“Are there absinthe bars in Manhattan already?”
He nodded. “A couple. We could check them out.”
“So would you open it here? Seems like it might not be the best place, I mean, how many absinthe bars can one city support?”
“New York’s a big city, and my place would be small. But I’m not convinced it has to be here.” He took a bite of his eggs. “What about Detroit? Could a place like I’m talking about work there?”
Swirling the remains of my coffee in the cup, I thought about it. “Hard to say. I mean, The Sugar House does well. It’s always busy. In fact, it can be really hard to get in there sometimes. They don’t take reservations, and it’s not that big. Long waits on the weekend.”
“Right.”
“You know,” I said, setting my cup down. “It could work, Lucas. I could help you.”
“Yeah?” His eyebrows arched. “How so?”
“I have a business degree, experience designing all kinds of events as well as running them, and I know the city. I could help you research the best location, plan the décor, build buzz, stage an opening event…and you’ve got bar experience.” I bounced in my seat a little. The more I said, the more excited I got. “I could even work for you, hostess or something. This way, I’m not totally abandoning my business. Coco could take on a more active role at Devine Events while we get your place off the ground.”
Lucas shrugged. “I guess it’s worth considering. We’ll have to do some serious research though. Sketch out some preliminary plans.”
I flattened my palms on the table with a bang. “Make…some lists?” I shivered. “I think I just had an orgasm.”
Laughing, he picked up his coffee. “I’ll drink to that.”
Scooping mine up too, I clinked it against his. “Do you have a name in mind?”
“Several. But the one I like best relates to the history of absinthe in Paris.”
I winked at him. “God, I love Paris.”
He smiled. “What we call happy hour now, about five PM, was called the green hour in Paris in the late nineteenth century because of all the absinthe consumed during that time. Apparently the wine crop had suffered some kind of plague, so the supply was short. People turned to absinthe instead.”
“A wine plague? Just kill me.”
“Very funny. Anyway, I was thinking about The Green Hour.”
Nodding slowly, I mulled it over. “I like it. I’m thinking about the look of the place. I like the idea of nineteenth century vintage with a Detroit twist. Like Art Nouveau meets industrial chic.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Industrial chic? That’s a thing.”
“It’s totally a thing.”
“God help me.”
We finished our meals and talked a little more about possible locations in Detroit and even outside the city. I liked the idea of keeping it downtown and using a nineteenth century storefront in an old neighborhood, but I knew we had to consider all options. “Lucas, do you have the money to open a place like this?” I asked as we bundled up to face the cold. “I’m not sure what rent is like for those old buildings but it could be pricey.”
He nodded, tying his scarf around his neck. “Not compared to Manhattan, I bet. And I have money saved, plus the Count and Henry want to invest as well.”
“That’s perfect.” We made our way to the exit. “So now what?”
“I guess we start our research.” Lucas pushed the door open for me, and I stepped out into cold, gray morning. Snow was still falling, although today it was big fat flakes, drifting slowly to the ground.
I shivered. “Are we sure we don’t want to consider moving somewhere warmer? Detroit’s just as cold as New York, if not colder.”
Lucas put his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll keep you warm no matter where we are.”
Resting my head briefly on his shoulder, I fell into step with him and slipped an arm around his waist. “So do you want to move into my condo if this works out?”
He kissed my head. “If what works out—you and me?”
“No, silly. The bar in Detroit.”
“Oh, that.”
I hit him in the stomach with my free hand. “Yes, that.”
“I could, if you think it’s big enough.”
“It’s got two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and I like the location. Plus I already own it.” I looked up at him. “When is your lease up?”
“End of May.”
My spirits sank a little—that was three months away. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that long to wait, but I was so excited, I couldn’t help being disappointed that we’d have to wait at all. My reaction must have been transparent, because he squeezed my shoulder.
“Hey. Those three months are gonna fly. And I’ll be coming to Detroit at least two or three times during those months to check things out.”
“I know. I’m just so excited about everything. And impatient!” Laughing, I hopped up and down a little bit. “I want all the good things, and I want them now!”
Lucas laughed too, pulling me in close to kiss my forehead. “You will have all the good things, Mia, I promise. Any of them that I can give you.”
I wanted to make another joke, say something flirty, or even just tell him I’d do the same for him. But my heart had jumped into my throat, and I couldn’t speak. Instead I put my gloved hands over his ears, rose on tiptoe, and pressed my lips to his. We stood kissing on icy cement in bone-chilling cold, snowflakes dusting our wool coats, our hair, our eyelashes.
But our lips were warm.
On Sunday mornings we slept late. Every other day of the week we were up early. Lucas would head right for The Green Hour to oversee construction, meet with distributors, or interview job applicants, and I’d go in to the Devine Events offices to get as much work done as possible before meeting Lucas in the afternoon to work on the bar’s interior design. Sometimes I had a hard time staying within my budget and needed to be reined in, but Lucas trusted my judgment and usually let me get away with more expensive choices.
Especially if I sweet-talked him with a blow job in his office.
The bar was scheduled to open in another month, and it already looked amazing. Lucas was renting an old storefront on Woodward Avenue, which meant it would get a solid after-work crowd, and would also attract people who came downtown for cultural or sporting events. It wouldn’t appeal to the beer crowd, but there were plenty of places already catering to that demographic. The Green Hour was something different—small, dark, intimate, almost a speakeasy vibe. I was working with a designer who loved my idea of Art Nouveau meets industrial chic, and together we’d found elegant Belle Époque-style couches, chairs, and barstools, and we’d purchased vintage artwork for the brick walls. All that contrasted with the rustic floors and tables, the exposed ductwork, metal accents, and lighting fixtures, which were constructed from repurposed gears from bygone factories.
I loved everything about it, but mostly I loved to see Lucas so happy. Even when the bill for shipping the antique bar he’d purchased in France arrived, he’d only needed one night to get drunk and rock back and forth on the floor, wondering if he’d ever get out of debt. By the next night, he was all smiles again, training his bartenders on louching, which was the proper method for serving absinthe. Plans for an opening celebration were well underway, and on our refrigerator was an adorable invitation, designed by Coco, that had gone out to friends, clients, and press.
Our refrigerator. I fucking loved that.
Almost as much as I loved Sunday mornings, when we’d wake up late, have sex, and make brunch together. Then we’d eat out on the balcony in our pajamas, not caring who saw us.
“Want crepes this morning?” Lucas asked, tracing circles on my back. Early afternoon sun slanted in through the shutters, and I was splayed across his body in a post-orgasmic haze, the stars still fading from my vision. He could have suggested having dirt for breakfast, and I’d have sighed just as happily.
“Mmm. Crepes.�
�
“And bacon?”
“Bacon,” I moaned.
“I think we have mimosa fixings too. Would you like one?”
I sighed again, peeling my sticky cheek off his chest and looking at him suspiciously. “Yes. Is this a dream?”
He reached down and pinched my butt. “It might be. Your ass is too magnificent for real life.”
I looked over my shoulder at it. “It really is.”
He spanked me lightly. “This does feel like a dream sometimes. All of it—a new city, the bar, living with you. Sometimes none of it seems real. And it all happened so fast.”
It had. Lucas had flown in a few times to pick a location and meet with vendors while still teaching, and then he’d moved to Detroit at the end of April. For three and a half months we’d lived together, and it was even better than I’d imagined—at least for me. Lucas wasn’t one to volunteer his feelings about big-picture things, and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t press him, but maybe I could just sort of…check in.
I slipped my hands under my chin. “It’s a good dream though, right? I mean, you’re happy here?”
He ruffled my hair. “Happier than I’ve ever been, I have to admit.”
I kissed his chest and smiled impishly at him. “And you were so scared.”
“I was.”
“And look how nice it is!”
“What? Living together? Seeing your face first thing in the morning and last thing at night? Smelling your hair as I fall asleep? Fucking each other senseless at all hours—and all locations—whenever we want?”
“Yes, that.”
He smiled. “Yes, it is nice. I’m glad I thought of it.”
“I’m pretty sure I thought of it first. But I knew you’d eventually see the light.” Wrapping my arms around his torso, I laid my cheek back on his chest again.
“I don’t know if I’ve seen any light, but I could definitely do this for a long time.” He paused, playing with my hair, letting it slip through his fingers. “Maybe even longer than a long time. On a permanent basis, maybe.”
My next breath got stuck in my lungs and I froze, eyes wide open. What the fuck did that mean?
“Nothing to say?” He tugged on a few strands. “What would you think about that, princess? About making this arrangement permanent.”
Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at him. He was serious.
“I know this is taking you by surprise, but I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks and now just seemed like a nice moment.”
I opened my mouth, and eventually the words came out. “Is that your idea of…a proposal?”
His crooked grin appeared. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
Scrambling onto my knees, I continued to gape at him, my heart pounding. “I…I…I don’t know whether to say yes and kiss you or say yes and beat you with my pillow for doing it this way! I’m totally unprepared! I’m in shock!”
He shrugged. “You know me—I like to wing it. So that’s a yes either way, right? Whether you hit me with your pillow or not?”
I grabbed my pillow and clubbed him over the head with it. “Yes!”
He laughed and yanked the pillow from my hands before launching himself at me. I toppled over backward, head at the foot of the bed. “Are you sure? I know I’m not what you had in mind for a husband—a scruffy, Half-French, guitar-playing bartender who cuts his own hair.”
I grinned. That hair. It was all messy this morning, as usual, and it needed a trim—a real trim, at a salon. But every time I looked at it, I remembered how wrong I’d been about so many things, and how good life’s surprises could be. I ran my hands through it. “No, you’re not what I had in mind. You’re so much better.”
He kissed me softly, sending a shiver through my body. “Good.” His brow dipped slightly. “I didn’t get you a ring. But I will.”
“That’s OK. You can surprise me with it another time.” I grinned up at him, tugging on his ear. “You made me like surprises.”
“You made me like forever.”
“You’re not scared of it anymore?”
He shook his head. “You know what? Lately I’ve been thinking that the only scary thing about forever is imagining one without you in it.”
“I’m in it,” I told him. “I promise.” His handsome face hovered above mine, and it made my stomach turn cartwheels. I’ll get to wake up next to him every morning for the rest of my life! It was enough to bring tears to my eyes. “I still can’t believe it, Lucas. I thought you never wanted to get married.”
“I’ve learned not to say never where you’re concerned.”
“About… anything?” I searched his eyes, hoping he would realize what I meant. They were clear and bright and full of understanding.
“About anything.”
Happiness flooded me, making my toes wiggle. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He lowered his head to kiss me again but pulled back abruptly. “Hey. Do we have to have one of those big weddings? With elephants and a marching band and a Papal blessing?” When I burst out laughing, he sat back. “I’m serious. We don’t, do we?”
I propped myself onto my elbows and thought for a second. “You know what? No. We don’t. I don’t care if we just elope and there’s no one there but you and me and someone remotely official.”
“Really?”
“Really. Last year, when I planned that huge fiasco wedding to Tucker, it was all about what things looked like—the dress, the flowers, the venue. I was so distracted by all of it that I was blind to the fact that we didn’t love each other the way we should. It was a show. A beautiful show, granted, but still a show. It was for other people.” Sitting up all the way, I gestured between us. “This is real. Our wedding will be for us. That’s all I care about.”
“You say that now, but won’t you want your friends there? Your parents?”
I chewed my lip. “Hmm. Maybe you’re right. I think Coco and Erin would murder me if I married you in secret. After all, they’re the ones who insisted I go to Paris.”
Lucas smiled. “When I close my eyes, I can still see you storming into that bar in Paris, mad as hell, but more beautiful than anyone I’d ever seen.”
“I was mad. And you were so annoying.”
He smiled, reaching for me and hauling me across his lap. “But you stayed.”
I looped my arms around his neck. “I did. Good thing.” He kissed me again, Paris on both our minds, and suddenly I had an idea. “Lucas,” I said, my lips still on his, “I just thought of something.”
“Me too. What a coincidence.” His hand stole to one breast and kneaded it gently.
“No, not that. I mean, yes that, but just a minute. Can we get married in Provence? At the villa?”
He looked surprised. “You want to get married in France?”
“When we were there, I had this vision in my head…I saw it all so clearly. We’d get married outside near the gardens or maybe the orchard, and have a big fun party afterward, dinner on the patio or even by the pool. It would be so beautiful.”
Lucas scratched his head. “I’m sure the Count and Henry would love that. But do you really want to plan a wedding thousands of miles away? Might be hard, and there may be some legal stuff to get around. Plus getting everyone there, organizing it all from here…seems like a lot of shit to deal with. And we have the bar opening up.”
“I’m a wedding planner! I get off on this shit!” I kissed him hard. “Please. Say we can. A small wedding, I promise.”
“Just promise me I won’t have to do anything but show up, and you’ll be there wanting to marry me.”
“I will.” With my heart racing madly, I tightened my hold on his neck and buried my face in his neck. “Thank you.” A million happy thoughts raced through my head. We’re engaged. We’re getting married in Provence. I have to tell the girls. I have to make plans. Dear God, the lists I would need to make—the glorious fucking lists!
Clinging to him, I pressed my lips to his and t
hanked my lucky stars that I hadn’t been granted every wish I’d made in the past. How wrong any other life but this would have been for me. Lucas was everything I hadn’t dreamed I needed—he wasn’t the guy who planned everything out, envisioning the house and kids and dog before he was ready for it. But he knew what those things meant to me, and still he’d asked me to spend forever with him.
We’d know when the time was right. I wouldn’t set any deadlines, Lucas would never say never, and somewhere in the middle was our perfect life.
The kiss grew deeper and Lucas slid me onto my back, lowering his body over mine, and I cleared my mind of everything but him, here and now.
The End
Dear Readers,
Thank you so much for taking Mia and Lucas’s journey with me! As I’ve said, I never intended to write YANKED, but after FRENCHED came out, the response was overwhelming—readers had to know what happened after Mia got on that plane. So I thought about it, and I realized there was more to their story. In fact, I think there is still more…
Look for Mia and Lucas to appear in the second and third books of the FRENCHED series as well. (After all, Mia deserves her dream wedding in Provence, doesn’t she?)
Much love to all of you! If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Goodreads. They are so important to authors, and I appreciate every single one.
Cheers,
Melanie
www.melanieharlow.com
Thanks to fans of Frenched who asked for this book. Your messages and reviews and comments mean the world to me, and I love hearing from you.
Thanks to Tom Barnes for another awesome cover, Cait Greer for her formatting skills, Angie Owens for proofreading, Tamara Mataya for editing—and for giving YANKED its title! You’re the best team ever.
Thanks to Sheri Gustafson for the use of her hilarious ACF’s. You’re a gem, Sheri.
Yanked (Frenched #1.5) Page 9