Page 38 of Meet Me in Paris

Warmth sprang to my eyes, but I looked away in time to hide it. There would be time enough for crying later. “Like Clark Gable but with a better haircut.”

Mom laughed. Or, rather, she released a few happy notes and then began to cough. I gripped her hand tightly, wishing for the thousandth time that I could do more.

“You can do better,” she said.

“Ridiculously wealthy, then. Supportive, educated, driven. A good cook and an excellent listener. Super clean. He’ll worship me like a goddess.” The exact opposite of Hunter.

She made a face. “Sounds boring.”

“Does not,” I said, pretending to swat at her arm. “Hey, you asked.”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Mom said as her smile faded. Her voice grew quieter with each word, and I had to lean forward to hear. “Your father wasn’t the only proposal I got.”

“Really?” This I hadn’t heard.

“My best friend was a guy too. We dated a bit in highschool, and he proposed soon after, but I wanted to be swept off my feet. I wanted magic, not just comfort. So I told him no. I met your father a few months later.”

She struggled for breath for a moment, and I stroked her arm. “Thank you for sharing, Mom. It’s really okay. Just rest.”

“Tell me to rest one more time and I’ll stab you with one of those needles over there.”

I nodded and lifted my hands in surrender. “Fair enough.”

Finally, she spoke again. “I sometimes wonder where my friend is now. If he ever married, or . . . what would have happened if we were given a second chance. If that magic was there all along, but I refused to see it because it felt familiar.”

I lay in Hunter’s bed now, four years later, breathing in his scent and taking in every detail of the bedroom that housed his new life in the city I loved, thousands of miles and nine time zones away from home. The linens held the scent of leather and mint I loved from the old Hunter but also the deep, wiser scent of French cologne. The old and new together, the same but different. A perfect description of both of our lives now.

In just over three weeks, at the end of our European tour, my sisters would return to their lives in the States, and I would start a new life here. Alone. No sister to care for, no constant barrage of memories of Mom except for those moments we could have shared here together. No more travel-agency stress or cutting the grocery budget again to make this month’s medical payment for treatments that never worked. No more blind dates in a town where all theeligible men had left long before—including the only one who mattered.

If fate wanted me to be alone, at least I could choose where to be lonely.

But could I live in the same city as Hunter, knowing Collette also existed? Could I date other men while Hunter hovered in the wings of my mind or, quite literally, on shore to whisk me away? Could I watch him find happiness with someone else and reject me again when I needed him most? Because that moment on the couch when he grabbed my hands affected me more intensely than an entire romantic evening with Claude.

Dad. Alexis. Mom. Hunter. Soon, even Jillian would be gone. She’d find a handsome model husband to sweep her off her feet, and if I didn’t move here, I’d be alone in the home where I was raised—surrounded by the ghosts of the people I loved.

No. I couldn’t face being left behind again.

I didn’t know my sobs were audible until the door opened and a shadowy figure filled the doorway. Hunter crossed the room, rounded the bed, and climbed in. His arms slid around my waist and we lay there, wrapped tightly in each other, as my sobs lost their power and melted into the night.

I knewsomething was up the instant Hunter appeared on my doorstep.

First clue: He wouldn’t look me in the eye. Hunter always looked me in the eye.

Second clue: Hands jammed into deep pockets.

Third clue: Shifting weight from one foot to the other. Hunter wasn’t the shifty type.

“Is everything okay?”

Finally, he really looked at me. “Yes. Why?”

Now I felt incredibly confused. “You’re just acting weird. Why aren’t you coming in?”

“I want to go on a drive with you.”

Looking over my shoulder, I lowered my voice. “I’m making dinner for Mom and Jillian. Can it wait a few minutes?”

“No.”

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