Forget Paris
Love in Store Book 4
Autumn Macarthur
And I will give them singleness of heart and put a new spirit within them.
I will take away their stony, stubborn heart and give them a tender, responsive heart.
Ezekiel 11:19 NLT
We love, because God first loved us.
I John 4:19 ERV
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About the story
American graduate student Zoe Gallagher doesn’t believe in romance.
She’s in Paris on Valentine’s Day doing research to prove that romance is an illusion and love based on it doesn’t last. When she meets New Yorker Gabe Ross, there to fulfil his mother’s dying wish by placing a lovelock on a bridge crossing the River Seine, even she finds it hard to resist the most romantic city in the world on the most romantic day of the year.
An impulsive challenge to try a psychological experiment feels like more, much more, for both of them.
Zoe tells herself their one wonderful day together proves nothing, only gives more evidence her theory is right. But on her return to London, she discovers she needs Gabe’s help to learn the biggest lesson of all, that love does last.
Especially God’s love…
Book 4 in the Love in Store series of sweet inspirational romances.
The series is set around a stately old London department store, and many of the same settings and characters appear in each book. But there is no need to read them in order.
Every story is a complete romance, following a different couple through the trials and joys of a developing love, to their happy-ever-after.
Includes an anti-romance heroine, and quite a bit of kissing, as well as British spelling. Complete with British English Glossary.
55,000 words, approximately 218 print pages
Faith, Hope, & Heartwarming
- inspirational romance to make you smile!
Contents
Bonus FREE ebook!
About the story
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Thank you for reading…
About the Author
British English Glossary
Bible verse references
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Zoe Gallagher eyed the man in front of her as she waited for his answer. Too late now to take back the words that hung in the air between them.
Maybe she’d taken determination to prove she was right a step too far.
In Paris, on Valentine’s Day, and she’d challenged a total stranger to the Interpersonal Closeness Generating Procedure. A procedure she’d refused to do in the psychology lab with other students, because it could delude people into thinking they were in love.
Disaster seemed inevitable, or at the very least, a bruised heart.
The man seemed genuine. He looked appealing. He spoke intelligently.
But just because he talked about God like he was a Christian didn’t mean he was honest, or safe. She didn’t even know his name.
She checked his left hand for a faded tan line.
Probably not married.
Still, he could be an escaped convict or a conman or a thief.
Her instincts told her he was none of those things, but even if he was trustworthy, he was still dangerous. By the end of the day, if her theory was correct, she’d imagine she was in love with him.
And she knew her theory was correct.
This wasn’t a good idea. The only sensible answer he could give was ‘No’.
Instead, he nodded. A sweet smile lightened his face, chasing away the lingering sorrow.
“It’s a crazy idea. But I know it won’t work, so why not?”
Chapter 1
Fifteen minutes earlier…
Gabe Ross stood on the Pont des Artes and stared down into the grey-green waters of the River Seine. His fingers tingled where he’d clutched the tiny key, reluctant to let it go. As the ripples it made when he dropped it disappeared to nothing, he felt the finality of it all.
A hollowness inside, like the core of his life had been scooped out. It was just him and God now.
Lord, help me. Help me find the joy in life again. I never realised how alone I’d feel.
He loosed a long slow breath and rubbed his hands over his face. At least God was always there.
Watery sunshine broke through the clouds and drizzle, making a partial rainbow over the Eiffel Tower. The blustery wind dropped. It felt like God’s reminder that life and joy was still there for him. He had to let go and move on, just like he’d let go of the key.
A sense of satisfaction at completing his Mom’s last wish seeped in. Mom had loved planning the Valentine’s Day trip to Paris with Dad for their thirtieth wedding anniversary.
He smiled, remembering her excited emails as she’d read about romantic things she and Dad could do together. But they never made it there to fasten their love lock on the Pont des Artes bridge. Instead, they lay buried side by side in the little cemetery back in Sweetapple Falls.
But he’d been able to do it for them, as Mom asked.
Touching the blue enamelled lock with its pink painted flowers, so typically Mom, for one last time, he swung away from the railing without looking. The abrupt move slammed him into a girl standing right behind him.
“Sorry, my mistake,” he said, reaching out a hand to steady her.
Silently, she stared at him, eyes wide behind her glasses.
Of course, he needed to speak French. “I mean, pardon.” His accent was terrible, but at least he’d tried.
He’d meant to keep walking. But as she smiled and nodded, her serious face lit, and he stopped a moment longer to take a second glance. Not classically beautiful, or even pretty. Her coat and boots were plain and sensible. But those thick framed glasses gave her a sophisticated intellectual look that appealed to him.
It was true, then. French women did have a special style. Something in his chest and tummy did an appreciative ooh la la.
“It’s okay. My fault,” she said, in perfect English.
American English.
So she wasn’t French. Hearing the familiar accent so far from home gave him a comf
ort he hadn’t expected he’d need. He smiled.
The girl seemed to take the smile as encouragement. She tapped on her bright pink clipboard and took a deep breath before launching into what sounded like a practiced speech. “I’m doing a survey on the beliefs of people who fasten locks here today. Could I ask you a few questions?”
His stomach clenched, and his lips tightened. He wasn’t a tourist buying a lock from a street vendor on impulse. Fulfilling Mom’s dying wish went way deeper than just a gesture.
“No! What I just did was private and personal.” He managed to bite back a sharper reply. It was none of her business, but she had no way of knowing she was intruding.
Her smile vanished. She clutched her clipboard tight to her chest like a shield, her whole body stilling as she looked down.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, biting her lip as she peeped up at him. Her cheeks coloured brighter than the folder she held.
Her obvious sincerity disarmed the anger flashing through him, way out of proportion to her question. Knowing he’d hurt her feelings with his abruptness tweaked his conscience. He remembered doing his own research survey for his thesis.
There was a good reason so much research used college students as subjects. Approaching total strangers wasn’t easy.
Letting loose another slow deep breath, he forced a smile and shook his head. “It’s okay. Sorry I snapped. I’m a little more touchy than usual.”
He hesitated, wondering whether to keep talking or move away. He guessed he was far from an ideal candidate for her survey, but it felt rude not to offer an explanation. “The lock I just placed was for my Mom and Dad. They’d planned to come here for their thirtieth wedding anniversary.”
The concern shining in her blue eyes, huge behind those heavy glasses, surprised him.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice quiet and hesitant.
“They died. First Dad, then Mom. Both in the last four months. Today is their wedding anniversary.” He choked on a hard lump of grief. Unable to say more, he turned to grip the metal railing, staring down at the river, silently begging God for help.
The girl reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I'm sorry.” She stood beside him, her touch warm and comforting even through his winter coat.
He glanced at her, and her mouth curved in a sad regretful smile. “That’s a wonderful thing to have done in their memory. I can imagine how painful it would be. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She patted his arm, and backed away.
He’d thought her leaving him alone was what he wanted. When he’d told God he was lonely, he hadn’t expected to want to start telling his life story to the next stranger he met, no matter how beguiling.
But oddly, he did. Instead of letting her go, he called to her.
“Wait—”
She turned back, a question in her eyes.
Gabe hadn’t thought what to say once he had her attention. It would be too bold to invite her to coffee. “I’m a sucker for research projects, especially when it’s to do with what makes people tick. I’m curious. What motivates you to stand out here in the freezing wind and drizzle, on Valentine’s Day, asking people questions?”
Her expression perked up, and she waved her clipboard.
“I’m surveying couples who do a lock fastening ceremony, investigating their romantic beliefs and how that affects their ongoing relationship.”
A brisk pragmatic note replaced the hesitancy in her voice, confirming his first guess about her. Her heavy plastic framed glasses, thick coat buttoned to the neck, and flat boots were obviously for practicality, not decoration, suggesting a no-nonsense sort of girl. Even so, the total effect held a quirky off-beat style all her own.
He smiled. “You picked the perfect day and place for a survey on romance. What could be more romantic than Valentine’s Day in Paris?”
Her brows twitched together. “Actually, The theory I hope my survey will prove is anti-romance. I don’t believe in it, any of it.” She waved her arm at the locks weighing down the bridge. “This sort of romantic gesture may be as damaging to lasting relationships as it is to the bridge.”
“When the locks get too heavy for the bridge, the local council removes the wire mesh panel and replaces it.” He smiled. “There’s a warehouse somewhere full of the locks. The French believe in love too much to destroy them.”
She didn’t smile back, shaking her head and frowning. “They don’t want to lose their reputation as City of Love. But I believe many of these couples have flocked to Paris as part of a socially constructed romantic ritual, rather than a genuine indicator of committed love.”
His instinct as a teacher was to debate, push her to defend her beliefs. “Surely romance is the glue that brings couples together long enough to form a commitment? My parents certainly believed that.” He’d never felt that type of love himself, but he wanted it, someday. “Their marriage was a wonderful example of what love could be. They lived 1 Corinthians 13.”
“Your parents were lucky. Mine too. But they’re the exceptions.” Something sad and fleeting shadowed her eyes. She shook her head, as if shaking off a thought that bothered her. “The reality is that many commonly held romantic beliefs lead people to move from relationship to relationship to get the ‘in love’ feeling. Seeing love as an external force outside individual control that ‘just happens’ to us, is the cause of serial monogamy, divorce and co-habitation. Romantic love is a feeling that can’t be trusted.” Passion rang in her voice.
He couldn’t help but argue. If she was doing the research for a Master’s thesis or PhD, her supervisors would expect her to defend her theory.
Besides, she looked so cute when she got emotional, her cheeks pink, her eyes glowing with crusading fervour. Gabe grinned, knowing his reply would set her off even more.
“Without romance, married love becomes friendship. I believe God designed us for romance. That’s why the Song of Solomon is part of the Bible.”
Her head shake this time was a lot more vigorous. “I don’t think romance can possibly be what God intends love to be for us. For too many people, falling in love is nothing but fleeting hormones and temporary wish-fulfilment.” She looked around, gesturing toward the locks on the bridge and the couples lining it. “How many of these couples who think they’re in love will make damaging, life changing choices as a result? All I can see is them getting hurt. Even if they marry, with divorce rates the way they are, how many of them will still be together in a few years’ time? That’s what I want to find out.”
Though he couldn’t agree with her theory, talking to her was a good distraction from his grief. Almost as if God sent her, in answer to his prayer.
He nodded to encourage her to continue.
Not that she needed much encouragement. She was in full flow now, like even his shyest community college students had, once they got going with a class presentation.
“I’ve devised a romantic belief scale, and I plan to prove that the higher the level of an individual’s belief in love as an external force beyond their control and the higher their current ‘in love’ feelings, the less likely it is that their relationship will last. I want evidence to warn people off trusting the feelings of being in love, and this survey will provide it.”
He raised his eyebrows, and she seemed to catch herself, clutching the clipboard tighter against her chest.
“Not that I’d say that to anyone I was surveying, of course. It might skew their responses.”
“That’s wise. You wouldn’t want those strongly held beliefs of yours to bring in any observer bias,” he said, hiding the laughter he felt. She was so adorably serious and intense. “It sounds to me like you’re way too determined to prove your theories are right, rather than discover the truth.”
Her lips pressed together and she raised her chin. “I’ve done enough research to be aware of observer bias. It will be facts, all the way.” Her gaze narrowed. “You seem to know about research.”
Gabe hesitated over his answer
.
Telling people he was a psychologist either made them clam up as if he was a mind reader, or start talking about personal problems like he was their own private therapist. Sparring with her made him feel more alive than he’d felt for a while, and he didn’t want to lose that just yet.
He chose his words carefully. “I’ve done some research, yes, including psychological research. Now, I’m a teacher.”
“So you understand what I’m doing.” She ducked her head in embarrassment, then smiled up at him. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away there.”
“The best researchers are passionate about their subject. But what if you discover the most romantic couples stay together, after all?”
She looked away, and her fingers tightened on the clipboard she held. “I won’t discover that. People declare undying love, and it lasts exactly as long as it takes for them to feel what they call love for someone else.”
Compassion for her swelled in him. Someone who felt as strongly as she seemed to on the topic had almost certainly been burned badly by love gone wrong.
“That may be true in some cases. But it doesn’t mean romance is the problem. Isn’t the issue more that some people who feel in love don’t choose to commit? Putting a love lock on the bridge is a symbol of commitment. Marriage is an even bigger one.” He indicated the two newlywed pairs having photographs taken, the brides struggling to keep their huge white skirts from lifting in the wind and their veils from blowing away.
She stopped and looked, shaking her head. “I know people, even friends my age, who’ve had big white weddings just like that. A few divorced before their dream weddings were paid for.”
“But without love, no one would marry. Should we go back to arranged marriages?”
As he spoke, a gust of wind blew her long hair around her face. She made an impatient sound, shoved the clipboard into her huge shoulder bag, lifted her hands to gather up her hair, and tied it into a knot behind her neck.
Forget Paris: Sweet and clean Christian romance in Paris and London (Love In Store Book 4) Page 1