Oh, God. She loved him. And he’d betrayed her.
She took a long walk home, wandering along the sidewalks, eyes skipping past the cheery trees springing into bloom, the daffodils bursting from the ground. All she could think was that she still loved him. But she didn’t know if she could trust him.
Her legs were tired when she finally walked up to the apartment, but her mind refused to shut down. Spinning and spinning, going over the same things she’d already thought of a thousand times until she felt as if she was caught in some sort of tornado. And she knew what she needed to do to get her thoughts in order.
It was easy to buy a same-day ticket as a single traveler. Before the sun had even set, Julia had packed a carry-on bag, printed off a ticket, grabbed her passport and headed to Vancouver International Airport. She made two phone calls from the cab. One to The Sun Café to tell them that she wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. And one to Sasha so that someone would know where she was.
She considered calling Owen but decided against it. Yes, he’d been fully supportive of her, but he’d also brought Donovan to her workplace. And she knew Owen wanted her to go back to La Petite Bouchée. But she wasn’t ready to make that decision. Not yet.
As she watched the city disappear below, she felt some of her concerns slip away, and by the time they neared Orly airport ten hours later, she almost could believe she’d left them behind in Vancouver along with most of her clothes. And she knew she’d made the right decision to get away from everything in that city, the confusion, the worry, the love, and go back to the place where she’d first found herself.
Paris.
Where she’d learned about herself, found her own personal space in the world and grown as both a chef and person. In Paris, she could just be herself. She could inhale the culture, the language, the food and wine, and those would help her uncover what she needed to move forward.
The plane bumped down, the jolt lurching Julia up and down. Much like life in general. The plane unloaded, dropping her off into a world she well knew and still loved. Julia probably could have called one of her old friends, any number of her former coworkers who still called the City of Light home, and found one who would be happy to put her up for a few days. But she didn’t want contact with anybody. Even the well-meaning chatter and questions of people unattached to the business might influence her.
Julia knew this was a decision she needed to make on her own.
She booked herself into a small room in a good hotel in the First Arondissement, in the heart of Paris. Although she’d flown through what was nighttime in Vancouver, she’d been unable to sleep. Probably a good thing, as it was evening in Paris now. The smell of the Seine, the twinkling lights that gave the city its nickname. She needed to go out and live it, reset to European time and lose herself. If only for tonight.
But she’d promised to call Sasha upon her arrival, and even though she didn’t feel like chatting, Sasha had always been a good friend to her. If all she asked was for Julia to check in, then she would. She even tried to fake some good cheer when Sasha answered.
“I’m okay,” she told Sasha even though she still didn’t feel okay.
“Oh, Jules.” Sasha sounded sad and worried. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her throat was thick with pain and disappointment. Julia feared she might actually drown in her own tears. “I just needed to get away.”
“I don’t see why you had to go all the way to Paris,” Sasha said. Her voice sounded tinny or maybe that was the ringing in Julia’s ears. “What’s wrong with Seattle? Or Whistler?” Whistler. Where she and Donovan had decided to start fresh. Julia’s eyes prickled.
“I wanted space.” Almost five thousand miles’ worth, please.
“You could have come and stayed with me.”
Julia didn’t point out that staying with someone else would have been the opposite of space. “I appreciate the offer, but I need to figure this out on my own.” Needed to see what her feelings were when uninfluenced by the needs and wants of everyone around her, which she couldn’t do when she was surrounded by them. Even if they meant well.
“Jules, I’m worried about you.”
Julia was worried about herself, but she pasted on a smile, choosing to believe the theory that it would be audible in her voice. “I’m going to be fine. I just need a few days and then I’ll be back.” And hopefully she would have everything figured out. Or at least her next step. Which didn’t seem too much to ask. “I’ll be fine. How are you? Everything still good at the restaurant?”
It hurt to ask about La Petite Bouchée. In fact, she rarely did, but it was one way to get Sasha talking about something other than Julia’s tender heart.
“Everything is fine, though we’re all still waiting for you to realize you belong here.” There was a whiny note to Sasha’s voice. She’d been acting as executive chef since Julia’s departure, but she had no interest in running her own kitchen. She preferred to be the next person in line, which gave her almost all of the same respect and almost none of the same responsibilities. “Last night was a gong show. An absolute gong show.”
There were times Julia wondered if Sasha didn’t have the right idea. Sasha never ached for more, worried about the customer base, took work home with her. She came in, cooked her ass off and left. If Sasha were in Paris, she certainly wouldn’t be concerned about the restaurant. She’d be out shopping on the boulevards and making friends with the locals. “I’m sure you were fantastic.”
“I was. But I didn’t want to be. Come back. This is where you’re meant to be.”
But Julia was no longer sure that was true. “Maybe, maybe not. That’s what I’m here to figure out.”
Julia reassured Sasha again that she was okay and then hung up. She changed out of the pants and sweater she’d worn on the plane and into something clean. Fitted black leggings, a loose black-and-white-striped T-shirt with a bright blue sweater.
But if she hoped that all her fears and worries would fall away in clean clothes, in a new city, she’d been mistaken. They still weighed down her shoulders, made her steps heavy as she traversed the cobblestone streets and sidewalks. Still, she soldiered on. She hadn’t dipped into her tiny and hard-earned nest egg only to mope around the entire time.
Paris at any time of year was gorgeous. It was magical whether dusted with snow in winter, during the heat of summer when everyone grew tanned under the bright sun or in autumn as the land and people prepared for the cooler weather. But Julia had always loved Paris in spring. The blue, blue sky, the tree-lined streets, the glitter from the fountains and ponds that dotted the cityscape as the city and everyone in it seemed to bloom.
And on an early-spring evening, Paris glimmered. Too elegant and classy to shake and shimmy, she simply glowed with vivacity and taste. Like a perfectly cut diamond, well aware of her innate beauty and happy to display it to the world.
In her casual outfit with some dangling silver earrings and a bangle bracelet at her wrist, her hair swept back in a loose knot, Julia decided to enjoy it. The trip didn’t have to be solely about deciding her future. She could try out some new restaurants and visit some of her old haunts to see which parts of the menu had changed. She could take a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower or visit Versailles. Two things she hadn’t done when she lived here because they’d seemed too touristy and gauche. But she wasn’t trying to impress any local-born colleagues now.
She could take the Metro into Montmartre and let one of the local artists sketch her portrait. Take a dinner-boat tour on the Seine and walk along the Champs-Élysées. Indulge herself for the first time in months and figure out exactly what she wanted from life.
She walked for a few blocks, bypassing cafés and bistros until she got to one of her old favorites. She did want to try new things, but not tonight.
Tonight, she wanted to go somewhere she’d been many times before, a place she could trust when it came to food and drink. It didn’t disappoint and she allo
wed herself to get lost in the flavors. Instead of picking apart each bite, trying to pinpoint each of the ingredients and their ratios, she simply ate.
She lingered over her meal as did the other patrons. In France, people knew how to enjoy their meals, slowly savoring each bite.
It seemed nothing had changed. Nothing except her. But she pushed that thought away and enjoyed her meal and the small decanter of wine she drank with it. She wandered back to her hotel, feeling full if not wholly satisfied. She wanted to feel satisfied, wanted to feel that this had been the right decision, the right place to go. Instead, she fell asleep wondering if she was ever going to feel right again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DONOVAN TRIED CALLING Julia’s cell phone before he left the office the next day, but it went straight to voice mail. She’d probably forgotten to charge it again. On the plus side, her inbox wasn’t full, so he left a message on the off chance she’d think to check it. He considered calling La Petite Bouchée, but was pretty sure that Sasha would be less than thrilled to hear from him. She might technically be an employee, but she was also Julia’s best friend. And Donovan knew which one was more important to her.
When he got home, he changed out of his suit and into jeans and a T-shirt. He could casually drop by her apartment, though really there would be nothing casual about it. And they’d both know that.
Donovan exhaled. He’d told Julia that he’d give her some time, even though it felt like the wrong thing to do. He’d given her time before and he was pretty sure it had made things worse. If they’d talked, maybe he would have realized sooner what an idiot he was being. Maybe she’d already be back heading up the restaurant kitchen, back in his arms.
But he’d said he’d give her some time. And now he didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t want to go back to the office, didn’t feel like sitting around at Elephants or one of the other bars, but he didn’t want to stay home, either.
He got into his car, and drove to his parents’, thinking he could hit them up for a family dinner, but they’d eaten early and were sitting in the backyard waiting for some sort of night plant to bloom. He’d declined the invitation to stay. He was desperate, but not that desperate.
Donovan would never have believed it, but his father actually seemed to like mucking around in the garden. Gus had even started to talk about growing his own lettuce and cucumbers, though there was some sort of disagreement about that with his mother, who claimed that she wasn’t giving up the plot where her peonies were located.
He left the two of them discussing it in the backyard and got back on the road. But he still didn’t feel like going home. His stomach growled. And he was starving.
He turned the wheel and headed to La Petite Bouchée. He wasn’t expecting to see Julia there. As far as he’d been able to discern, she hadn’t been back since she quit. He didn’t know why that hurt him as much as it did. Maybe because he knew how much she loved the space and felt as though he’d ripped it away from her.
The hostess brightened when he walked through the door. “Mr. Ford. Do you need a table tonight?”
“Thanks, but I’ll just grab a seat at the bar.”
“Of course. I’ll let the kitchen know you’re here.”
“No, that...” But the perky hostess was already moving toward the kitchen, obviously thinking she was fulfilling her duties. Donovan sighed. She probably was.
The dining room was full, as it was most nights, according to Owen. He dropped in regularly to check on the staff. It was just one more thing he’d taken on of late. Donovan knew Owen was changing—had changed. It was just hard to believe that it would be permanent this time.
He greeted Stef with a nod. But maybe it was time to give Owen a larger role. Not too much, more of a gradual adding of responsibilities, but a larger role than the one he had today.
Donovan found a stool and hunkered down, but didn’t feel the satisfaction that normally came from taking what had been his usual spot only a month earlier. Yes, it was still his restaurant, but it felt empty without Julia.
He ordered the special and a beer. He sipped while he waited for his plate to come out, and was surprised when it was hand-delivered by Sasha.
“Donovan.” She put the plate in front of him and pulled up a stool. “Julia’s not here.”
“I know. I’m just here to eat.” But he didn’t pick up his fork, didn’t even glance at the plate of food. “Have you talked to her?”
Sasha nodded.
“And?”
“And she’s not here.”
Donovan looked at the plate. It was visually perfect, worthy of a magazine ad. He still didn’t make a move to taste it. “Is she okay?”
Sasha sighed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Donovan.”
It surprised him, the easy casualness of her gesture. He’d expected she’d be mad at him, too. Which was one of the reasons he’d avoided the restaurant until now. “You’re not mad at me?”
“No, I’m still pissed at you.” She smiled, which took the sting out of her words. “But I can tell you’re hurting.”
He was hurting. Not a quick jab like the kicks Owen used to deliver to his shins when they were kids, but a bone-deep throb that took over his entire body. “Just tell me that she’s okay.”
Sasha looked back at him with massive green eyes. She was a stunning woman, and one a man would have to be blind not to notice, but Donovan barely spared that a moment’s thought. He preferred dark eyes with a thick fringe of lashes that looked up at him in bed. Or down at him, depending on their position. “She’s fine. Well, not fine. But you know what I mean.”
Donovan did know. Julia was hurting because of him. A level of sickness joined his pain. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He thought he’d been doing the right thing for the business and the family. But maybe he’d gotten too wrapped up in the business. No, there was no maybe about it. “I feel like I didn’t really explain myself.” He’d focused mainly on the business, but that had been a mistake because the important part of all of this was him and Julia. The business was only that.
“Well, I guess you’ll have to wait until she’s back to tell her that.”
“Back? Where did she go?”
Sasha got a panicked look on her face. “I did not say that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No. Nothing to see here. Move along.” She shooed her hands at him.
“Can I eat first?”
“Fine, fine.” She hopped off the stool. “I need to get back to the kitchen.”
Donovan watched her go. So Julia was away. Out of town, presumably. He forked up a bite of fish. It was good, though not as good as when Julia had been cooking. Of course, he was a little biased.
He wondered where Julia might have gone. Clearly, Sasha wasn’t going to tell, but she wasn’t the only person he knew who was close to Julia. If he knew where she’d gone, he might get a hint of her state of mind. Whistler? Maybe she was thinking about him, remembering how much fun they’d had up there. Over to Vancouver Island? She might be sourcing out local suppliers in preparation for accepting his offer. Alaska? Probably planning to freeze him out forever or find a hungry-looking polar bear.
He pulled out his phone and punched in his brother’s number.
Owen answered his call with a cheerful greeting that Donovan didn’t return. Donovan cut right to the chase. “Did you know Julia was leaving town?”
“What?” Bar sounds came through the phone. Donovan recognized the sounds of Elephants, the low jazz music and the particular jingle of glassware. “She didn’t say anything to me about it. Where did she go?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
The bar sounds quieted as though Owen had walked off the floor and into the manager’s office. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really.”
“Ah.” Donovan heard the satisfaction curl through his brother’s voice. “So you’ve finally realized that you were an asshat to let her go.”
“Better late than never.”
“Okay, it ruins all the fun if you just admit it.” Owen’s tone grew serious. “I’ll call her.”
“Would you?” Donovan knew it was a lot to ask.
“Of course.” Donovan appreciated his brother’s honesty and loyalty. Maybe Owen had grown up more than he’d realized. “Don’t get me wrong. I still think you’re an idiot, but I know you care about her, and God knows why, but she cares about you, too.”
“I think Sasha knows where she is.”
Owen was quiet for a moment. “She probably won’t tell.”
“I know.”
“A woman thing.”
“Yep.”
“All right, give me some time and I’ll see what I can dig up.”
Donovan swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. “Thanks, Owen.”
He hung up and went home. Donovan didn’t rest, though. He was lying in his bed wide awake, feeling how big and empty it felt when Julia wasn’t there with him, when his phone rang. He picked it up from his nightstand and looked at the screen. But it wasn’t Julia’s number; it was his brother. He answered. “Yeah?”
“I talked to Sasha. She went to Paris.”
“Paris?”
“She caught a flight out last night.”
“And Sasha just willingly gave up this information?” Donovan couldn’t help but wonder if this was a cover and Julia was really at her apartment, tucked securely into her bed.
“Donovan.” Owen’s voice was patient, as if he was talking to a young, not particularly bright child. “I’m friends with Julia, too, which Sasha knows. So I only tell you this because I trust you to do the right thing with the information.”
“And that is?”
“Get on a plane and bring her back.”
Donovan was stunned. “Really?”
“Yes, really. You’re both miserable without each other. So go fix it.”
He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. “I told her I’d give her some time.”
Tempting Donovan Ford Page 21