Page 41 of I Love You in French

“Sounds like you,” he whispers.

My eyes burn from his words.

“My mother’s accident. It was sudden. She just went out to pick something up ...” I take a deep breath. “We spoke French together when I was little. And then, when she passed ... well, the sound of French in our home sort of died with her.”

“And your father?”

“Two years ago. Their love . . . it was something, you know. I felt it. I just remember my father always said to wait for a ‘French kind of love’ because he had my mother. And I know that wasn’t literal, but with Jacques, and before that, with the guy near the train asking me out ...”

“The guy near the train?” he says stiffly.

“Yes, another man asked me out the day before we met ... on the platform in Boston. And I panicked and said I couldn’t date him because he wasn’t French.” I rush the last part. “That’s what you overheard in the café when we actually met. I didn’t want to admit to Lily that I made a mistake by turning him down.”

Rafe’s hand draws a distracting pattern along my spine. Somehow, the silence feels like a safe space. He feels like a safe space.

“I’ve had tickets, you know. To Paris.”

“Why didn’t you go?” he asks without judgment. Just a question. I shake my head and meet his eyes.

“What if I don’t fit in there?”

Gently, he cups his palm around my jaw, and I feel myself lean in.

“You would fit there,” he says. “And you wouldn’t just enjoy it; you would add to it. Paris would be brighter with you. I know it would.” He leans down, his cheek brushing my own, and I feel his breath on my ear, the smell of spice and cedar calling me deeper.

“I’m not very brave,” I whisper into the little space there is between us.

“You’re brave. You are. And Sugar?” Rafe asks, his voice low and raspy from the late hour and something else I can’t quite name.

“Mm-hmm,” I manage.

He stops swaying, my face gently turned to his as he brushes his fingers behind my ear and rests his hand on one of my shoulders. “If you keep showing me your heart, I’m going to forget this is pretend.” His thumb traces a slow line across my collarbone before he reaches for my hand to hold it against his heart. As we continue to sway, he turns his stubbled cheek to rest lightly on my head.

“Who says I’m pretending?” I confess.

I feel one of his calloused hands travel up my back and lightly rest against the nape of my neck. He cradles my head and holds me close to him before placing a soft kiss on my forehead. The tenderness of it all has me pushing the burn from the back of my throat and the sting of tears from my eyes.

I don’t want to try to interpret what he means. I just want to enjoy this moment. A moment of feeling safe. A moment of not wondering what else is out there, because it feels like nothing is missing right where I am. So, instead of arguing or figuring out what we’re doing or what the outcome will be, I hold on to one of the best nights of my life and one of the best men I’ve ever met.

“Sing to me again?” I request.

And he does. With the candlelight long extinguished and the rosy pink of a morning sky peeking through the night and announcing a new day, we dance, the sound of Rafe’s voice swirling all around us.

Chapter Fifteen

Rafe

I knock on Sparrow’s door, not sure she’s even awake yet. Lily swore this would be a good move, but I’ve noticed Sparrow avoids the bakery on Thursday mornings, so I’m not sure what to expect. I wore my best cable-knit sweater and my lucky Converse and threw on my camel-colored trench coat for warmth. It felt like the right move. I’ve run my hand through my hair so many times I’m sure it’s sticking up, but this is important.

I woke to a call from a recording studio telling me we may have a deal on a demo I sent and seven missed text messages from my father. What I haven’t told Sparrow yet is that my father has made it his mission to ensure I’m not able to work anywhere around him. He’s called all his connections and told them I’m not worth their time. Unfortunately, a call like that from someone of his caliber is to be believed. So, moving forward is a big deal. It has to be.

I’m startled from my thoughts by the door opening and the sight of Sparrow in her oversized sleep dress and knee-high socks. My mouth goes dry as I take in her disheveled hair and the way one side of her face has what can only be a pillow mark. My face heats as I clear my throat.

She lets out a squeak as she wraps her arms around herself. I hold up the coffees and pastries I brought as a distraction before she decides to shut the door. But then I realize that maybe she really is uncomfortable, so I turn around to give her some privacy. I hear a giggle from her, and I feel my shoulders relax.

“I’m sorry. Lily ...” I trail off.

“Enough said.” A pause. “You can turn around, Rafe.”

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