Winter Love

by Kennedy Fox

  When I sneakily peer up at him, I find him smiling at me again. “It has a beautiful view of the city at night. I look forward to sharing it with you this evening.”

  Now I’m smiling. “Thank you for not mocking me.”

  We start walking, and I glance ahead, seeing a row of cabs a few doors down. We walk toward the one idling at the front, and he opens the door. “Will you meet me under the Eiffel Tower, say seven thirty?”

  I’m sure my eyes are lit up like the Iron Lady at night. “I’d love to.”

  He opens the door wider, allowing me to slip inside the back of the cab. Resting his arm on the top of the door, he says, “I’ll see you tonight, Beth.”

  “I’ll see you tonight under the Eiffel Tower.” I add the end just because everything about the landmark gives me romanticized feelings. He shuts the door but opens the front to hand the driver money. They speak too fast for me to translate, but I do pick up the name of the avenue where I’m staying. Glancing over the headrest, Rob says, “He’ll take you back. I’ve already paid, so don’t let him screw you.”

  “Don’t worry, no screwing will occur. It’s cobwebs and drought-type weather down there . . . Oh crap.” I drop my face into my hands, but when I don’t magically disappear, I peek through a slit in my fingers. “The money, you meant don’t let him charge me twice.”

  “Yes, but your version is much more interesting.” He winks, and I just about slink right off this back seat to the floorboard.

  “Maybe I’ll just be going.”

  “No need to be embarrassed, and I’ll see you tonight.”

  “See you tonight.”

  When he shuts the door, the driver’s eyes connect with mine in the rearview mirror and a smarmy grin creases his already crevassed face. “Screwing is American for—”

  “Sorry, I have a call,” I say, shoving my phone to my ear like someone’s actually on the line. The silence I’m greeted with beats where that conversation was going.

  But maybe I should actually call someone. I know one person who will appreciate hearing about my adventures and is up at this hour. I call and listen to three rings, already convinced it’s going to voicemail. “Hello?”

  The relief I feel from hearing my good friend’s voice is transferred to mine. “Rochelle, it’s Beth.”

  “Oh my God, how are you?” The question rushes from her tongue in a fit of worry.

  It feels good to have someone who cares so much about me. “Believe it or not, I’m doing okay.”

  “That makes me happy to hear. Do you want to talk about it or—” She’s been through so much in her life that I hate dumping my problems on her, but she’s such a voice of reason that I had to call.

  “I called you for advice.”

  “You’ve always been here for my boys and me. Not just as a nanny but also as a part of our family. I’m always here for you.”

  “Thank you. Give Neil and CJ a hug from me and tell Dex hi.”

  “I will. How can I help you?”

  I lower my voice as if the driver will judge me. “I have a date.”

  “You have a date? In Paris?” I’m not saying she squeals, but she definitely reaches a new octave.

  Giggling, it feels good to release it. “Yes. He’s completely dreamy, romantic, and so handsome.”

  “Give me every detail.”

  “I’m not sure I have time for that, but I need to know it’s not wrong to go out with him. Tell me I’m not terrible for being excited about the possibilities of tonight.”

  “Listen, Beth . . . Also, we’re allowed to call you Beth again?”

  “Yes, I let someone turn me into a person I didn’t even recognize anymore. Well, guess what? I’m changing back.”

  “Good, Beth was always more fun than Elizabeth anyway.” I laugh because this truth doesn’t hurt but heals. “Also, you were there for him. Literally, emotionally, in every way a good partner could be there. He decided to throw that loyalty and love away, not you. So you go on a date with that handsome stranger and have fun, laugh, enjoy the beauty of Paris, and let him romance you some more.”

  I hate that the high I was riding starts sinking to the bottom of my belly. I exhale slowly, hoping to release the lingering effects of heartbreak. My eyes begin to water, and I choke up. “I want that too. I just . . .” And then I remember the look on his stupid face when he confessed his sins to me. “He said sorry, but his apology didn’t reach his eyes. That’s when I knew this wasn’t a one-time thing.” I wasn’t enough.

  “I’m sorry he did that to you, and even though you’ll have a few sad and angry moments, going on this trip was the right thing to do.”

  Laughing lightly, I reply, “Oh yeah, is the right thing taking the trip we were supposed to take together, that you paid for by the way, or not marrying him?”

  “Both, Beth. And if you enjoy this trip, then I can’t think of a better way to spend money.”

  Rochelle may have scored a hot rock star to spend the rest of her life with, but she’s a powerhouse of her own creation. She’s a CFO of a major record label, a producer, part-time musician, full-time mom, and all-around caretaker for the biggest bands around. Although I know the money she spent on this gift didn’t put a dent her bank account, it still meant everything to me.

  I owe my life back home to her—a job I love in marketing, an apartment in the city she helped me find, and a great life. Yes, a life I can live on my own two feet without someone who doesn’t love me the way I deserve. I can be me, and in doing so, I’ll make my own dreams come true. And one day, I can repay her and Holli by achieving my goals and becoming the woman they see in me. Strong. Capable. And if it’s my destiny—alone or with my soul mate. Only time will tell. “It was a generous gift. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, let’s talk about your date. What are you wearing?”

  Leave it to my old boss to make me smile. “That’s why I was calling. I brought a pretty blue dress for tonight, but it’s demure, and I’m thinking maybe I’d like to look a little more, umm—”

  “Sexy?”

  “Yes.”

  “This man must be very attractive for you to deviate from a plan.”

  God, I love a plan. What she doesn’t know is how I deviated with Rob already. “He is.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  Laughing loudly, she finally calms, and says, “Yes. I’m going to have some outfits sent over. If you find anything, you keep it as an early Christmas gift from me. If you don’t, no worries.”

  “What did I do to deserve you?”

  “Nothing. You’re simply you, Beth. And of course, you were great with my kids, so you now have a friend for life. A friend with amazing connections. Enjoy your night, and don’t forget to send a pic so I can see that incredible Paris fashion.”

  Peeking out the window, I see the familiar street where I’m staying. “I will, and thank you again. Talk soon.”

  “Hey, Beth?”

  “Yeah?” The cab stops at my destination. The large pots overflow with red and green winter blooms, anchoring the entrance to the quaint building. It was everything I wanted when I found this short-term rental. Wanting to feel like I was a Parisian

  “Good to have you back.” I know what she means, though. It makes me want to analyze how I got to where I was in the first place. Why did I allow anyone to overshadow who I am as a person?

  No. I can’t let it matter anymore. What’s done is done. Now I need to live in this moment.

  The driver turns back to me, throwing his arm over the back of his seat. “We’re here, Miss American.”

  “Merci.” Hopping out of the cab, I can see I’ve been given a second chance, and I refuse to waste it. I rush up the stairs to the little flat, too excited about my date tonight to sit still. So I open the windows wide, breathe in the fresh air and sunshine, and then head to relish in a bubble bath with the prettiest floral scent.

  I’m home just over an hour when I h
ear a knock on the door. When I look through the peephole, my eyes go wide, and I swing open the door. Two women, way taller than me, modelesque in height and cutting-edge attire, are holding a rack of clothes. Embodying a Vanna White pose, the one who knocked says, “We heard you had a fashion emergency.”

  Rochelle works fast, but this must be record-breaking. “I do. Come on in.”

  Chapter Four

  ROBERT LEMAIRE

  I lied.

  Multiple times. Okay, some are omissions.

  I shouldn’t have, but I can’t seem to regret it. It feels incredible to be with someone who genuinely wants to spend time with me and has no ulterior motives regarding my last name. God, look at her. I definitely don’t have an ounce of remorse when I see her under the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower.

  Dressed to kill (me, specifically it seems) in a red dress. Black heels that could give a weaker man a heart attack. Long brown hair soft with curls cascading down her back as she stares above her into the center of the landmark’s structure.

  Beth is breathtaking.

  And interesting. Vulnerable and some might take advantage of her as though she’s easy prey. But she fascinates me, smiling when it’s clear that something more lies behind it. I want to see that more. I want to see all of her. Not sexually . . . not just sexually. But I’m not going to lie and say I’m not attracted to her.

  I also can’t help but wonder what bastard would leave her at the altar. Not only is that the lowest of the low chickenshit, but there’s something special about Beth, beyond the good looks and pretty smile. Her heart is good, kind, and genuine. She may hide behind a brave face, but there are no pretenses with her.

  She spins—arms out, coat revealing the tight dress underneath, huge smile—closing her eyes as though she’s in a movie. I’m glad I showed up early to witness this. There’s such an innocence about the joy she emanates, and I soak it up. It’s been a long time, too long, since I’ve felt anything for someone. And there she was, as if the universe put her in my way to a meeting that I ended up canceling when I walked away.

  How was I supposed to deal with feelings that surfaced without warning? How do I deal with them now?

  I walk. I go before some other guy steals her attention. “Beth?”

  She stops, spinning back to face me, her smiling growing as if that was possible. “Rob.” Her excitement is heard, but she stops herself from coming closer by leaning back on her heels.

  As I stare at this stunning woman, my heart pounds in my chest. “You look beautiful.”

  Her smile is shy, but it still outshines the bright lights. “Thank you. You look handsome.”

  “I just threw something on.”

  With confidence, she comes to me, running her fingers down my lapels as if they need straightening. My dry cleaner never leaves a wrinkle, but I won’t stop her from touching me. “I bet.” Leaving me standing there, she turns around and adds, “Are you coming?”

  And I’m dead . . .

  But come to life to catch of view of her incredible ass right before I take hold of her hand. I’m not letting this woman go tonight, maybe even longer if I have my way. “I have a surprise.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  “I do.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them. The simple phrase so loaded with meaning is definitely not lost on me. I clamp my mouth shut and lead her to the south leg of the tower. We’re greeted by the valet and led to a private elevator.

  Beth turns to me, excitement wrangling her expression. She leans over, and whispers, “And I thought the suit was fancy.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “Well, I’m very pleased, Mr.—” She stops and looks at me with the question on the tip of her tongue but never gives it a voice. Sharing our last names is something two people on a date should do, but I’m cautious. Not because I don’t trust her but because I don’t want to ruin a good thing.

  But I don’t want to keep her as if our time is meaningless either. Tightening my hand around hers, I say, “Lemaire. Robert Lemaire.”

  The valet peeks back at us with a raised eyebrow. As for Beth, her happiness is too much to contain. She bumps into me, and whispers, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lemaire. My last name is Cahill.”

  “Elizabeth Cahill fits you. It’s just as beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” The elevator doors slide open, and we’re greeted with a view of Paris and a crowded restaurant. I’ve been here before. A client wanted to meet here once when they were in town. I obliged to get the deal, and it worked.

  As for the food, it’s not a place I generally recommend, considering the choices Paris offers, but I remember it being rather good that night. Better than I’d heard, but that might be because locals would never dine here. It’s too touristy for them.

  We’re led to the table by the window. I might’ve made a call, but having the unobstructed view is worth it. I can almost see the light reflecting in Beth’s eyes. The valet takes our coats, and we sit. As soon as we do, she’s quick to say, “I loved the wine this afternoon. Do they have the same?”

  We’re greeted and given menus, but I always stick with a particular winery from the burgundy region and order a bottle. She stares out the window for so long that I ask the server to come back to take our order three times. I’m not in a hurry, but the server appears to be.

  It takes a few minutes after ordering our meals for her to take a sip. While eyeing the bottle, she sets her glass down, and asks, “Lemaire.” It’s not a question I need to answer, so I wait for the rest of the pieces to fall into place. She spins the bottle around so the label faces me, and repeats, “Lemaire.” Resting her arms neatly on the edge of the table, she leans forward. “Is this your family’s?”

  Spinning the stem, I watch the legs of the wine against the glass, and then glance her way. “It is.”

  “And here I thought your suits were the fanciest thing about you.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  “Yes, you are.” Resting back, she glances toward the window, but her eyes quickly return to mine. She’s wearing more makeup than today, but the way she kept it lighter allows her beauty to shine through.

  “But I’m boring. I want to learn more about you, Ms. Cahill. May I get personal?”

  “I feel like we’ve been personal since the moment we met, so hit me with your best shot.”

  “How heartbroken are you?”

  Her lips part. My best shot hit hard. “You said—”

  “No, it’s okay.” Her words would be convincing, except her eyes give her away. “I . . . I should be honest. I was heartbroken, but being here for the past two days has me reconsidering my stance on the situation. He cheated, and most likely, it was more than once. Anytime I feel hurt, I remind myself of that fact.”

  “Although we just met, I already know he was a fool for letting you get away.”

  “You’re very kind. Thank you.”

  I take another sip, but something comes over me. Whether it’s the city, the wine, or the woman, I have no idea, but I need to tell her, “He would have never been faithful. Cheaters will always cheat. Whether it’s physical or emotional, they were born with a need that will never feel full. I know I told you earlier that you were lucky to find out before the vows. I believe that you were lucky to find out at all. That’s a gift. What you do with that gift is up to you.”

  “What do you suggest I do?”

  My heart makes its beat known, thudding in my chest. “Let me show you a good time.”

  “You already have.”

  Taking a chance, I reach across the table and take hold of her hands. “Give me twenty-four hours, Beth. Let me show you how beautiful Paris is so that you’ll not think of her as a place you went on your honeymoon alone. Let me make sure you remember your Parisian Christmas always.”

  As though I’ve been sleepwalking through my life since my divorce two years ago, she’s opened my eyes.

  With a smile, she instantly puts me
at ease. “I’d love that, Rob. What do you have in mind?”

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been sticking to your honeymoon plan. Well, guess what? Beth doesn’t obligate herself to rigorous tourist schedules. That’s all Elizabeth.”

  She laughs but also nods her head. “Are you calling me out, Rob?”

  “I am.”

  Pulling out her phone, she scrolls and then stops to stare at the screen. “I’ve planned this trip for over a year.” She looks at me under dark lashes. “But the fact remains, I planned a different trip than I’m taking now.” I’m not sure what she’s doing, but she taps a few times and then holds up the phone.

  When I see the blank screen, my gaze slides beyond it to the woman. She holds her glass up, and when I hold mine up, she says, “To making the most of the moment.”

  I don’t taste the food or care about the wine. Instead, I drink in every second of my time with her. If I learned anything this afternoon, it’s that time goes by too fast when I’m with her. Time has dragged for the past two years, so how is it possible that time is suddenly skipping every other minute as if trying to steal our moments out from under us?

  As soon as dinner is over, I whisked her to my car. She looks at the driver standing with the door held open and then at me. “Fancy.”

  I’m chuckling when she says, “I need a pic.”

  “With or without me?”

  “With.” She hands me the phone and snuggles against my side. I look into the screen to find the sparkling Eiffel Tower behind us. Only one thing could steal the attention away from the landmark.

  Beth.

  I lower the camera and take the photo, hoping I’m left with more than a copy of it once these twenty-four hours are over.

  In the back of the car, she slides closer. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her like she’s mine. She is for tonight. “So where are you taking me, Mr. Mysterious?”