Winter Love

by Kennedy Fox

  Ultimately, I made the schedule and reservations. It was everything I dreamed of when making the plans, so I’m keeping them as I start for the nearest the Métro station. After figuring out the ticket system and making sure I get off at the right stop. One year of planning has paid off.

  Taking a moment, I look around at the beautiful architecture of the buildings along Rue de Rivoli. This is real. I’m really here. I grin, and with joy filling my steps, I work my way through the snaking line of the Louvre and finally make it inside thirty minutes later. The paper map ordered online comes in handy since apparently Wi-Fi service is spotty at best and nonexistent at worst.

  For now, I’m bypassing the Mona Lisa, Goddess of Victory, and Venus de Milo in search of the one sculpture that has always held my heart. I weave my way to the Richelieu wing, and my breath stops hard in my chest when I see it. I don’t remember walking, so I must have glided toward the magnificent piece I fell in love with online. Seeing it in person is a dream come true.

  Standing there in awe of the skill it must have taken Canova to create it, I fall even more in love with the Romantic Neoclassical piece.

  “Psyche Revived.”

  I glance next to me to find a second chance in the middle of Paris. How surreal. I say, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

  “No need,” he replies with his coat draped over his arm. His eyes look in my direction, and he smiles, reassuring me he means what he says. “As I said, the truth hurts, but you didn’t cause it. It was more of an eye-opener. I’ve been on the move for a long time, and even though I have a home, I haven’t spent quality time there in a while. Maybe it’s time.”

  Angling my way, he holds his hand out. “I’m Robert.”

  When I take his hand, that warmth from this morning returns, flooding my veins. “Elizabeth.”

  He even looks back and forth between us as if he’s experiencing the same reaction. When his deep green eyes return to mine, he asks, “Does anyone call you Beth?”

  “Not in many years. Do you go by Rob?”

  “Not in many years,” he replies with a chuckle. “But you have me thinking that maybe I need to reevaluate things.”

  “Like our names?”

  He shrugs, and it’s adorable juxtaposed against the expensive suit. “Why not? How long are you in Paris?”

  “A week. I leave next Monday.”

  “I’m here until tomorrow.” His grin holds secrets I’d love to uncover. If I could read minds, I bet his would be so interesting.

  I was fine with holding hands with him for a little longer, but they fall to our sides, and he then rubs his chin. “How about this? When we return to our own worlds, we can be Elizabeth and Robert. But here in Paris, we go by Beth and Rob.”

  Although I came here to see Cupid and Psyche in a lover’s embrace, this distracting man happily steals my attention. “That’s assuming we’re in each other’s lives longer than a few minutes on a street in the 7th Arrondissement and run-in in the middle of the Louvre.”

  “Is it really only a coincidence that brought us together twice in one day?”

  “I don’t believe in otherworldly excuses to justify coincidences. I used to, but where does that really leave you?”

  “Right here in the middle of the Louvre with a very dashing stranger, if I do say so myself.” His elbow fans out in offering. My gaze volleys a few rounds between his stunning eyes and that tempting elbow. I could ask a billion questions about what’s next or where we go from here, but maybe it’s time to reacquaint myself with Beth. I liked her. A lot. She was smart and funny and spontaneous. If only in Paris, it will be fun to be that girl again, so I slip my arm around his.

  Covering my hand with his, he replies, “And instead of a coincidence, we’ll call it destiny.”

  Chapter Two

  BETH

  We wander around the museum together. Small talk feels big in the moment, connecting with a stranger in a foreign country. Especially when I always imagined I would be with my partner. Yet our conversation flows as we discuss our lives back home, how I’m originally from Texas but living in LA. I leave out the disaster I left behind, of course, but cover our favorites—food, colors (we both love blue the most), and sneakers. I’m a diehard Keds girl, and he’s all about the Jordan’s.

  Though it’s hard to imagine this well-dressed man wearing anything less than the finest suits. I’m so curious about how he dresses on the weekend. Does he wear basketball shorts and a tank, or is he the khaki pants with Sperry Topsiders kind of guy? Jeans and a T-shirt or business casual.

  I ask, “You didn’t have work today? You’re dressed like you had plans that didn’t involve getting sidetracked by me.”

  “I’m finished for the day.”

  “Ah.” I’m not sure when I let go of him . . . That’s a lie. I know exactly when my arm unhooks from his. In the Denon wing, right when I see the massive crowd elbowing their way to get a photo with the Mona Lisa. “Wow!”

  “She’s the most popular woman in the city.”

  Laughing, I step forward. “Do I want to brave the masses?”

  “I’ll cover you.” His offer contains a seductive depth, and for a moment, I think he might be referring to something other than my mission to the famous painting.

  That’s ridiculous, so I shake that off along with my coat, which he promptly takes from me to hold. “I’m going in,” I say.

  Weaving my way around a family forming a plan, I work through couples kissing while taking selfies and individuals who apparently don’t need a great money shot. You know, like I do. About five people from the barrier, I come to a stop. Blocked either way, I stand, hoping the crowd in front of me dissipates as people take their turn.

  I’m poised, ready to inch my way forward and replace two giggling teenage girls when they’re done. When they both approve of their photo, they move to the side, and I weasel my way into their spot. Out of the corner of my eye, I see some guy’s hand coming toward my side. Just before I’m shoved out of the way, the hand disappears.

  “Watch where you’re going,” Rob says, his voice ringing through the air.

  Whipping my attention to the side, I find Rob holding his arm in a vise-like grip. My breath catches in my chest. The guy whimpers and glares at me. “Sorry.”

  Rob pushes his arm away, and then says, “Step aside.”

  And the other guy does. With Rob’s hand on my lower back, he whispers, “I’ve got your back.”

  “Literally.” I smirk.

  He responds with a devastatingly handsome one in return. I move to the barrier and turn around. Holding my phone up, I’m about to snap a photo but pause. Glancing under my hand, I see the man who helped to make this possible. “Will you take a photo?”

  Happy to oblige, he maintains his smile as he takes my phone from me. Just when he aims it at me, I say, “I meant a photo with me.”

  It doesn’t matter that the room is filled with loud chatter, or everyone is bustling for a shot of themselves with the painting. Rob and I have a moment—a shared stillness with our eyes locked on each other—for just a few seconds before he nods and moves next to me. Holding the camera high above to fit us both in the small frame, he says, “Say cheese.”

  “Cheesy.”

  His arm comes around me, and he pulls me close just as the photo is snapped. When he hands me the phone, I look down as an overwhelming feeling of guilt washes through me. I’m engaged. Although, no. I’m not anymore. Still, I dust my bangs to the side and then check my watch. “I, uh . . . I should probably get going.” Maneuvering back toward the exit to the large room, I finally reach the doorway.

  My hand is captured in his, and I turn toward him. “What’s wrong, Beth?”

  Not sure what to say, I start to panic. The room is so crowded, and I’m pretty sure the Louvre’s air-conditioning is as ancient as the Venus de Milo. I fan myself with the collar of my sweater, wishing I would have worn something more breathable. “Is it hot in here? I’m hot. I think I
’m going to get some fresh air.” I dart into the hallway so he can’t stop me again. There’s nothing more to say. Guilt is a filthy beast that I don’t owe a damn thing, but here I am, paying with my heart again.

  I can sense Rob near despite my fast pace to the outside pyramids. Pushing through doors, I rush to the open courtyard, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. When I open my eyes, Rob’s standing there, not close, but giving me the distance I need as if he can read my mind.

  Sighing, I realize I can escape him, but he’s not what I’m really running from. “I’m on my honeymoon.”

  “What?” He looks around as if some rogue husband will jump out of thin air and attack him. “You’re married?” His gaze hooks onto my left hand, but then confusion furrows his brow. “What’s going on?”

  “I should have said technically. Technically, this was supposed to be my ‘honeymoon,’ but as you can see, I’m here alone.” I don’t know why I use air quotes with the word honeymoon, but it seems to fit the façade of this trip.

  Rob comes closer as if we’re old friends. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I like how he sees me now, as Beth, so I hesitate to go into it, to share this dark secret that reflects poorly on me. “I’m embarrassed. I’m the woman who is left at the altar.”

  “He left you at the altar?”

  “He sent me a message before I left for the church and told me to meet him outside.” I shake my head as my heart weighs down from the memory. I don’t know why I’m telling him this, but it feels therapeutic to release this from my chest. “Despite tradition, I went. He was in the driveway leaning against the back of his truck as if it was any other day instead of our wedding day. I felt something was wrong in my gut. It was written all over his face.” My throat thickens, and I find myself holding it as if that will help somehow.

  Rob closes the divide, pulling me into his arms. “It’s okay, Beth.” Tucked into the crook of his arms, I feel safe, calm, and find an unexpected comfort. And it’s then that I decide to push all the pain of yesterday away. Feeling more like Beth, I wrap my arms around him and hold him just as tight.

  Although I was engaged to be married, it’s been a long time since I felt this kind of care. “Same old story, he was cheating,” I say into his chest. “And needed to confess.”

  As he strokes the back of my hair, I can feel his heart beating against his chest. “He was an idiot, but you don’t need to be upset. Don’t waste a second being upset. He just saved you a lifetime of unhappiness.”

  Now I’m the one confused. Pushing off, I lean back far enough to look into his eyes. “I’m not sure about that since I feel pretty unhappy right now.”

  “That’s temporary. Not to say your pain will disappear right away, but in the long run, you’ll be glad you found out who he is now rather than after the vows.”

  “I hope so,” I reply too quickly to believe it.

  The tip of his finger lifts my chin. “I mean it. You’ll get through this. You’re here.” A wry grin arrives right on time to remind me of how handsome he is. Not like I could forget. All I have to do is look at him. But I had begun to wallow when he drags me out of my sorrows.

  A lightness lifts my shoulders back up, and I nudge him with my elbow. “You speak like you’re an expert.”

  “I am.”

  I don’t know why this feels like a bombshell, but as I said, look at him. Who in their right mind would cheat on someone so gorgeous? There’s only leveling down from him. “I don’t understand.”

  “It might not have been on my wedding day, but it was shortly after.”

  “Come again?”

  He chuckles, then says, “I don’t know what you have planned for the rest of the day, but do you want to get a drink?”

  “Only if it includes food.”

  “It definitely includes food. Some of the best in the city.”

  “Well then . . .” This time, I offer my elbow and a grin. “Show me the way.”

  We hook our arms and start strolling toward the avenue. The bistro is only a few blocks away. We’re quickly seated at a table inside. After ordering a bottle of wine and appetizers, I rest my elbows forward, and say, “I don’t mean to be nosy, but what happened?”

  “I have a few theories, but I think it came down to the fact she wanted to be married without those pesky vows being exchanged. The perks without the promise.”

  Making sure no one around us overhears, I ask, “She cheated on you?”

  A gentle nod backs my theory. I cover his hand that’s resting on top of the table. When his eyes leave our hands, he says, “You get married thinking it’s forever, but then that life is stolen amid one confession. At least she had the courtesy to cry when she told me. I have to believe she loved me in some small way, or she wouldn’t have bothered.”

  The server returns with the bottle. Rob grins as the wine is poured. Watching the wine cross his lips is the equivalent of watching porn in public. I blush, but I still can’t take my eyes off him as a heat rolls across my chest. I clear my throat and exhale. “You give her a lot of credit, considering how she treated you.”

  “She was blinded to what was right in front of her. I was there, however she needed, but I’ve come to realize her cheating was never about me. It was about how she viewed her own life.”

  I take a long sip, trying to loosen the coil tightening in my belly. When that doesn’t seem to work, I eye the label, trying to translate the French on the front. I finally return my attention to him. “That’s a mature way of looking at it.” The way he watches me isn’t lost in conversation or the distraction of wine.

  The table feels smaller when he steals space over it, leaning closer to me. “I’m not that noble.” If his voice didn’t already do it, the way the words drift from his mouth to my ears seductively would definitely have my attention. “I had no choice, and it was easier to move on than dwell on a past built on lies.”

  “Loan me your strength. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

  “You have everything you already need. Trust me, Beth.” He holds up his glass, and I hold mine up as well. When the rim of my glass meets his, our gaze locks, and he toasts, “To making the most of the moment.”

  Chapter Three

  BETH

  “I’ve been thinking,” I start, not worried about spending more time with him because lord knows I want that. So much. Rob is charming and attractive, and there’s just something so comforting about having an ally, so to speak, when I thought I’d be on this vacation alone.

  Not that he’s with me with me, but he’s with me now, and that counts for a lot.

  “About?” he asks, the wine working its way through his body by how relaxed—even in a suit and tie—he appears compared to when we sat down an hour ago.

  “I have dinner reservations tonight, and I was wondering if you’d like to join me?”

  First, the smirk, then the light chuckle. Why does he have to be so alluring? This is only a one-day Beth spontaneity thing. Tomorrow, I’ll be back to Elizabeth and resume my honeymoon all by myself. I need to remember that.

  “You’re asking me out on a date?”

  “Oh, um, if that’s not something you’d want—”

  “I want that very much. I’ll make a few calls to rearrange my schedule.” He pulls his phone from his jacket pocket. “What time?”

  Surprised to hear this, I’m quick to let him off the hook. “There’s no pressure. If you already have plans—”

  His eyes dart from the phone screen to me, and he says, “I’d much rather spend time with you. I can reschedule everything else.”

  I’m sure I look like a fool with my too big for my face grin that I can’t contain, but who cares. He’s the twist I didn’t see coming. Who would have thought I’d have a date with another man on my honeymoon? Twisty. Twisty.

  Snapping my fingers, I ask, “Just like that? Your wish is a command?”

  “Yes,” he replies, not missing a beat.

  I finish my
wine and tilt my head to the side. “What is it like to hold so much power in your hands?”

  “Incredible.” Not one apologetic syllable is uttered from this man. When I think about it, he’s not made apologies to take calls or leave me waiting while he tends to someone we’ve run into. There have been no excuses used to cut our time short. Quite the opposite, he keeps extending our time, offering arms of accompaniment through museums and strolls down romantic avenues.

  He’s nothing like . . . I refuse to say his name, preferring not to even think about him while spending time with Rob. Exhaling in relief, I sink back in my chair. “I’m so glad you didn’t say anything about your ego. My fian—” It’s a tough habit to break, but I’m determined to. “I was always a third wheel to my ex’s ego. It’s nice not to fight for attention.”

  Rob pays and it’s picked up before I can calculate my share. “I’m sorry. I’m slow with figuring out the money. What’s my share?”

  This time, his smile is gentle. “I covered it, if that’s all right?”

  “Thank you. That was very kind.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you ready?”

  I stand. “I’m ready, but don’t you need your change?”

  “No, I’m good.” He stands and comes around, holding my coat so I can slip it back on. On the sidewalk, he says, “It’s warmer than usual.”

  “I’ve been hoping for snow.”

  “It looks good for tonight. What time is the reservation?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Should I meet you there, or can I pick you up?”

  Holding my purse in my hands, I rock back on my heels. The late afternoon sun dips behind the buildings, and a cool breeze blows along the avenue. Thinking about the outfit I have packed for tonight, I know I’ll need extra layers. “I’ll meet you there.”

  With the phone poised in his hand, ready to type, he asks, “What’s the name of the restaurant?”

  A sudden embarrassment creeps through my veins, and I bite my lip. This was my plan, even . . . well, he made fun of me, calling me a tourist. I shrugged because I am a tourist here. But what Rob thinks matters to me. It shouldn’t after half a day at best spent together, but it does. “Jules Verne,” I mutter under my breath.