Page 74 of I Love You in French

“She’ll love that. Thank you, sir.”

“Of course. I look forward to meeting you both in person. Bye now.”

He’s gone, and I’m staring at the phone in disbelief and elation. I did it. I got the contract. All the nights. All the long hours. All the pain of knowing my ex is living off my old creativity. I have another chance to build something of my own—to build a family of my own. And this time, I’m not going to let it go.

∞∞∞

“So, you may need to head to LA?” Sparrow asks as we walk through town, her hand in mine. I’m never not touching this woman again. If we’re in the same space (which is always the plan), then it’s a new rule of ours—one that she doesn’t fight me on in the least.

“I need to get my stuff at some point,” I say, leaning over to wrap my arm around her shoulder. Even though it’s early evening, it’s pitch black outside. The windows in the shops are all lit, casting a romantic light on the sidewalks. Now that Halloween is over, it’s strictly decorations that are autumn related with a hint of Thanksgiving. For the first time, I’m actually looking forward to this American holiday.

Sparrow stops outside of Marlee’s Books. “Oh! Can we go in?” She turns to face me, a hint of excitement on her face.

“Of course, Sugar. Lead the way.”

She places a far-too-quick kiss on my lips and bounces up the steps before turning back to me and reaching for my hand. I told you . . . we must be touching at all times. It’s a truth I will never complain about.

We walk into the quaint shop, the smell of paper and old bindings in the air. For a moment, it’s almost as if I’m back in a Parisian book shop. It’s amazing how the love of books translates into every language. Although I’ve been here before, I’ve never been here with Sparrow.

Grey looks up from her book, a warm smile on her face as she reaches from behind the counter to hug Sparrow. I’m pulled along, and it isn’t two seconds later before Grey has wrapped me up in her arms too.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she says. “Were we supposed to do the kiss thing?”

I hold back a laugh. Sparrow shakes her head in amusement, fully knowing Grey is the most innocent of all of us. Plus, I’m pretty sure if she did mean anything by it, her best friend, Boston, would end me. “No need—unless you’re wanting to be very French.” I give her a wink as she laughs and sits back down.

“That’s okay. I’ll leave that to you two.”

“Good idea,” Sparrow says with a grin and a look that tells me she wishes we were alone right this moment. I pop up an eyebrow and give her a look that I hope implies she’s got fair warning that her wish is my command. The blush running up her neck is enough of an indication that my message got across just fine.

The sound of a throat clearing has us both looking back to Grey, who has both a horrified and amused look crossing her face. I would say sorry, but I couldn’t in good conscience. I’m undone by the woman beside me.

“Rory, what are you looking for? I know it isn’t love.”

Sparrow laughs, and I watch as her face lights up. “Oh! Paris!” She looks at me with a smile that’s brighter than any light I’ve ever seen.

“Paris, huh?” I whisper while I rub my thumb across the back of her hand.

Sparrow looks from me to Grey before confidently saying, “Paris.”

“Yes!” Grey jumps up and heads to a travel section a few rows away from us. The store is small, so we can see her even from across the room. She’s busy sorting through books and mumbling to herself when Sparrow turns toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

She rests her chin on the front of my coat as she lifts her face. I brush a piece of hair from her forehead, letting my fingers trail the side of her face. When she’s situated, she studies me, my hands now on her waist, her eyes flaring with desire. We stare at each other and do a dance with our eyes, moving between our lips and our eyes, back and forth. Grey clears her throat, and Sparrow laughs, the tension broken for now.

“What did you love about Paris?” Sparrow asks me, her gorgeous, melty-chocolate eyes lighting up with possibilities.

“Uh—well,I didn’t.”

Her eyes grow almost comically wide, and her mouth opens slightly.“What do you mean? You didn’t like Paris? That can’t be true. It just can’t.” Her spine stiffens.

This may take a turn for the worse, but I have to be honest. “It’s true.”

She shakes her head.“How? Why? I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s busy ...” I begin.

“You love cities.”

“And the music—”

---