by Ginny Aiken
“Oh, Granny,” she said, hugging the companion pillow, “thank you for making a dream come true!”
Melanie had dressed in her least-wrinkled outfit, a floral silk skirt that swirled about her ankles and a yellow silk blouse that matched the delicate buttercups in her skirt. She had found some comfortable yet attractive sandals.
She took more care with her hair and makeup today, then sauntered down to the lobby. There were people everywhere and she quickly hurried out to the sidewalk. A warm sun greeted her, and just ahead, the aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread lured passersby to a cozy sidewalk café.
Since she was not a coffee drinker, she bypassed the espresso in favor of a morning tea. She watched with delight as the tea was delivered to her in a beautiful little floral teapot and a proper-looking English china cup. She poured the steaming tea and added honey. Ah, this was living!
Sipping her tea, she studied the entertaining array of people passing the café. Men in lightweight suits, stepping quickly along. Women of all ages and sizes wore flowing dresses or skirts, looking chic, fashionable, and thin.
But she took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was no longer overweight with mousy brown hair and simple clothes. To reaffirm her thoughts, she ran her slender, manicured fingers over her silk skirt and enjoyed the idea of feeling pretty and moving at her own pace, for a change. She had chosen not to sign up for any tours, preferring instead to roam around at her own leisure.
The man from last night—Ivy League—had just come in and was looking for a seat. Suddenly, his eyes landed on her and widened in recognition. She stared back. He looked so different today. Khakis and a green golf shirt had replaced the well-tailored business suit and flashy tie. Somehow seeing him more relaxed made her take notice of him in a way she hadn’t during their first meeting. For example, she hadn’t noticed what a nice tan he had.
He had smooth dark brown hair, worn short with a side part on the left, a rather long jawline, offset by a nose that just missed being too short, and wide-set blue eyes. Actually, he was quite handsome until she remembered his attitude.
Then she dropped her eyes to her cup, not acknowledging him; after all, he had been downright rude. Almost. But then so had she. As she concentrated on placing her cup on the table and looking out at the crowd, she saw from the corner of her eye that he was slowly approaching her.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said, standing uninvited at her table. The southern drawl floated smoothly on the balmy spring morning, sounding both interesting and appealing. “You … look so different from last night.”
Since she had recently checked her image in the mirror of her compact, she knew what he was seeing. Gray eyes with the contacts in place and the caramel highlights in her brown hair gleaming in the sun.
“You look different, too,” she said with that edge to her voice that had emerged during her adolescence. For her, it had been a wall of defense against being fat, but her father termed her defense an “attitude.”
She smiled to soften any trace of sarcasm as she looked into the blue—very blue—eyes.
An awkward moment of silence followed, and she realized he was lingering because he wanted her to invite him to sit down, so she did.
“I’m Dave Browning,” he said, settling into the seat.
“Melanie Roberts,” she said, not offering her hand.
“Bonjour.” Her waiter had returned and was looking interestedly at Dave.
He ordered one of the strong espressos like everyone else was drinking then turned back to her. “So did you sleep well at the Ritz?” he asked politely.
“Very well,” she replied, touching a linen napkin to her mouth. “And you?”
He leaned back in the chair and stretched, showing off nice shoulders and muscled tan biceps. He either was a sportsman or he pumped iron.
“Everything was fine,” he replied as the waiter delivered coffee. “I was so tired I think I could have slept on a park bench.” He paused and frowned. “In fact, you were already out of the taxi and the driver was shaking me awake before I knew what had happened.”
“You fell asleep; in fact, you were snoring when I got out.”
He chuckled, a nice rich sound that the southern drawl somehow complemented. “The perfect traveling companion, right?”
She smiled, and he was staring into her eyes and smiling back. She hoped he liked what he saw. “I was envious because I was so exhausted I could hardly think,” she replied honestly. “But I’ve never been able to sleep in a moving vehicle.”
“Didn’t you sleep on the plane?”
“Not really.”
He shook his head, taking a sip of the strong coffee. “I guess I snored all the way to Paris.”
“I wish I could have! We’ve been busy at school and there’s never any time to rest before a vacation.”
“School? Grad school?”
She smiled. “No, I teach second grade.”
“My mom’s a teacher,” he said, taking another deep sip of his espresso.
“What grade?”
“Ninth and tenth. Mostly English.”
“Mine too! Her field is history. Thank God she’s at the high school or she’d be strolling down to my second grade class to observe my method of teaching.”
“Or reminding you about your passport?”
She had to laugh. “How did you know?”
“Well,” he said, giving her a long look, “we have more in common than I thought.”
She picked up a spoon to stir the honey from the bottom of her cup. It was merely an action to cover a moment of embarrassment. He must have thought of her in much the same way she had judged him: not my type.
“Where are you from, Melanie?”
“Milton, Ohio. Small town you’ve probably never heard of. And where in Dixie do you call home?” she asked, suddenly very interested in him. Her mind seemed to produce questions and supply answers more easily now. Perhaps it was because she was in Paris and had left the old Melanie Roberts back in Milton.
His lips spread over even white teeth into an amused little smile. “Atlanta. Deep in the heart of Dixie.”
She didn’t have to ask which state, for there was only one Atlanta that people talked about.
“I’ve never been to Atlanta,” she admitted. “We took a family vacation in Florida when I was in high school. The area was pretty and I liked it, but that’s the only part of the South I’ve visited.”
“Really?” He seemed amazed. “Then you should come in the spring. If you like beautiful flowers and the flavor of the Old South, there are lots of tours of historical homes and beautiful gardens.”
“Oh? Then I’d either have to come south soon or wait until next spring.” Her words flowed easily, because it seemed so natural to be sitting here in Paris, France, on a weekday morning, talking to a complete stranger yet feeling incredibly comfortable with … Dave Browning. She even liked the name as she repeated it again in her mind.
“Well, you could come in the fall. We have lots of hardwoods that turn beautiful colors—and there are always tours then,” he added, grinning.
“Maybe I will,” she said lightly, as the waiter stopped to lift her pitcher and pour more tea. “Merci beaucoup.” There, the phrase from her book sounded okay after listening to Dave.
“What are you doing in Paris?” he asked as he sipped his coffee.
“I’m on spring break. What about you?”
“Not on holiday,” he said, and for the first time a slight frown rumpled his tanned forehead. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight as though he had just shampooed it.
“I’m here on business. My company is having one of its international meetings.” When he named the company, she recognized it immediately as one of the top dogs in the computer industry.
“And what precisely do you do for your company?” she asked, trying not to sound too impressed, although she was.
“I work with a development team designing software programs.�
�� His blue eyes grew serious as he spoke of his job. “We’re trying to work the kinks out of a new program that will be a major breakthrough in the world of computer programming.”
“That sounds exciting,” she said, trying to imagine him behind a desk, staring at a computer screen, his mind conjuring up new techniques to keep abreast of the expanding world of technology.
He tilted his head slightly and looked at her. “Well, my job interests me but—”
“But what?” she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and cupping her hands under her chin. She was aware that her French manicure complimented her long slender fingers, and she was glad that she had added a few rings to her fingers, other than the usual birthstone.
“But … I guess it sounds dull to other people,” he continued. “At least, most women I talk with frown and change the subject when I mention computers. Or they launch into something negative about their experiences with computers.”
“My second-graders are already learning the basics.” She thought about that for a moment and decided to voice her feelings. “It’s remarkable how quickly their young minds pick up on computer knowledge, and I’m always amazed at how their little hands handle the mouse….” She stopped herself before adding better than I do.
She was by no means computer illiterate, but she had never bothered to get e-mail or browse the internet, as most of her friends had. She spent her spare time curled up on the sofa, reading a new book. Taylor, on the other hand, was constantly zipping out e-mails from Cincinnati to her mom and all of her friends.
Dave was saying nothing, sipping his coffee and she realized her mind had dashed off again. “How long will you be here?” she asked quickly, noticing that his coffee was almost gone and he was refusing another serving from the waiter.
“Just until Friday,” he replied. “And you?”
“Until Saturday.”
“So what are you planning to do and see?” he asked.
“As much as I can,” she admitted honestly, glancing toward the busy boulevard and wondering where to start.
“You were alone on the plane,” he recalled suddenly. “Do you have friends here?”
“No. But then I’m a bit of a loner.”
He nodded. “So am I.” He looked at his watch but he didn’t stand as she had expected. She knew the noon hour was over, and he was probably due somewhere.
“Do you have plans for tonight?” he asked suddenly.
“I … well, no. Not yet.”
“Would you like to go to dinner? One of the advantages of my job is that I do get to come here twice a year. I know a few places to dine, and I’ve seen the major landmarks.”
“Then maybe you can give me some advice. I have certain places in mind, but I’m not sure about the best times to visit.” It was something she had been worrying about as she left the hotel this morning.
“My pleasure,” he said, the southern accent dripping with charm. And she really liked the smile. It all fit together just right. She was aware that her heart was beating a bit faster, as though she had just climbed a flight of steps.
“In fact, I’d like to skip out of the afternoon meetings and go with you today,” he said, his soft voice holding a tone of regret, “but I have to be at this particular meeting.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want you to miss it,” she replied, a bit too quickly, and she wondered if her “attitude” had surfaced. Dinner, she remembered. “I’d love to have dinner with you,” she smiled up at him, hoping, if there had been any sarcasm in her tone, she had just erased it.
“Great! How about if I pick you up in the lobby of the Ritz at eight? Nightlife starts late here. But then it does in Atlanta, as well.”
Nightlife never starts in Milton, she could have added. Instead, she replied casually, “Eight will be fine.”
“Okay.” The waiter had magically appeared with both checks and Dave took hers as well.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, but then shut her mouth. She realized he was doing something nice for her, and she had to learn how to accept compliments, another failing of hers. “But thanks,” she added sweetly. Not saccharine sweet, like Taylor, but the kind of sweet she used when her students brought her little gifts.
“You’re very welcome. Thanks for perking up my day. And I’ll see you this evening,” he said, glancing again at his watch then shaking his head. “I’m already late, which is out of character for me.”
“Then you’d better hurry,” she said, keeping her seat. She intended to have another cup of tea and absorb the flavor of a spring day in Paris.
“Bye,” he called over his shoulder as he quickly paid and hurried onto the sidewalk. He walked in the opposite direction, so she could stare after him, sizing him up. He might be only a couple of inches taller than she, but his build suited him well. He was not too muscled, not too thin or heavy, and he walked straight and purposefully, as though he knew where he was going and exactly how he was getting there.
She gave the waiter a big smile as he poured more tea for her. She was having the time of her life.
Chapter 2
At precisely eight that evening, Melanie stepped off the elevator into the lobby and saw Dave seated on a sofa, dressed in a nice suit with a more conservative tie. As she walked toward him, she thought the blue eyes lit up as he came quickly to his feet.
“Hi. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” She wondered if she had misjudged her timing.
“Just got here,” he said with a smile. “You look great.”
“Thanks.”
His gaze swept down her new dress. The dress was a jade-green linen with a mandarin collar that hugged her neck. As the salesgirl pointed out, this shade of green accented her gray eyes and pink skin and picked up the highlights in her hair. It was a long dress featuring the popular slit on the side of the skirt. She had worn delicate gold sandals with flat heels so she wouldn’t be taller than Dave.
She glanced through the hotel window. “I didn’t bring a jacket,” she said absently. She had picked a fine time to worry about that, but she hadn’t the right jacket for the dress, anyway.
“You’ll be fine. It’s a wonderful evening, warm with balmy breezes. Not as warm as Atlanta, but that’s a blessing.”
“It’s already warm in Atlanta in May?”
“It’s warm in Atlanta as early as March, but March is usually windy and undependable. April brings the showers and flowers and all that. The summers are hot and humid.” His hand cupped her elbow as they crossed the lobby to the revolving front doors.
“It’s still cool and windy in Milton,” she said as they stepped onto the sidewalk, and he hailed a taxi and gave the driver an address that meant nothing to her.
“You really know your French,” she said with a smile.
“There are certain phrases that I do well because I use them often. But as far as carrying on a lengthy conversation with the locals, I’d be at a loss.”
She felt he was deliberately being modest because he had already witnessed how little she knew.
He put his arm up on the leather seat above her head, and they both gazed out at the beauty before them as they sped past the Place de la Concorde.
“How beautiful,” she said, looking out at the fountains and the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
“Yes, it is. How did you spend the day?” he asked.
She told him about the souvenirs she had purchased, and the cards, and admitted it was a relief to get that behind her.
“You too? I really hate that sort of thing. Mom and my sister Alison love it.”
“So do my mom and Taylor; that’s my sister.”
“Older or younger?” he asked interestedly.
“A year older.”
“Alison is two years younger than me. There are only the two of us. No other siblings. And your family?”
“Just Taylor and me,” and they both laughed.
She enjoyed the full, rich sound of his laughter as she tossed her head ba
ck and looked at him a bit closer.
He reached over to brush a tendril from her cheek, and for a moment he stared at the strand of the rich brown hair, a color chosen by an expert hairdresser to relieve the mousy brown of before. “You have nice hair,” he said, smoothing it back. “My sister would be envious. She’s always fussing about her hair. Too thin, too curly, or too straight. Every day is a bad hair day for Alison.”
She could relate to that but she didn’t say so. She merely smiled. “How old is she?” It was a sly way of learning his age after he had told her Alison was two years his junior.
“Twenty-three. She’s a registered nurse engaged to be married just before Christmas.”
“Oh really? Do you like the guy?”
He chuckled. “He was my roommate at the University of Georgia. Yeah, I like him. Actually, I used to bring him home on weekends. We were sophomores and Alison was a big-eyed, high school senior. For her, it was love at first sight. Trey is more cautious, but I could see that he liked her right away. So could Mom and Dad. They got engaged the next Christmas when Alison was a freshman at Georgia. My parents insisted on her finishing college before getting married; that’s the reason they waited.”
She liked everything he had told her. He seemed to come from a good family, and she wondered about his faith but was unsure how to ask.
They had reached their destination, for the driver had pulled to the curb and Dave was paying the fare. Then they were out of the taxi, entering a restaurant that she recognized from a picture in the guidebook. She was impressed that he had taken her to such an exclusive place for dinner.
“I’ve been going on about my family. What about yours?” he asked, as they entered the candlelit dining room, which reeked of elegance and gourmet food.
“Taylor is married and has two children. She married her high school sweetheart, and she was not one to get her college degree. She went a couple of years and that was it. Said she always knew what she wanted to be: a wife and mother.”
Dave nodded agreeably, as he held the chair for her while men in white uniforms rushed forward to attend to their every need. Never in her life had she eaten in such an elegant restaurant, even though Springfield and Cleveland had some fine ones. This one was different, and she remembered under the picture she had seen in the guidebook that this one was highlighted as a four-star with excellent French cuisine. There had even been something about the chefs, but she had forgotten.