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

by Autumn Macarthur

  Stung that she thought he’d leave her to sort out the details on her own, he stepped back from her. “I might only be a chance met stranger, but of course I’ll help you. That’s more important than sightseeing.”

  Her head raised at that, her stubborn chin lifting, though her eyes seemed suspiciously bright. “You’re not just sightseeing. It’s your mother’s bucket list.”

  “I’ve done what Mom asked me to do, fastened the lock for her and Dad.” He picked up the list and Zoe’s carefully planned itinerary, and looked down at them. “This is her bucket list, not mine. If she was here right now, she’d be telling me to go with you.” He tucked the papers into his backpack. “I promise, I don’t feel the slightest regret about letting it go. These places will still be here tomorrow, or next time I come to Paris.”

  Letting loose a long slow breath, she shook her head. “Weird how violated I feel, knowing that someone has put their hand in my bag. Like when I get home, I’ll want to throw it away. How do people cope with serious crimes, when something so small has me in a spin?”

  He heard the judgment in her voice, her sense she’d faced a test and failed. He asked God to help her, then rushed to reassure her.

  “You know it’s normal to feel that way. Please, don’t beat yourself up over it. Dealing with the practical things will help. And I’ll be with you.”

  Zoe looked up at him, relief shining in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  His heart gave a funny little jump.

  He hadn’t lied, or even exaggerated. His desire to help her meant far more than his grief. And he knew what he felt wasn’t just the procedure, or the circumstances.

  He wanted to see her again after today.

  Chapter 6

  Zoe thanked God that Gabe insisted on helping her. She felt numb, unable to take it all in. The qualities she most prided herself on, common sense, clear thinking, ability to cope, seemed to have evaporated.

  Even with Gabe beside her, her head hurt with trying to take it in.

  As he said, beating herself up for not coping better wouldn’t make it any easier. She still did, of course.

  Gabe was wonderful. He reminded her to call and cancel her credit card. Asked if she had an electronic version of her train ticket on her smartphone. Helped her into her coat. Walked her out to the street, still thronged with couples in the soft romantic glow of afternoon sunshine and lengthening shadows. Found one of the police patrolling the bridge approaches.

  Under any other circumstances, Gabe’s attempts to talk to the officer, using his phrasebook along with a lot of pointing and arm waving, would have been comical.

  Instead of laughing, she stayed close to him, looking around suspiciously, keeping her tightly zipped bag tucked under her arm.

  Gabe said, “Merci,” then turned away from the blue clad policeman. He held out a small map. “We need to go to one of the local police stations to report it. He said there might be a long wait.”

  Giving up his plans to go with her didn’t seem to worry him, but guilt still gnawed uncomfortably at her stomach.

  “Gabe, I know you said you don't mind, but I truly am sorry. I hate thinking I wrecked your day.”

  He shook his head, giving her a God-give-me-patience look. “I thought we already discussed this. It’s okay.”

  His arm came around her, pulling her close in another quick hug, like the one he'd given her in the cafe. Comfort flowed into her.

  Gabe felt so solid, so reliable, so real. A rock.

  But she couldn't let herself rely on him, much as she appreciated his practical help.

  Tomorrow, she'd be back in the real world, where she was sensible and responsible and dedicated to her work. Where falling in love with a stranger wasn't on her agenda.

  These feelings she’d so quickly developed for Gabe were precisely what her research was about.

  Hormones. Propinquity. Expectations. A false sense of intimacy.

  Feelings that weren’t real, no matter how real they felt.

  Steeling herself, she stepped away from him. She needed to stay an observer, not become part of her own research.

  Her plans were set. Finish her six month post in London. Get some academic papers published. Start her PhD. Do her thesis. Write her book. Help other girls avoid making wrong choices under the influence of the drug love truly was.

  She’d spend the rest of the day with Gabe. Discover just how close and in love she could feel. For research purposes only.

  Once she got back to London, she’d stop feeling it.

  Feelings couldn’t be allowed to side track her.

  Especially feelings that were fake.

  But when Gabe grinned at her, his head tilted a little to one side, as if he knew exactly why she’d stepped away from him, she wondered if stopping feeling this way would be so easy.

  The time to worry about that was when she got home. For now, she had more immediate concerns.

  She looked at the map he’d handed her. “Did he tell you which police station we should go to?”

  Gabe shook his head and smiled wider. “If he did, I didn’t understand him. Whichever is nearest, I’d say.”

  Smiling, she closed her eyes. Her finger circled over the page, lowered, and landed right on one of the arrowed locations, not too far away.

  She turned to him. “Looks like it’s this one.”

  “Looks like it is.”

  When he held out his big hand, inviting her to take hold of it, she took it. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like she belonged with him.

  Lord, please. Help me not to lose myself in this crazy sea of emotion. Is it wrong to let myself enjoy it for just a few more hours? If I know it’s not for real?

  God didn't seem to give her any reply, unless she counted the gentle pressure of Gabe's grasp on her hand, the sweet warm smile in his eyes as he glanced over at her, or the way their steps naturally fell into a rhythm together.

  She wanted to get to know Gabe better. But just for today. She wouldn't see him again. That was a good thing.

  But was that feeling of rightness God's answer?

  Surely not.

  Maybe He answered a different way. The sense of gratitude that filled her, the sense of being blessed, could be His reminder that joy was also a fruit of the Spirit.

  With a sigh, she surrendered.

  “I’m not letting that thief steal my joy. I’m sorry we can’t do your Mom’s list, but let’s answer the questions anyway.”

  His hand squeezed hers tighter. “Atta girl.” His wide smile and that gleam of warm appreciation in his eyes was enough to tilt her world on its axis. “Which way do we need to go? Can I see that map?”

  They stood looking at it, and pretended to argue which way to go. She chose one way, he chose another.

  Gabe laughed, and gave in. “I'm sure you're wrong, but getting lost here will be interesting.”

  He was right, they did get lost going her way. Delightfully lost.

  They wandered down narrow cobbled laneways lined with tall stone buildings with shuttered windows. They peered down tiny alleys that opened into secretive courtyards, with fountains and plants and mysterious doorways. They passed shops and restaurants and places she’d love to go back to someday.

  This chance to see the hidden Paris felt such a blessing.

  As they walked, she pulled out her phone and brought up the questions. They answered each one in turn. Most of the questions were less challenging than the ones they’d already answered. Things like, “Given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want as a dinner guest?” “Would you like to be famous? For doing what?”

  She liked being pushed to think of her answers. She liked hearing Gabe’s answers even more.

  Then he read another question to her. “What would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?”

  “Exactly what we’re doing.” The words popped out of her mouth before she had time to censor them.

  Tensing, she tried to pull her hand away from his.


  There was answering honestly, then there was too much information. That was definitely TMI.

  His hand tightened on hers. “Me too,” he said. “But without your purse being stolen.” Then he released the pressure on her hand, so she could pull away if she still wanted to.

  Pushing down her fears, she left it resting where it was.

  This experiment was a two way thing. They were both answering the same questions, both revealing the same amount. She risked a glance up at him.

  His eyes held only rueful amusement, and a warm glow that caught her breath and stopped her thinking. They walked in silence for a little while, but it was an easy silence.

  As they emerged from a narrow alley onto a wider intersection, she gasped. The winter dusk had suddenly blossomed into spring. A florist shop, its rows of buckets filled with brightly coloured flowers arranged under a striped awning, made everything else around it seem washed out and monochrome.

  Roses, daffodils, and so many other flowers she didn’t recognise, with little hand written chalkboard signs in French.

  She reached for her camera. This was something she wanted to remember for the rest of her life. Not that she’d need photos for that. Every moment of the day since she’d met Gabe was engraved on her memory.

  Grabbing her by the hand as soon as she took her photo, he towed her over to the shop. “What would you like? I can’t see something like this and not send you home with flowers.”

  She started to make her usual refusal, then stopped herself.

  Gabe looked so hopeful, as if giving her flowers would make him happy. Why refuse something so harmless, when it would bring them both joy?

  The long stemmed perfection of the roses spelled Valentine’s Day romance, but by the time she got back to the London apartment and could put them in water, they’d be wilted. When she bent to smell them, they had no scent.

  Like so much romance, they looked good, but something was lacking at the heart.

  Instead, she picked a small gardenia plant, covered with creamy white blooms, in a bright blue glazed pot. One sniff of the heady fragrance was all it took. And the plant was a fraction of the price of the roses.

  “Madame has made a wise choice,” the chic florist stated in accented English. “Gardenia signify joy.” She cast them a knowing look as she handed over the plant, nestled in a little carrier bag. “And secret love.”

  Zoe’s heart gave a bump, but she shook her head.

  Imagining she loved someone she’d only known a few hours was ridiculous. If she was crazy enough to think that, at least she knew it was just the experiment, and not for real.

  Gabe said nothing, just smiled and passed over his credit card.

  They found the police station, a few doors along from the flower shop

  She turned to Gabe, laughing. “See,” she said. “My directions did get us here.” A triumphant told-you-so note rang in her voice.

  He laughed. “By a far longer way, that brought us out exactly where my road would have done. But I liked going the scenic route.”

  The police station was stark, unfriendly, and very busy. The officer at the desk waved them to sit on hard plastic seats in a fluorescent lit waiting area. Other people came and went, while they waited, and waited, and waited. She tried once to ask how long it would be, but the man at the desk just pointed back at the chairs again.

  Zoe tried to persuade Gabe to leave her here, but he refused. She wouldn’t tell him so, but she was grateful for the company. While they waited, they worked their way through the rest of the questions. From most embarrassing moments to when they last sang out loud to what superpower they would choose and why. They laughed, and a couple of times she almost cried.

  They finished the questions and started on a killer game of Scrabble that ran neck and neck.

  She glanced up at the clock on the wall. Their time together was almost over. A shiver of loss surprised her.

  “We might have to declare the game a draw,” she said. “Much though I hate to give in, I’m not sure I can wait much longer. There’s not a lot of time left to get to the Eurostar terminal for my train. I need the crime report for my insurance, but the things I most hate losing can’t be replaced by insurance anyway.”

  It was true. The things she’d miss from her purse weren’t her dollars and pounds and euros, it was the little things. The photo of Mom and Dad. The pictures she and Tiff took in a seaside photo booth the day they went to Brighton. The Bible verse cards she always carried with her to remind her of what she too easily forgot.

  “I’ll try asking again,” he said, pulling out his phrasebook and walking to the desk.

  He returned a couple of minutes later, shaking his head. “He says there’s no one here who speaks English, and suggests you come back tomorrow when the Tourist Police are here.” His lips twisted and he raised his gaze to the ceiling. “At least, I think that’s what he said.”

  “So we sat here all this time for nothing, when you could have been working through your Mom’s list? That’s terrible!” Zoe’s hands twitched into fists, ready to thump on the rude official’s desk and make an uncharacteristic scene.

  She didn’t, but only because she sensed that would embarrass Gabe. And satisfying as venting would be, the official wouldn’t understand her anyway.

  Forcing her hands to relax, she turned to Gabe.

  He held up his hands and smiled. “I meant it all the other times I said it was okay. Please don’t apologise again. Let’s get you to the station and on your train.”

  He paid for her Metro ticket, and insisted on accompanying her to the Gare du Nord. He waited while she checked her ticket with the Eurostar attendant.

  Part of her longed to stay with him on this side of the barrier, to wait until the last possible minute to go through security. Another part wanted to get the goodbye over with quickly. She pressed her hands either side of her temples, feeling like her brain might explode.

  They got on so well, but only the knowledge they’d never meet again allowed her to be the girl she was with him. This happy laughing girl wasn’t the real Zoe.

  The real Zoe was the serious researcher, the girl who wasn’t funny enough to be an entertainer like her brother, or cute enough to be the pretty and popular one like her sister.

  With Gabe, she had no history. He had no expectations of her. She could be whoever she wanted.

  She liked the Zoe she’d been with him.

  But tomorrow, she’d be back with her family, and by Monday, she’d be back at the university. Back to being the old Zoe. She wouldn’t see Gabe again.

  When he found a pen and wrote an email address on a discarded ticket, holding it out to her, she took it. She scribbled an email address she only used for her research subjects on a notebook page, tore it out, and handed it to him.

  “I need to go. I hate long goodbyes.” Her voice squeaked with panic he couldn’t miss hearing.

  The anxiety tightening her throat and chest overwhelmed her.

  It was just too much.

  Too much emotion. Too much pressure. Too much fear that if he knew the real her and how dull and boring she was, he’d reject her. Anything he felt for her now was artefact, a product of the experiment.

  She tried to drag herself back into researcher mode. That was safe and predictable. Though the question she asked in her cool distant researcher voice was neither safe nor predictable. The final question the researchers administering the Closeness Generating Procedure asked of the subjects who’d just done it.

  “So, purely for my research, I need to know how the procedure affected you. On a scale of 1 to 10, where one is the slightest acquaintance and ten is as close as you can imagine feeling to another person, how close do you feel to me now?”

  Gabe said nothing, but his intent gaze held and clung to hers as the silence stretched between them. Awareness of each other danced in the air. His eyes darkened as he leaned closer, and closer again.

  With a sweet inevitability, she
knew he would kiss her.

  She should step back, turn her head, but she didn’t. She closed her eyes, as his palms cradled her cheeks and his face lowered to hers, their lips almost touching.

  “On a scale of 1 to 10, this much, Zoe,” he whispered, then his lips brushed hers, soft and gentle and undemanding. “Thank you for a beautiful afternoon.”

  She stood, unmoving, her breath stopped in her chest as emotion flooded her.

  His hands slipped from her face, rested a moment on her shoulders, then lifted.

  When she opened her eyes again, he was gone, leaving her lips tingling from a kiss that couldn’t be quantified on any 1 to 10 scale, any more than her feelings for him could.

  Chapter 7

  Zoe prayed Tiff would already be asleep by the time she got home, but she could see from the street that someone was still awake in the apartment.

  Too much to hope Tiff had merely left a light on for her, that tell-tale flicker was the TV.

  Sighing, she trudged up the stairs. Tired after the travel and the long day, confused by the intensity of her feelings for Gabe, she didn’t feel up to fielding Tiff’s inevitable questions. Being twins and yet so different intensified their sibling rivalry by a factor of ten.

  She wanted to hug the memory of the day to her, keep it a special secret.

  One perfect day.

  Based on illusion and fantasy, yes, but what a lovely illusion.

  She’d proved her theory. Put two people together in the right setting, and anyone could imagine the feelings they felt were love. She knew now why people got addicted to the feelings. She’d fallen smack bang in love with Gabe. It wasn’t real, but it felt real.

  Of course, it made sense. The procedure was designed to produce an intense but temporary feeling of closeness. The research data showed how powerful the experiment’s effects could feel.

  What she hadn’t expected was how much she’d miss him already.

  She dug in her bag for her keys, took a deep breath, and walked into the apartment.