Page 26 of Meet Me in Paris

“I’m going to change real quick,” he said, tossing his wet jacket onto the back of a dining chair. Then he walked into his room.

And left the door open.

Two steps to the left and I could have seen the whole show. Not that I wanted to see the whole show. I’d seen him change his shirt plenty of times—at his house, in the backyard, at the neighborhood pool. Even now, I caught a patch of bare skin as he pulled his shirt off. A very muscled, very manly back appeared. Lean and not muscled in a bodybuilder sort of way but in an I-spend-an-hour-a-day-at-the-gym and I’m-confident-with-my-shirt-off kind of way. That was new too.

What else about him had changed in the past four years?

I forced myself to breathe, realizing I’d stopped, and turned away from the bedroom to open a window. Too hot in here.

Then, yanking my mind from the direction it wanted to go, I looked around the room. It sported few decorations. Not surprising. A ukulele, of all things, sat propped in a corner. I stepped over and examined the open book on the table next to his dripping shirt.Les Misérables.I knew Hunter studied history, but I still couldn’t fathom him as a Paris tour guide. Since when did Hunter, my gangly, awkward next-door neighbor, read classic literature about the French Revolution?

Blue marker highlighted a passage. I leaned forward to read it, squinting at the small font.

The supreme happiness in life is the assurance of being loved; of being loved for oneself, even in spite of oneself.

“That’s better,” Hunter said a minute later, striding into the kitchen. He carried a stack of dry clothing and shoved it into my hands. “I’m not sure if this will fit, but it’s better than being soaked through.”

I looked down at the puddle near my feet, the flushedfeeling I’d experienced earlier replaced by a deep chill. The cold had finally caught up with me. “Fine. Thanks.”

I stepped into the bathroom and locked the door, wincing when the lock gave a loud click Hunter surely heard. Not that Hunter, of all people, would ever try to force the door open. That wasn’t him. I trusted him more than anyone in this city, including my sisters. But so much had changed, and being in his apartment had me a little rattled.

After peeling the dress off my shivering body, I grabbed what looked like a clean towel from the rack and used it to dry off, leaving my damp bra and panties on. Then I paused, staring at the pile of dry clothing.

Women’s clothing.

Well, that answered that.

The ladies’ blouse should fit, though it looked a little too large in the bust. The trousers were wide-legged yet narrow at the waist, very European. My cheeks flushed deeper with every moment I struggled into them.

As I changed, I bumped one of the drawers, which opened a crack. I instantly recognized the soft velvet box near the front. With a soft gasp, I froze and pulled the drawer open the rest of the way. Then I picked up the box and popped it open. As expected, an antique golden ring with an exquisite round diamond glimmered in the light.

His great-grandmother’s ring. A family heirloom Hunter’s parents gave him to offer to his bride someday. He told me about it in our junior or senior year of high school. So why wasn’t Collette wearing this? Did she want something more modern?

I heard movement outside the door and slid the ring back into the drawer, just as I’d found it. Then I stepped out of the bathroom to find a chilled water bottle on thecountertop and Hunter leaning against the small fridge. He’d combed his hair while I changed, with his fingers at the very least, and he looked fresh from the shower. The button-down brown shirt brought out his hazelnut eyes, which swept over my body with the raise of an eyebrow.

“I need to know about the ukulele,” I blurted out, then cringed inwardly. It was the first thing that came to mind.

“The uke?” He turned to see it in the corner. “Ah, yes. My sister, Jen, gave it to me for Christmas when she visited two years ago. Said it was the only instrument that fit in her suitcase. Maybe I’ll play it for you sometime. Water without bubbles? Figured you’d be thirsty after our sprint through the city.”

“No thanks.”

He returned the bottle to the counter. “I’m glad to see those clothes fit you.”

“How convenient that Collette is so close to my size.”

His dark eyes danced with amusement. “How convenient that your French beau is also a real estate agent.”

I wanted to smack him there and then. Multiple times. “I wish you would have told me about her.”

Hunter stalked toward me, his movements slow and careful. “Why would you have cared about my dating life?”

“Because we’re friends, and friends tell each other things like that.”

“Do they? So you’re saying friends don’t ignore texts and emails, then. Or ghost each other for years at a time.”

Or promise to be there and then break that promise when it counts.The pain of discovering Hunter’s engagement that way intensified my grief over Mom. Sometimes the pain threatened to split me in half. But he didn’t deserve to knowhow deeply he’d cut me. Some secrets would never see the light of day.

Now I found myself at ground zero—in the very apartment where he lived with his fiancée. The very last place I wanted to be in the entire world. Because I needed more pain in my life right now.

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