by Sandy Barker
“We like Georgina again,” I said, a little out of breath from running down the stairs.
“Explain,” said Jaelee from her bed, where she was filing a nail.
I did—and quickly, because my Uber was on its way. I scribbled my name onto the form and ticked “excellent” all the way down, then signed the back. I gave it to Lou for safe keeping. I’d been an utter cow to Georgina, and the poor girl had been through the worst thing imaginable. I hoped that excellent reviews from everyone on the coach would make up for it, and I left Dani in charge of making that happen.
Ten minutes later, I was saying a premature and heart-wrenching goodbye to my posse. I stood on my tiptoes to hug Craig. “Keep me posted about school.” I’d keep an eye on him via Facebook and if—when—I visited Lou in Vancouver, I could pop down to Oregon. They weren’t that far apart.
“Bye, Dani. Thanks for everything, especially for your help today.”
“No problem. I’m totally living vicariously through you, I hope you know.” She was the third person to tell me that in less than a week.
I smiled, then grabbed her hand. “Hey, pip me if you want to talk about the whole wedding thing.”
She pressed her lips together. “Sure.”
“Jae, you gorgeous woman.” I hugged my height twin.
“Great meeting you,” she said.
I pulled back and we regarded each other. “You too.”
“Come to Miami anytime. Hey, you should come for New Year’s.” She raised her eyebrows and her eyes lit up.
“We’re coming back to that—soon,” I said. “I’ll email you.”
“Holding you to it.”
I had saved Lou for last, because our goodbye was the hardest. She wrapped me up in the last Mama Lou hug I’d have in a while. “Love you,” she said.
“Love you too, bus bestie.”
She squeezed me tighter. When we stepped back from the hug, we both had tears in our eyes. “Don’t you ruin that eyeliner,” said Dani. Lou and I smiled.
“I’ll call you next week. I want to know how everything goes with Jackson.” She nodded.
“Fly safe,” she said.
“I will.”
My car pulled up and the driver got out. He pointed to my case and I nodded. When I turned back to my friends, Lou and Dani had their arms around each other, and I saw Jae wipe an uncharacteristic tear from her cheek.
Bollocks. Do not cry, your eyeliner is perfect.
Of course, the real reason I didn’t want to cry was that it would be excruciatingly hard to stop. These were my friends, my dear friends, and I was going to miss having them with me twenty-four-seven.
I put my hand to my lips, blew them all a kiss, and got in the back seat of the car. I lowered the window as we drove away and called, “Bye. I love you!” then nestled against the leather seat.
“Water, miss?” asked my driver.
“Yes, please.” I blinked away the tears, eyeliner still intact.
The second hardest part of the day was done.
***
My time in Amsterdam amounted to only four hours, but what I’d seen made me want to go back someday—the bustling streets filled with bicycles, the tall, narrow terraced houses, the canals and bridges. It was beautiful, and I promised myself to return.
As we left the inner city, I took a sip of water, then sent couple of texts.
To Jane:
Slight change of plans. Won’t be back til Sunday. See you then. Cat
To Sarah:
Sorry about the call yesterday. I’m a cow. On my way to Paris to see Jean-Luc! I’ll FaceTime when I get back to London on Sunday—sooner if he sends me away. Love you. Cx
ps I hope he doesn’t send me away. :(
The flight from Schiphol to Charles de Gaulle was uneventful—from a travel perspective, anyway. Everything went smoothly at check-in and security, there were no delays, and I had an empty seat next to me for the flight—we didn’t even have any turbulence.
Unless you count the turbulence in my stomach.
I have a nervous stomach, always have. It’s often my canary in the coalmine, so to speak, and sometimes it asserts itself at the least opportune times. On my way to see Jean-Luc, it had gone into hyperdrive. In a one-hour-fifteen-minute flight, I used the toilet three times.
In the taxi from the airport, I fidgeted with the strap of my messenger bag, my nervous energy escaping my belly and moving into my extremities.
What was I going to say?
I had played the scene over and over again in my head. Jean-Luc’s face splitting into a smile. Him slamming the door in my face. Him dropping to his knees and begging me to never leave him again (probably the least plausible). Him not being home (probably the most plausible). I realised I wouldn’t know what to say until I saw him, until I saw his face, his reaction.
I hoped he liked surprises more than I did.
The taxi turned into a narrow, deeply shadowed street, then pulled to a stop a few doors along and double-parked. “C’est l’adresse, madame. Ici.” The driver pointed to a tall dark-green door.
“Merci.” I handed him forty euros and waved away the change. He gave a curt nod and got out of the car to retrieve my case from the boot. I took a deep, steadying breath and stepped out. The driver put my case on the pavement and left me standing in front of the door.
Jean-Luc’s door. All right, Parsons. Do not cock this up—again.
There were two buzzers and no security camera. The top buzzer said, “Caron” and I pressed it. A sharp, flat sound emitted. There was a long moment of silence, while my heart hammered away in my chest. “Oui?”
I gulped, then found my voice. “Jean-Luc. It’s me. It’s Cat. Uh, Catherine.” I could barely catch my breath, and I waited for what seemed like a millennium for his reply.
“Catherine? Uh, come to the top of the stairs.”
The staticky sound ceased, and I heard the click of the door. I pushed on it and lifted my case over the threshold into a small and chilly foyer. No elevator, just a steep set of stairs on the left wall. I eyed my case, then the stairs. It could stay down there for now. Jean-Luc could come and get it. Or, maybe I’d be loading it back into a taxi in a few minutes.
I started up the stairs and, at the first landing, passed the door to the other apartment. The second set of stairs was even steeper, and I had to hold the railing. As I was about to step onto the small landing, Jean-Luc’s door opened.
He stood in the doorway, wearing a grey T-shirt and jeans, barefoot and with at least a two-day beard. He wasn’t grinning, but he wasn’t frowning. I, however, was rooted to the spot two steps from the top of the staircase. He stepped aside and tilted his head, an invitation to come in.
I tentatively walked into the apartment and took in as many details as I could. It was just as I had imagined it. It was so Jean-Luc.
Blonde-wood floors; floor-to-ceiling shelves along one wall, brimming with haphazardly stacked books and magazines; two linen couches, the kind that beckon you to sprawl on them, faced each other; a low coffee table sat between the couches, also covered with books and magazines; and a wooden staircase led to the second floor of the apartment, more books stacked along the edge of each step. At the back of the room was a long kitchen bench with two bar stools at one end, their backs to the room, and against the rear wall of the apartment were the fridge and stove, either side of a large window.
It was a beautiful space, welcoming. But was he?
I turned to Jean-Luc, who was watching me look around. “It’s lovely. Your home.”
A slight smile, no eye crinkle. “Thank you.”
I was so nervous I audibly blew out a stream of breath. “Hi,” I said, stupidly. None of the scenarios I’d played over in my head had me speechless and acting like a twit.
His face softened, just a touch, but noticeably. “Hi,” he said back.
“I read the letter,” I blurted.
He nodded. “And?”
“And it wasn’t the
one I thought it was—you know, the last one.”
“The one where you told me not to write anymore.”
“Yes. That one. I was afraid to read it, because I didn’t want to read all those awful things I’d said, how I’d played down our friendship, our …” I trailed off, not knowing quite what we’d been back then.
“It was quite bad, that letter.”
Wait, was he teasing me?
Surely not. I forged ahead. “I know, that’s why I apologised …”
“And I, uh, I burned that letter.”
He took me by surprise. “Sorry? You burned it?”
“Yes. In the backyard. Then I took the ashes and I buried them.”
“Well, that’s a little dramatic.”
He shrugged. “I was nineteen.”
“Mmm.”
“But the one I gave you, I read that letter many times. I once thought … well, in the letter, it seemed like you felt the same.”
“I did.”
That took him by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I did feel the same. Back then. I only realised it when we were reading it—”
“We?”
My shoulders dropped in resignation. “Come on, you must know by now that women need a second opinion on these things. Besides, this one was my letter, and also besides …” also besides? I inwardly rolled my eyes at how inarticulate I’d become. “And also, I didn’t even see it until Jaelee pointed it out, especially the part about the blokey Australian guys.”
“That was my favourite part.” A smile with a slight eye crinkle.
“I was massively stupid.”
“I agree.” Definitely teasing me.
I realised we were moving towards each other. “And I have been massively stupid even more recently.”
“Yes. I also agree with that.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
We were only a few feet apart. “I was afraid.” No more banter, only truth.
“I know. And now?”
“I’m still afraid, but I’m being brave.”
His eyes searched mine. “You don’t have to be afraid at all, Catherine, not of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you. You’re perfect.”
A quick wry laugh. “I’m not. I am flawed, like you.”
Truth, only truth. “All right, yes, true.”
“So, what are you afraid of?”
It was here. The moment where I laid myself bare and he either wanted me or he didn’t.
“That I completely cocked this up—and I’ll lose you again.” Tears sprang to my eyes, but I dared not touch them—Dani’s eyeliner! I blinked them away.
“Oh, Catherine. Ma chérie.” He was close to me, his body almost touching mine as he took my hands in his. “You do not have to worry about that. I am right here.”
I chewed on my lip.
“So, you don’t hate me?”
He laughed and wiped away a tear that had escaped. “No. I definitely do not hate you. I adore you. I long for you. You are my Catherine, non?”
A gasp escaped me—overwhelming relief. I hadn’t completely cocked it up. Jean-Luc and I had a real chance to be together, to fall in love—again. I experienced a lightness I’d never experienced before. A burst of laughter erupted from me, then I stopped and looked into the eyes that made my heart flutter.
“You are okay?” Amusement danced in those eyes.
“Yes.” The understatement of the century.
“Bien. I’m going to kiss you now,” he said.
I didn’t speak. I just threw my arms around his neck as he pulled me close and pressed his mouth to mine. A zing of happiness pulsed through me, then I had a sudden thought.
I broke the kiss, “Oh, my case. I left it downstairs.” Sometimes, I can be painfully practical.
“Later,” he said, the low rumble of his voice awakening my lady parts. “You haven’t seen the rest of my apartment yet.” His smile held the promise of some delicious reacquainting. Then he took my hand and led me upstairs to his bedroom.
Fall in love
Two and a half Months Later
I hear a car door slam and peek out between the blinds. “She’s here!” I shout as I run out the door.
I leap down the three front steps, cross the lawn as fast as my jet-lagged little legs can carry me, and fling my arms around my sister’s waist. “Merry Christmas!” I say, my voice muffled by her shoulder. She hugs me back tightly and when we pull apart, we are beaming at each other.
“Merry Christmas! You look amazing,” she says, regarding my outfit—a bright-red summery dress, dangly silver earrings, and silver ballet flats.
“Thank you. I feel like utter crap, but you know, fake it ’til you make it, right?”
“Still jet-lagged?”
“It’s only been a day, Sez.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually here. This is …” There are tears in her eyes as she squeezes my arm. I can’t believe I’m here, either. It’s been years since I was home for Christmas.
“Hello, Sarah,” I hear behind me.
Sarah looks over my shoulder. “Jean-Luc! Oh, my God!” He steps forward, then leans down and hugs her. I can hear her giggling, and when she steps back from him, her hands move to her cheeks. “I just—you really grew up. I mean …” She blinks and grins, clearly awestruck by how gorgeous he is. I roll my eyes at her, the dork.
“You also, tu es très belle.”
“All right, you two,” I say, breaking up the meeting of the mutual admiration society. “What needs to come inside?” Sarah goes to her car and from the passenger side, takes out a giant pavlova covered in cream, raspberries and kiwi fruit. “Oh, my God. You made a pav?”
“Of course, I did. It’s your fave.” She gives it to me to carry inside. It’s a dangerous move, because it looks so good, I could quite happily bury my face in it.
I restrain myself. “You’re the best sister ever.”
“Jean-Luc, would you mind?” She indicates two large carry bags on the back seat, both filled with gifts.
“Pas de problème.” He retrieves them from the car with ease, as though Sarah has gift-wrapped boxes of air, and I watch with appreciation as he walks back to the house.
God, he’s gorgeous. I still pinch myself sometimes.
“Okay, that’s it.” I turn at the sound of the car door closing, and Sarah has an overnight bag in one hand and a three-bottle wine carrier in the other. We grin at each other again. “I am so glad you’re home.”
“Me too.”
“And Jean-Luc! I mean … wow, Cat.”
“Yes, he is very ‘wow’.” We share a giggle, conveying a world of sisterly understanding with a simple laugh.
“You girls need a hand?” our dad asks from the front door. We’re in our thirties and he still calls us “girls”. I love that about my dad.
“All good, Dad,” Sarah replies as we start making our way across the lawn. To me, she says, “I’m going to need a friendly ear—not today, but maybe tomorrow?”
“Sure. Everything all right?”
“It is—I guess, it’s just …”
“Is it the whole ‘two boyfriends’ thing?”
“Yep.” She stops walking, so I do too, although I’m worried for the pav if we stay out in this sunshine much longer. “I see Josh in less than a week—and I’m excited! But I’m really nervous too.”
“Of course. I get that. The times Jean-Luc has come to London, or when I’ve gone to Paris, I always get a little nervous right before. And then, when we’re together, all that goes away. It’s just lovely—and normal.”
“You’re probably right. But, Cat, there’s James too.”
“Mmm, yes. How is that going?”
“Good, I mean, we’re in contact, and he arrives late January.” In the absence of having any sort of counsel to offer—because I am really out of my depth here—I simply nod. “I’m going to have to decide, aren’t I?” she adds.
“Yes, you are, but not right now.
Not until you’ve seen them both again and you know how you feel, all right?” It’s her turn to nod. “Now, let’s get this pav inside before the cream goes rancid.”
I hope I’ve staved off one of her anxiety attacks; I’d hate for her to get upset on Christmas. Thankfully, her smile returns as we climb the steps. “I still can’t believe you’re here—and with Jean-Luc. Cat, I’m so happy for you.”
“I’m happy for me too.” I hold the pavlova precariously with one hand, while opening the screen door with the other.
“Here, darling, I’ll take that.” Dad reappears and relieves me of the pav.
“Thanks, Dad.”
Sarah and I follow him down the hall, Sarah going first. “So, what wine did you bring?” I ask.
“Duh. Bubbles. Lots to celebrate.”
“You’re the best, sis, although I may have had a glass or two waiting for you to get here.”
She barks out a laugh at my expense. “Shocker.”
I enter my parents’ great room—their combined kitchen, dining, lounge—and see my four favourite people milling about—Dad rearranging the contents of the fridge to fit the pavlova, Mum and Sarah hugging hello, and Jean-Luc unpacking Sarah’s gifts under the tree.
I am overcome with love and I’m so exquisitely happy. This is already the best Christmas I’ve ever had.
THE END
If you enjoyed That Night in Paris, be sure to follow Sandy Barker on Twitter @sandybarker, on Facebook @sandybarkerauthor, and check out their website at www.sandybarker.com for all the updates on their latest work.
What’s next for Sarah and Cat? Find out in A Sunset in Sydney, the next romantic comedy in the Holiday Romance series.
Preorder it here if you’re in the UK and here if you’re in the US.
You can also find us at @0neMoreChapter_, where we’ll be shouting about all our new releases.
Acknowledgements
A book is never written in a vacuum and this one is no exception.
I started this book perched on a trundle bed in my sister’s guest room, while on sabbatical in 2018. I had a glimmer of an idea, knowing I wanted Cat from One Summer in Santorini to have her own story. As I wrote each chapter and the story unfolded, it was passed between my partner, Ben, my sister, Victoria (Vic), and my brother-in-law, Mark. They were my early readers, and their honesty, astute observations and suggestions are on the pages of this book. I’m so grateful to them.