night.

Gabrielle’s spirits deflated now they were gone. She draped the long strap of her purse around her shoulders, tucked her umbrella under one arm, and set off for the

Saint-Germain-des-Prés métro station. She wished she’d thrown a pair of thin flats into her bag.

A blister was starting to form by the time she spotted the unassuming red sign and began to descend the stairs into the bowels of the earth. Echoing up from the tunnels, Gabrielle heard the horn blast, signalling that the train was closing its doors and leaving. Her shoulders sank. Zut! She’d have to wait for the next one.

Slowing her pace, she entered the open area where the trains squealing along their dark, twisty rails, emerged to be loaded, and found a hard plastic chair to sit. It was ten o’clock, and not too busy. She glanced at the other waiting passengers. A mother with two young girls laughed over something on their phone, an older couple sat on a bench facing her across the wide gap of rails, and a nearby group of teenage boys pushed one another back and forth as they loudly recounted their evening’s fun.

Her gaze shifted to a man consulting a blown-up version of the Paris métro map on the wall nearby. He traced streets and train lines with a finger, his speech low and uncertain, and then, shaking his head, he started all over again. He was an unusual figure since he was probably the only person she’d ever seen in real life wearing a cowboy hat. It seemed to belong on him, too.

He looked so out of place and disoriented that she briefly wondered if she should offer to help him. Except another train was already coming, and she was tired, wanting to get home. Besides, when the train skidded to a halt and the doors slammed open, he climbed on behind her. His brown leather bomber jacket creaked as he lifted a huge duffle bag into the railcar. A guitar case poked over his shoulder. She wondered if he was a country western entertainer visiting the City of Lights as a busker.

She shifted her regard. The man must know where he was going. He sank into the first chair he saw, still muttering. Only now she could make out it was an address he repeated over and over, a sound of desperation in his voice.

She took a seat on the other side of the wide entrance and watched him curiously from beneath her lashes. He was attractive, she decided. He wore snug-fitting jeans with boots like she’d only seen in old Westerns, and had sandy-coloured hair, short at the back and longer over his forehead. His face was kind, if somewhat confused. He looked rumpled as though he’d been up all night and badly needed a shave. Large, strong hands clutched the long canvas handle of the bag resting at his feet. He looked like a man who worked outdoors for a living, maybe cutting down trees and hauling them from the bush on his shoulders or chucking boulders out of the way to build roads through uncharted territory.

Inwardly, she smiled at her fanciful ideas. His eyes were a vibrant blue beneath the black felt of his hat, set in a ruggedly handsome face. He scanned the other passengers as though looking for someone. A moment later, they alighted on her watching him. Quickly she lowered her gaze, but it was too late.

Reaching out to secure a grip on the pole at the center of the car, he staggered across the open area, dragging his heavy-looking bag behind him as the train lurched around a bend. He dropped into the seat next to her.

“Par-lay voo…English?” he asked with a hopeful expression.

Inwardly she chuckled. Really, his French was so terrible it was cute. “Yes,” she answered calmly. “I speak quite good English.”

“That’s fantastic.” He breathed a sigh of relief and flopped back on the seat, closing his eyes briefly. “Do you suppose you could help me figure out if I’m on the right train?” He straightened one long leg as he dug a hand into his jeans’ pocket. “I’ve had visions of wandering the backstreets of Paris until morning.” Straightening, he swivelled on the seat to explain, holding a folded piece of paper. “I flew into Charles de Gaulle Airport late this afternoon and had worked out how to take the train into the city.”

He waved the paper. “I managed that part okay, but then fell asleep on the next train. When I woke up it was the end of the line, somewhere out in the suburbs. Anyway, I couldn’t make sense of where I was…and no one spoke English, so I got on a train going the opposite direction and changed trains a few times till I ended up here...” He sighed heavily. “For the last three hours I’ve been endlessly riding the rails to my doom.”

The man grinned at her from close range. “Sounds like the lyrics to a sad country song, or the opening line of a third-rate sci-fi novel. Doesn’t it?” His brows raised and she nodded bemusedly at him.

“But that’s what happened.” She admired the colour of his eyes, an icy shade of blue, lightly creasing at the corners with good humour, and found herself smiling back. The man was charismatic. He thrust the tattered paper at her. “Could you tell me how to find this address?”

She accepted it and smoothed the creased scrap of paper over her leg to examine it more closely. It was a map he must have printed from the internet, but it had been folded and handled so often that the street names were fading. He appeared to have nothing else to guide him on this journey.

He reached over, caught the end of the paper, and flipped it. “I wrote the address on the back.”

She looked up at his hopeful face and wide, trusting eyes. “Oui,” she said. “I know exactly where it is, and you are on the right train.” The train skidded to a stop and the doors flew open as several people rushed on and hurried to find a seat.

“You’re kidding! I had it right?”

“You did. Five more stops and we will arrive at the étienne Marcel métro station. Both of us will get out there since it ‘appens to be close to where I live as well.” She folded the paper and handed it back. “I will point you in the right direction once we are on the street.”

“Unbelievable.” After all his chatter he suddenly appeared to be at a loss for words. He shoved the printout back in his jeans’ pocket.

“You are staying in the Marais,” she added, in case he wasn’t aware. “It is a popular area for tourists.”

“Yeah, I was told that when I booked the place, but I’m not a tourist as it happens. I mean, I am…in the sense that I’ve never been to Paris, or really anywhere before. But I’m not just coming to look around.”

“Oh…” Gabrielle wondered why he was here, but felt it would be rude to enquire. Instead, she asked another, safer question. “Where are you from?”

“Canada,” he said shortly, his eyes following their progress on the map above the doors. “Grew up on a ranch in southern Alberta. Ever heard of Calgary?”

She shook her head. “No. But I ‘ave family members who lived in Manitoba and Sastisk…Satisk-a...” She stumbled over the word.

“Saskatchewan?” He looked surprised when she smiled her agreement. “That’s wild. It’s the first province east of Calgary, Alberta.” His big grin revealed even white teeth as he leaned toward her conspiratorially. “This is where you’re supposed to ask me if I know so-and-so, who also lives in Canada. And since it’s just such a small place we must all be friends.” He broke into derisive laughter. “I’ve been asked that question today a couple of times. As though I’d know a guy called Brad Larson, who lives in Toronto, three provinces away.”

His laughter was infectious, and she chuckled along, not fully understanding the joke. “By the way, we haven’t introduced ourselves,” he said, sticking out his hand to awkwardly grasp hers. “My name’s Andrew Filmore. I’m happy to meet you and thankful for your help.”

“I am Gabrielle Dupont,” she replied, shrinking a little from the strength of his grip and his unorthodox greeting. “You do not ‘ave a phone with GPS to give you directions?”

He shook his head apologetically. “I have a phone, but no data. It’s pretty useless right now, at least till I can buy a SIM card.”

Even as her mouth opened to make the offer, her head was telling her to let him find someone else to help. Still, she knew how disorienting it could be to wander through the maze of tiny streets, late at night, searching for an address. “Then, I will walk you to your apartment if you wish.”

Andrew’s eyes widened. “You’d do that?”

She shrugged. “Welcome to Paris, Andrew Filmore.”

“That’s really nice of you. But for all you know, I could be a mass murderer. Or turn into a crazed maniac once I’m above ground.”

“Will you become a…” she paused over the words, “crazed maniac?” She arched her eyebrows.

“No,” he said, tapping a finger thoughtfully on his chin, his eyes alight with mischief. “I’m a pretty safe guy.”

“Then would you like my ‘elp?”

“Very much,” he said, becoming serious. “I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate it.”

As the train rolled to a halt with a sudden lurch, Gabrielle looked through the window for the name of the stop painted on the wall. There it was étienne Marcel.

“This is where we get off,” she said, jumping up and lifting the latch to open the door. Hoping she wouldn’t regret it, she said, “Follow me.”

As they exited the métro and headed down Rue de Turbigo, Gabrielle took a deep breath of fresh air. The city was a tapestry of dark and light, with long shadows cast by the occasional streetlight. There weren’t many pedestrians about, but cars flashed past them, their headlights still glistening off the wet pavement. Gabrielle marched determinedly along, wincing with each step.

“Why don’t you just take them off?” Andrew’s deep voice cut into her thoughts. He hadn’t spoken since they’d arrived at street level.

She faltered, the pain of the shoe biting into her heel was worsening by the minute. He was right. Why didn’t she? Spying a bench just ahead, she aimed for it and gratefully sat down to pull the offending heels from her feet, rubbing each aching foot in turn.

“Quelle bonne idée,” she said, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t understand. “Sorry. I said that was a good idea. Thanks.” She lingered for a moment, enjoying the cold, wet pavement beneath her burning feet. A sigh escaped her lips.

“So, is it far?” he asked, standing like a dark sentinel beside her. He gazed out at the traffic whizzing by, despite the late hour. “I guess a city never sleeps, heh?” he mused, half to himself.

“It’s only a few minutes’ walk,” Gabrielle replied, standing to continue with a shoe in each hand. Andrew fell into step beside her. “And no, it’s never really quiet here. People are always on the move. You said you live in the country?”

“Yep. That’s where I grew up, although my roots are here in France. On my mother’s side.”

Gabrielle looked at him in surprise. France? This man looked as though his heritage was about as far away from French as it was possible to get. His large boots thumped loudly with each step, the cowboy hat jutted from his face, and he strode along as though the enormous bag and guitar case hanging across his back were stuffed with feathers. He was about as country as it got, at least in her limited knowledge. She really only had movies to go by. She shook her head, focusing on the sidewalk as the incongruity of the situation suddenly striking her as funny. Here she was, dressed to kill in her red dress with stilettoes, now exchanged for barefoot in puddles, leading a lost cowboy along the streets of Paris. Unsuccessfully, she tried to stifle a giggle.

He glanced at her. “Something funny?” he asked. “Oh, I get it…” his face took on an expression of mock horror as he paused under a streetlamp. “You’re the mass murder, luring an innocent traveller off to his death.” He took off his hat and dragged a forearm across his brow. “I should have known. It’s always the raven-haired beauties you have to watch out for.”

Gabrielle broke into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. She hadn’t laughed like this since—since who knew when? “Désolé, uh…I mean, sorry!” she sputtered and then hiccupped, still chortling. “You’re perfectly safe. In fact, we’re almost there.” She pointed ahead. “We should cross here.” Looking both ways, she darted across the road in her bare feet with Andrew loping along behind her, his guitar bobbing up and down. Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed. They continued to walk in silence.

“This is Rue Saint-Denis. That is your street, correct?” He nodded in the dim light, his face registering admiration. “Now, we find your building, but I don’t think it’s much farther.”

“You’re awesome,” he said. “You made it look so easy. Without you, I bet I’d have ridden that train to the end of the line again.”

“You will learn ‘ow it works soon enough,” she stated modestly, as they trudged along. “There are small métro maps you can pick up at the ticket offices. Pick your destination and figure out which colour-coded lines you need to piece together to get you there. It’s ‘ard to explain, but the main thing to keep in mind is that you follow the direction you need to go based on the end destination.” She stopped. “I could show you if you had a map, but we ‘ave arrived, and you don’t.”

“We’re here?” Andrew peered into the gloom with wonder as Gabrielle picked out the number plate on the side of the building with the flashlight on her phone.

“Do you have the passcode?” she asked.

“Yes.” Throwing his duffle bag to the ground, he fished in his other jeans’ pocket. He finally came up with a similarly rumpled bit of paper and handed it over.

She held up a hand, waving him forward. “It’s best if you do it yourself,” she said. “After all, I won’t be here to open the door each time you go out.”

“You could,” he countered with a grin. “I wouldn’t mind.” She shook her head, his light-hearted innuendo making her smile again.

Andrew committed the code to memory before he pressed the corresponding buttons. When an answering buzzer sounded and the door unlatched, he pushed it open. Leaning back, he grabbed his bag and reached for her hand, grasping it within his large strong one. This time he didn’t squeeze though. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it with gallantry.

“Thank you, fair lady,” he said, as if quoting Shakespeare in a school play. “You’ve saved a poor, lost cowboy from a fate worse than death.” He dropped her hand with evident reluctance, but made no move to leave, holding the door wide. “All dramatics aside, you really did come to my rescue. I can’t thank you enough. Could I perhaps take you for breakfast in the morning? Just to thank you,” he added quickly. “Besides, I don’t know where to eat so you’d be helping a guy out yet again. What do you say?”

The smile had faded from Gabrielle’s face at the mention of breakfast. She wasn’t in the market for another relationship. She’d had high hopes for the last one and look how that ended. But Andrew did seem sweet, and he was funny. What could it hurt?

“Alright,” she agreed. “What time will you be up? You must be suffering from jetlag.”

“Is nine, okay?”

“It’s good.” She pointed back where they had just come. “Did you see the red awning on the corner we just passed?” He nodded, craning his neck. “That café is where I will be at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, Paris time. Bonne nuit.” Waving, she stepped back and moved off into the night.

“Bun nuey,” he called after her. “I’ll be there.”

Pulling the ties of her coat tighter, Gabrielle set off for her own cozy apartment on the fifth floor of a tiny rue only about fifteen minutes away. Should she have done that? Probably not. But lifting the hand he had kissed up to her cheek, she had to admit that some part of her, deep inside, was thrilled.