Her best friend from school, the first of them to marry. She’d been one of Shana’s bridesmaids. Jeff seemed so in love, the last man to cheat. Then he’d fallen in love with someone else, and supposedly that excused everything.
It seemed that marriage only worked for a few, either lucky or blessed.
Gabe spoke again, voice low and gentle. “Mom had a gift for making everyday things special. For Dad as well as me. She’d put love notes in his lunchbox, and in his shirt pocket. She'd surprise him by doing little things for him, whether that was making his favourite meal or picking him up after work so he didn't have to walk home from his shop. She was a total romantic. Getting married on Valentine’s Day was just the start. In return, Dad never took her for granted. He planned date nights and romantic getaways. Like their trip to Paris.”
He raised his head, but seemed unfocused. Zoe didn't know if he saw her, or the little cafe, or the Paris street outside, now bathed in afternoon sunshine. He seemed lost in memories.
She said nothing, waiting for him to speak again, though she wondered whether their marriage had truly been that perfect.
Her doubt must have shown on her face.
“Oh, they had rows.” His lips curved in a reminiscent smile. “Mom was a redhead, with a temper to match. She flared up over the smallest things. And she didn't back down easy if she knew she was right. She'd tell Dad straight when she thought he was mistaken. But she knew how to be angry without sinning. She always apologised. Always admitted when she was wrong. Never held a grudge.”
Zoe knew the Bible verse he meant. ‘If you are angry, don’t sin by nursing your grudge. Don’t let the sun go down with you still angry—get over it quickly.’
Something she often fell short on. And she didn’t have red hair as an excuse.
All Gabe was giving her was reinforcement of the fact she’d observed. Only perfect people could have a perfect relationship. Just like her parents’ marriage.
And she was far from perfect.
Gabe looked straight at her this time, and smiled. “I must sound like such a sappy Mommy’s boy.”
She smiled back, but shook her head a little. “You sound blessed. Some of the kids I grew up with can barely stand being in the same room as their parents. And many of them have step-parents to deal with, too.”
“I guess I was closer to Mom and Dad than many kids, because I'm an only child. But I do know how blessed I was with both my parents. They gave me the best example of what a family can be.”
He fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers, lining them up carefully. His throat worked as he swallowed.
“Till last summer, Dad died suddenly in his workshop.” Distress contorted his face. “A cerebral aneurysm. No warning. Mom took it hard. Two months later, her doctor told her the cancer everyone hoped she’d beaten had come back.” He glanced quickly at her, then resumed his focus on the salt and pepper shakers. “Without him, she had no will to fight it.”
He loosed a long heavy breath, and her hand reached out to take hold of his, almost without her conscious will. Her whole body leaned toward him. She couldn't bear to see his grief without making some contact.
It wasn’t like her. She didn’t cry at sad movies. She didn't respond to sob stories. Even diaper ads and animal rescue appeals didn’t make her cry the way they did Tiff.
But Gabe wasn't telling a sob story or trying to sell her anything. His loss was very real and very deep. She said nothing, but squeezed his hand, feeling warmth and something indefinable flow through her at the touch.
Before either of them could say anything more, a waitress plonked their coffees and cake onto the table in front of them.
“Merci,” Zoe said, letting Gabe’s hand go, and pushing his coffee toward him as the brusque waitress stomped away.
Her hand shook a little, almost but not quite slopping the coffee. Gabe had her behaving in ways that were wildly out of character, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She was supposed to be the sensible one, the one with both feet firmly on the ground. And here she was being as reckless and emotional as Tiff.
“The cake looks good. Thank you,” she said, nibbling on a forkful. Her tummy was such a quivering mess eating might be a challenge.
She picked up her coffee instead. Caffeine wouldn’t help slow her heartbeat, bouncing away like an overexcited puppy, but at least clutching the cup to her chest gave her something to do with her hands. It might stop her doing something silly. Like reaching out to hold Gabe’s hand again.
No matter how much compassion she felt for his loss, she needed to control her reactions to him.
He smiled, and quirked one eyebrow, giving her the unsettling sense he knew exactly what she was thinking. Crazy idea. Even a psychologist highly trained in body language interpretation would only be able to guess.
He pulled his cake nearer. “Yes, the cake does look good,” he said, taking a large forkful. But he looked to be having to force himself to chew.
Her throat ached for his pain.
She dragged her gaze off him, locked her hands around her coffee cup, and stared out the window. But watching the passers-by and trying to think about her research didn’t stop her being totally aware of Gabe.
After manfully chewing his forkful, he spoke again. “Before she died, Mom shared her bucket list with me. Paris for their thirtieth wedding anniversary was at the top. Six months before the trip, she had the plane tickets booked, the love locks packed in her suitcase, and a plan for all the places she wanted to visit here with Dad.”
Zoe risked a glance at him.
He rubbed at his eyes, and she knew he was hiding tears.
Normally, a crying man would drive her to impatient words, but Gabe was different. This was real, not the fake easy tears of Nick and his actor friends, who could portray any emotion at the drop of a hat.
Gabe wasn't acting, Gabe was feeling, and there was a world of difference.
“Mom asked me to come to Paris and put the lock on the bridge for them. She wasn't superstitious in the slightest, she had strong faith. But she loved romantic gestures, and she wanted me to make this one final one for her and Dad.”
“She'd be glad to know you've done that for her.” Zoe’s voice sounded hoarse, as if something inside her had broken. She took another sip of her coffee to wet a throat gone suddenly dry.
He nodded. “I hope so.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a sheet of paper, then unfolded it and laid it flat on the table. “She gave me her list of the places she wanted to visit with Dad. She didn't ask me to go to them, but I think she hoped I might.”
He pushed the paper toward her.
Her eye went down the neat handwritten list. Probably his Mom’s writing, it looked feminine.
All the well known places. The Pont des Artes, he could cross off already. The Louvre, Montmartre, the Champs-Élysées, The Luxembourg Gardens, the Sacre Coeur, the Eiffel Tower. And a few places she'd never heard of, like the Wall of I Love Yous.
She folded the list carefully, and handed it back to him. “You have a busy time ahead, if you plan to do all this.”
“I do,” he said with a smile.
She shivered at his unintended echo of wedding vows.
How would it feel to stand beside a man and say those words, committed to honouring them for the rest of her life? So hard to imagine she could ever trust someone to commit to her.
Safer to stay single, and focus on her work.
She had no intention of either finding herself locked in an unhappy marriage, or of adding to the divorce statistics.
A smile at her own stupidity twisted her lips. She was having coffee with Gabe, and looking at a list of tourist destinations while doing a psychology experiment, not considering a marriage proposal.
Purely practical research, and offering support to a grieving man.
But when Gabe looked across the table and asked, “Will you come with me? We can do the questions as we go,” the thump of her heart made her wonder if th
at was all it was.
It definitely didn’t feel like any research she’d ever done before.
Chapter 5
Gabe didn't regret asking Zoe to join him touring Mom’s list of sites.
He enjoyed being with her, and her presence gave more comfort than he expected. For all her initial no-nonsense air, she exuded a rare sense of compassion.
Besides, he didn't want to make the trip alone.
He reached out to touch one of the hands she held clamped on her coffee cup. “I don’t think our friendly waitress is going to want us taking up a table for the time it will take us to work through the questions. And I’d like you to come with me.”
Zoe still sat silent, biting her lip.
Maybe saying he wanted her to come along with him had sounded too pushy. He could see how mistrustful and skittish she was. Being with her was like trying to tame a wild animal, or a bird. They might move a little nearer, but they needed their space to run away, as well.
It was his turn to hesitate now, though what he wanted to say could hardly sound sappier than the things he’d already told her.
“Going all these places alone feels too sentimental. If you come too, as part of our challenge, the trip turns into a game, no more serious than playing Scrabble.”
Her brow creased, then her lips curved into a smile. She tilted her head to one side, adorable as a little sparrow. “We’re in Paris. What happens in Paris, stays in Paris, right?”
He nodded.
“So we both agree,” she continued. “Any feelings we develop for each other are a product of the place and the experiment. Neither of us will think they’re real.”
He nodded again. The lightness he felt at the thought of spending the rest of the day with her was like a weight lifting from him. Out of proportion to the situation.
But after the dark days since Mom’s death, any relief was a blessing.
Her smile widened into a bright-eyed grin. “Doing the questions while we tour your Mom’s list of the most romantic spots in Paris is way safer than playing Scrabble with me would be. I take Scrabble very seriously.”
He shook his head, and chuckled. Being with Zoe was like puzzling out the pieces of a mystery, but he liked it. “You don't strike me as a game playing kind of girl.”
“What can I say? I like to win.” She spread her hands wide in a take-me-or-leave-me shrug. “I have Scrabble on my phone. If we have time later, we can play a game. If you dare.”
Regret that he might not see her again after tonight twisted in his belly.
They’d barely started, and already the experiment was taking effect. Did Zoe feel the same sureness he felt about her, that sense of kinship, of belonging?
Thankfully, those feelings had to be a product of the situation, not anything lasting. That was the way he wanted it.
He’d envied his parent's togetherness, but then he’d watched Mom fade away after Dad died. Loving another person that much, with a passion that left one person unable to live without the other felt dangerous.
He'd stick with doing the procedure, knowing they’d go their separate ways at the end of the evening.
“We’ll see about the Scrabble,” he told her. “Like I said, I’m not afraid of challenges. Especially ones I’ll win.”
She grinned. “You’re on. We’d better get working on this list straight away. I need to be at the station for my train by eight thirty.”
Train, not plane? He’d assumed she was on vacation, and would be travelling back to the States next. “Where are you headed?”
Her startled glance held surprise, as if he should know. “Didn’t I tell you? London. My brother’s working there, and he invited my sister and I to stay.”
His muscles tensed. So she’d be in London too.
Should he tell her he was flying to London tomorrow night, or would that scare her off? He didn’t want to lose her company by telling her the truth.
They’d both be in London, but so were eight million other people.
Little chance they’d meet. If she asked directly, he wouldn’t lie. And if she didn’t ask….
He exhaled, and handed Mom’s list back to her. “There are a lot of places. Do you think we can do it, and have time for a game of Scrabble at the station?”
She ran a finger down the page. “I think my romance loving sister already dragged me around most of these when we were here in December. Twelve locations, and thirty six questions. That works out perfect. Three questions per place. Less, because we already started.” She peeped at him over her glasses. “And still time for a game of Scrabble at the end, if you dare.”
He grinned. “I dare. Do you, is the question. I play a cut-throat game of Scrabble. As a kid, I used to read the dictionary for fun.”
Her chin came up in challenge. “Me too. And the encyclopaedia. And the Bible. I won’t lose.”
“We’ll see.” He fished around in his satchel for a map, and opened it. “If you’ve been here before, you might have a better idea than I do of how to map a route between these places.”
Zoe pored over the map and her smartphone, calculating distances and transport routes and closing times, figuring what places could be left till after dark and which needed daylight. He happily sat back, sipping his coffee and watching her animated expression.
She seemed to have no hesitation now about doing the trip or the procedure. That bothered him a little. He’d glimpsed the vulnerable girl she hid behind her researcher façade. A girl who could be easily hurt. The idea pained him.
“Just like the bridge, I expect most of the spots on Mom's list will be packed with visitors on Valentine's Day,” he said. “You won’t need to worry about being alone with me. I’m still a stranger, after all.”
“I’m not worried.” She flickered a wink. “If it meant being alone with you, I wouldn’t have agreed. Anyway, a bad guy wouldn’t be telling me to be careful.”
“Maybe. A smart bad guy would. Reverse psychology to make you trust him. We can't always trust our feelings about people.”
Grinning widely, she almost crowed her triumph. “Isn’t that the whole point of the experiment? That we can’t trust our feelings? You’re as good as admitting I was right all along!”
He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do most, hug her or shake her. “You know that’s not what I mean. I just want you to stay safe.”
She laughed. “Okay, I promise, I won't be alone with you, and I won’t trust my feelings where you're concerned. Does that make you happy?”
He nodded.
What else could be do? Admit that really,it didn't make him happy?
That he wanted her to trust her feelings for him?
He took a gulp of coffee. Parisian coffee was strong. That explained the odd things his heart was doing.
Zoe held out a sheet she’d torn from her notebook, listing each place in the order they should visit them, along with distances, methods of travel, and estimated journey times, in neat precise handwriting. Alongside them, she’d given numbers for which question they should be up to in the Closeness Generating Procedure.
The girl really was a born researcher.
“I’m sure there are apps to do this faster, but this route should work,” she said.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” He smiled, enjoying seeing her blossom like a flower in his approval. “So next stop the Louvre, just across the bridge. That’s easy. Do we have any questions to do first, or are we ready to go?”
“We have a lot to get through. We should start on the questions as we walk.” She stood and pushed back her chair, then stopped. “I need to pay you for the coffee and cake first. Let me find my purse.”
He shook his head.
“If you insist on paying for me, I’ll have to start thinking maybe you are one of those creeps or conmen you warned me about.” She grinned across the table at him.
“I’d really prefer you let me pay. Your route plan saves me loads of travel time and Metro fares.”
Her
narrow eyed warning look suggested he’d be wise to surrender.
He raised both hands. “Okay. You win. This time.”
Her triumphant grin faded as she rattled around in her bag for her purse. “I know it’s in here,” she muttered, starting to pull things out and lay them on the table.
Her clipboard. Her phone. Her notebook. A large plastic folder full of papers, probably completed research forms. A scarf. Four pens. A chocolate bar. A packet of tissues. A small makeup bag.
But no purse, even when she turned the huge tote inside out, scattering lint.
She looked up at him, eyes wide and frightened in her suddenly pale face. “It’s gone. My purse, with all my money. It’s not here.”
Seeing her distress clenched something in his chest. He dropped his satchel on the seat and moved around the table to give her a quick comforting hug.
Her shoulders shook, and he could see the pulse beating fast at her temple. Her lashes curved on her cheeks as her eyes closed, and he felt her relax against his arm, just for a moment.
“What about your passport?” he asked. “Where’s that?”
She turned away from his hug, and reached into the inside pocket of the coat she’d slipped off and hung over the back of her chair. After fumbling with a zip, she held up her passport. “It’s safe.”
“Thank God. One thing less to worry about.”
“If only my purse had fit in there too. But it was that bit too big. Someone must have stolen it from my bag.” As she slipped the passport back into her pocket and carefully zipped it shut, her lips twisted. “Easy enough to do in the crowds, especially while I was busy doing an interview. I guess it’s a blessing they didn’t get the phone, too. I probably had it out photographing a couple. I never thought to zip the top of my bag.”
“I hate that this has happened.” Gabe’s hands curved into fists. He wasn’t normally a violent man, but he could wring the thief’s neck for upsetting Zoe like this.
She slumped in the chair, her head dropped forward. “I’m so sorry. You’ll need to visit the places on your Mom’s list on your own.” Her chest rose and fell in a deep sighing breath. “I have to figure out where to go to report this. The police station I guess. I need to sort out my train ticket. And cancel my credit card.”
Forget Paris: Sweet and clean Christian romance in Paris and London (Love In Store Book 4) Page 4