Forget Paris: Sweet and clean Christian romance in Paris and London (Love In Store Book 4)

by Autumn Macarthur

  After a moment, she spoke. “What about worst moments in your own love life?”

  She was right to ask. Time to lighten up. He’d be bawling on the street like a baby if he kept thinking about Mom and Dad.

  Blowing out another long painful breath, he forced a smile. “Hmm, when Georgia, my high school crush, went to the prom with the quarterback instead of me? I never actually asked her, of course, which could be the reason why.”

  Zoe laughed, though her soft warm hand still offered comfort. “That could be why, yes. Any breakups?”

  “I’ve never had any ugly ones. I’ve stayed friends with everyone I dated. Except maybe Pamela, my last girlfriend.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t really a breakup. When Mom got sick and I went home to look after her, we drifted apart. Over a couple of months, she got slower and slower replying to my messages. I called to tell her Mom’s doctors said it would only be a few weeks, and that once everything was settled at home I planned to go back to New York. She told me she’d started dating someone else. It didn’t come as a huge surprise.”

  Zoe snorted, and turned to him, shaking her head. Their already unhurried walk slowed to a crawl. “Not the most sensitive timing on her part. You might not have bad feelings, but I’m guessing she did.”

  His laugh had a hollow ring. “Maybe. She didn’t want me to go, and was mad that I turned down a good job offer. She thought I should get Mom to sell the house and go into a care facility.”

  “You did the right thing.” Her voice held surprising passion. She shook her head, sending the wisps of blonde hair that escaped her makeshift up-do flying. “She’s not worth you wasting a moment’s grief over. Besides, any man who would dump his dying Mom wouldn’t make much of a husband. I wouldn’t trust someone who’d do that to his Mom not to dump me too, if the going got tough.”

  Her words were balm on a wound he hadn’t even realised he felt. In the aftermath of Mom’s death, Pamela’s betrayal had been no more than a pin-prick. They’d drifted into dating, suitable for each other rather than madly in love.

  Still, it had hurt to know she hadn’t thought he was worth waiting for.

  “Thank you. Though it sounds like you’re talking about the jerk, now.”

  She stopped walking, and dropped his hand, turning to lean on the riverbank railing. “Maybe I am.” Her lips twisted into a not-quite-smile. “There are two jerks. Jerk #1 is Brad. We dated all through high school. I thought I was in love with him. I thought he was in love with me, too. We talked marriage, kids, white picket fence, the whole package. All hearts and flowers and romance. The plan was, he’d come back from summer vacation with his grandmother’s engagement ring, and we’d announce it.”

  Her monotone recital and long pause told him the story didn’t have quite that happy ending. “And…” he prompted.

  She shook her head. “Instead, he emailed after a week away to tell me he’d fallen crazy in love with another girl and planned to marry her instead. Apparently, Maddie was prettier, more fun, and less serious than me. I heard just before I left that their marriage had broken up. It made sense. How could she believe he wouldn’t do the same to her?”

  “I’m sorry. Men aren’t all like that, promise.” He rested his hand over hers.

  “Thankfully, I’m blessed with a good Dad and a good brother and a good boss, to remind me of that.” She laughed, short and bitter. “Because just when I was willing to get back on the dating horse again, I met jerk #2. Adrian swept me off my feet with charm and romance. He made me think he was falling in love with me. For exactly as long as it took for him to swipe my research project and claim it as his. College gossip said it was a dare. So you can see why I’m wary of dating?”

  He could. His heart squeezed, sensing the deep hurt she hid behind her emotionless words.

  His hand tightened on hers, and she loosened her grip on the railing to let him take it. “Frozen again,” he gently scolded, as he rubbed her hand between both his. “We need to get you into that café and give you coffee. So that’s why you don’t trust romance, or falling in love too fast? Two bad experiences?”

  She let him lead her down the side street, twisting her head to meet his gaze. “Right. The feeling doesn’t last, and people make stupid mistakes because of it. Like giving away their research, or breaking up a relationship. Instead of committing to the relationship they’re in, people get addicted to falling in love with someone new.”

  “I can see why you’d believe those feelings are a bad basis for a lasting relationship. But dating someone who seemed suitable didn’t work too well for me with Pamela, either.”

  Zoe nodded. “That’s my problem. It’s clear what doesn’t work in relationships. What I don’t know is what does work. Apart from being perfect, of course, like Mom and Dad.” She snorted. “But what hope is there for us imperfect, unsuitable ones?”

  He didn’t know the answer to that, any more than she did.

  Zoe seemed far from a suitable girl. So far, she struck him as contradictory, impulsive, stubborn, and misguided. Probably a drama queen. Far too set on being right. All traits he’d usually run a mile from.

  But somehow, with Zoe, they fascinated him. And now she’d softened and let her guard down, he liked the girl she revealed even more.

  As they reached the café, brighter sunshine broke through the clouds again. She raised her face to the sun like a flower. The light shone on warm highlights in her honey blonde hair, and lit the delicate hint of soft fuzz on her cheeks, like a downy peach. Something in him longed to reach out and touch her skin and her hair, see if they felt as soft as they looked.

  He restrained the urge.

  Holding hands with a stranger was plenty impulsive enough.

  As if she sensed him looking at her, she glanced at him, then quickly turned away. That moment of heart-thumping intimacy when their eyes met was way too much, way too soon.

  If he was feeling this way about her one question into the procedure, maybe she was right.

  Maybe he would end the day in love with her.

  Good thing they had the café as a distraction from more questions.

  The tiny place was cheerful and eye-catching. The menu outside was all in French, but he could puzzle out enough to order coffee. He waved Zoe ahead of him through the turquoise entrance door, a striking contrast to the bright blue paintwork of the exterior.

  Inside, the cafe was warm and well lit. Potted plants filled every surface, enough to supply a chunk of Amazon rainforest. He had to duck under a trailing vine to get in. It smelled of coffee and fresh baked bread. His stomach surprised him by rumbling, reminding him he'd skipped lunch. Plenty here to choose from, on the counter lined with plates of quiches and cakes, under tall glass domes. The woman behind the counter fitted the decor, with her hippy style dress and multi-coloured hair.

  The arty looking place didn't match the image Zoe’s sensible clothes gave. Yet she’d chosen it rather than the sleek modern beige-toned café next door.

  He wondered, who was the real Zoe behind all her contradictions?

  Getting to know her better through the Closeness Generating Procedure promised to be interesting. He liked people, and studying what made them tick fascinated him. The idea of spending time with her doing the experiment intrigued him.

  She intrigued him.

  He’d moved into teaching now, but he was still a psychologist. Most likely, she was a graduate student. Perhaps, their paths would cross again sometime, at a conference or meeting. He liked the idea.

  Zoe hesitated, looking around as if wondering what to do next.

  He waved her to a tiny round table near the window, tucked off to one side. “How about we sit over there?” he asked. “It’s out the way. They might not mind if we sit for a while. The other thirty five questions will take some time.”

  Her lips twitched, and she rolled her eyes at him.

  Ignoring that eye roll seemed best. “I’ll order. What would you like? Coffee, tea, cake, quiche? All of the ab
ove.”

  “A café au lait, and maybe a piece of that chocolate cake? I'll pay for myself. Just let me get my purse.” She swung her huge bag off her shoulder and began rummaging in it. “I can never find anything in here.”

  “We can work it out later,” he said quickly. “Let me get the bill now, while you grab the table.” He had no intention of letting her pay, and delaying the inevitable dispute seemed wise. Most graduate students were perpetually broke. He at least had a job, starting next week.

  She looked ready to argue, but as more customers entered the café behind them, she gave up and moved to the table he’d pointed out.

  His gaze followed her, and he felt oddly aware of his own heartbeat. She had a grace about her movements. Something he couldn’t quite explain about the way she leaned on the table to look out the window with dreamy eyes appealed to him.

  God, I don't know what You have planned here. Please, show me how to play this.

  Shaking his head at his ridiculous thoughts, he turned to the counter, bracing himself to fumble his way through the order. No reason that God would intend this to be any more than a cup of coffee and a game of twenty questions with a stranger he’d never meet again.

  The woman behind the counter spoke to him in rapid fire French. He couldn't decipher a single word.

  “Deux cafe au lait?” he asked, holding up two fingers, hoping she understood.

  She nodded.

  “Torte au chocolat?” he ventured, holding up two fingers again.

  “Oui.” More incomprehensible French followed, along with impatient mutters and shuffles from the waiting customers.

  He hoped she was telling him the price, and pushed a twenty euro note across the counter.

  The woman made change, and spoke again.

  He still didn’t understand.

  Then her abrupt hand movements, shooing him away, were unmistakable.

  “Someone will bring it to your table,” the woman behind him said, her heavily accented English, still way better than his French.

  “Merci.” He smiled, then stepped out of her way as she rushed to place her order.

  Grinning, he walked back to the table, and to Zoe.

  She looked away from the window and raised questioning eyes, huge and blue and lovely behind her glasses.

  “Trying to place my first order in French was interesting.” He put the receipt the woman had handed him on the table. “It feels strangely like an achievement, despite the fact I only managed to understand one word of what she spoke to me.”

  She smiled back. “It is an achievement. So which word did you understand.”

  “Oui.”

  Zoe nodded slowly. “Oui,” she murmured. “A good word to understand.”

  He sensed she was saying yes to more than a coffee order, but what, he had no idea. There was something pensive and longing in her unfocused gaze.

  “Yes,” he said, though he was unsure just what he’d agreed to. He’d never felt this much confusion and uncertainty with other girls he’d met. Zoe was different, more complicated. It wasn’t quite comfortable, playing a game neither of them seemed to know the rules to.

  But it sure was interesting.

  He looked away from her, at the forest of plants, the multi-coloured artwork, the general brightness and chaos of the place. Sadness for all the things Mom and Dad missed out on saying yes to tightened his chest.

  Sometimes, God’s purposes were hard to understand.

  “Mom would have loved this place. I wish she’d been able to make it here with Dad, the way she dreamed.”

  Zoe’s eyes became intent. “Tell me about them, about their marriage.” Her voice was soft and sweet and encouraging. “Talking about our families is one of the questions too, I’m pretty sure. But I really want to know. For your sake, not just the process.”

  He shook his head. Talking about it meant feeling the pain, the flood of grief that the flimsy locked door in his chest barely managed to hold back.

  But that still small voice of Spirit whispered that he needed to talk. Zoe’s challenge was the perfect idea. Talking to a stranger was perfect therapy.

  Her hand crept out and touched his, where it lay clenched on the table. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them in the touch of her warm hand on his. Her eyes widened and darkened, and he knew she felt it too. The moment stretched, leaving him speechless.

  Then she snatched her hand away, and pulled herself into a tight little ball in her chair, staring past his shoulder and out the window rather than meeting his eyes. He missed the warmth of her hand, more than he’d expected he would.

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. And I’m fine if you don’t want to do the procedure.” Her lips twisted in a bitter-edged smile. “I’m sure you have better things to do with the rest of your day than spend it with me, repeating a twenty year old psychology experiment.”

  It hit him, she’d reacted this way because she felt rejected, thought he didn’t trust her enough to complete the procedure. The truth was, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than getting to know Zoe better.

  But procedure or not, it was way too soon to tell her that.

  Dragging in a breath and letting it go, he whispered a silent ‘Yes’ to whatever God had planned. He had no goals, beyond placing the lock. Now that was done, his only goal was to find new goals. To figure out what God wanted him to do with his life.

  He’d been blessed with this unexpected meeting. He had to trust that he was being given exactly what he needed.

  “Zoe, how many times do I have to repeat it?” He smiled, to soften his words. “Oui. Oui to being here. And oui to doing the procedure with you. If you still want to.”

  Chapter 4

  What Zoe felt in that moment her eyes met Gabe’s frightened her into pulling back, wishing she’d never mentioned the procedure. It was too intense, too real.

  Even now, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around herself, staring out the window to avoid his gaze, her heart rattled in her chest and a tremor wobbled through her from the inside. She pulled herself into a tighter ball, to stop it showing on the outside, too.

  Something she’d started as an intellectual challenge, more a game than anything else, shook her to the core. They’d barely started, yet she’d never felt so close to anyone else before.

  She peeked at him, ready to quickly look away again if needed.

  He gazed at her with that sweet understanding smile of his, that seemed to see right into her. He was more like a psychiatrist or a pastor than a teacher. Something about him reminded her of Dad.

  The same sense of solidity, of being able to trust him.

  How risky would answering a bunch of questions truthfully be? Even if it included truths she’d never discussed with anyone, not even her twin.

  Especially her twin.

  Gabe was way safer than Tiff.

  And maybe she was the same for him.

  A stranger. Someone he’d never see again. Safe.

  They hadn’t shared more than their first names. She’d be on her way back to London tonight, and it sounded like he’d be flying home to Oregon tomorrow. Maybe God had set this up.

  If He had, He’d better let her know, ASAP.

  “I wish I was better at saying ‘Oui’, and sticking to it,” she said, hoping that the expression that felt like a grimace looked more apologetic. “You must think I’m nuts. I’ve gone backwards and forwards on whether we should do this so many times I feel like I’m sitting on a swing.”

  He smiled again, that same aware, perceptive smile. “I’m guessing the questions are a little more probing than things we’d normally talk about. Most of us don’t share ourselves that deeply with family and friends, let alone someone we’ve only just met. It’s normal to feel some reluctance.”

  Her mock shudder wasn’t completely faked. “That’s what I’m thinking. Only the fact that we’re unlikely to meet again makes it possible. I wouldn’t do this with
someone I’d have to see every day.”

  So, should I do it, Lord?

  A sense of peace and certainty she rarely felt descended on her.

  She didn’t want Gabe to talk about his parents or do the procedure to prove her theory. She wanted to help him with his sorrow. God did want her here with him doing this.

  Sliding her feet back under the table and unfurling her tightly clenched arms, she nodded. “I’m game if you’re game. But if you don’t want to, I understand.”

  He laid his hands flat on the table between them, squaring his shoulders. Sadness flickered in his eyes, before he looked away.

  “I’d like to talk about Mom and Dad, if you’re willing to listen. It’s been tough. People I’m not close to avoid the subject. But the people I’m close to were also close to Mom and Dad. I can’t burden them with my grief, knowing they’re struggling with their own.”

  She nodded, trying to understand.

  Normally, she hid behind her researcher role. Feelings didn’t come into it. Today, if she was to do what God asked of her, she needed to feel.

  “I’ve been blessed. No one near to me has died. But I can see how it could be like that. The grief that should bring people together separates them.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers for a moment, and nodded. “That’s it, exactly.” The gratitude in his eyes warmed her.

  “You said your parents had a good marriage?” she prompted.

  “They did. The best marriage of anyone we knew. People in our little town don't tend to divorce, they stick together, through thick or thin. But not everyone was happy the way Mom and Dad were. They stayed in love, all that time.” He paused, looking down again.

  Zoe didn’t interrupt. Where he came from sounded very different to her home. In L.A., divorce seemed the norm, not staying married. So many of her friends’ parents and people in the congregation divorced.

  And now, her own friends, too.

  Brad and Maddie’s impending divorce came as no surprise. But when Shana’s marriage ended last year, her cynicism about romance didn’t stop the news from shocking her.