Page 79 of The Loophole

“No, it’ll take less than half. I learned my lesson with my restaurant, and I won’t gamble with our financial security. That’s why the rest of the money is going into savings, and into some solid, low-risk investments.”

“So… we could really do this.”

“We could. The previous owner finished the kitchen, so there’s just a little more work to do to get it up and running.” I sat up and looked around. I felt like I was living in a dream. He said, “This place is pretty great, isn’t it?”

“It’s so special. And it just feels right. I don’t know how to explain it, other than that.”

“It feels that way to me, too. So, should we do this?” I nodded, and he whooped with delight, which made me laugh. Then he kissed me and said, “I love you so much, Em.”

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

He grabbed me in a hug, and as he held me securely, my heart was so full. I could already see it in my mind’s eye—all this place would become. I saw the display cases lit up and full of beautiful cakes, and pastries, and a rainbow of macarons. I saw the café full of customers, including the regulars who’d start to feel like family. I saw working side-by-side with my sweet, wonderful husband, creating gorgeous things that made people happy. And I was so incredibly grateful.

Epilogue: Embry

Eleven Months Later

On the one-year anniversary of our first wedding ceremony, Bryson and I got married again. This time, we did it surrounded by all our loved ones, in front of the Christmas tree in our home. It was the most perfect ceremony I could ever imagine.

There were two surprises. Fallon flew in from L.A., where he’d moved to be closer to his kids, and Granddad brought a date, later admitting he’d been seeing her for over a month. He said Bryson and I had inspired him to get out there and take a chance on love. It was wonderful to see him so happy.

After the ceremony, our small reception turned into a very fun house party. Bryson and I danced, and ate cake—made by me, of course—and celebrated until I glanced at the time and said, “We’d better go if we want to catch our flight.”

When they heard that, our family sprang into action. Lark and Dylan lined up our luggage at the door while Yolanda grabbed our coats and JoJo ran through a quick checklist. “Do you have your passports? ID? Phones?” We assured her we had everything.

As we all gathered in the foyer, Vee picked up Dusty and said, “Have loads of fun on your honeymoon, and don’t worry about a thing. My little furry nephew is going to have a great time with his uncle Vee. Isn’t that right, Dusty boy?” The dog licked his face enthusiastically, and Vee added, “Plus, I’ll be coming by several times a week to water your plants, bring in the mail, and raid your wine fridge, so your house will be fine, too.”

After a flurry of hugs and goodbyes, we hurried to the waiting town car with our luggage. Once we’d gotten settled into the backseat and were on our way, Bryson leaned over and kissed me. His eyes were sparkling behind his glasses, and he whispered, “Thank you for marrying me again and making me the happiest man alive.”

“Right back at you. I love you so much, Bry.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed me again before asking, “Are you excited about this trip?”

“Uh, yeah. I think I’m going to explode! I can’t even believe it’s happening.”

Our pretend marriage had started out in pretend Paris. It only made sense that we were now headed to the real deal.

It was hard to imagine anything more magical than Paris at Christmastime. Okay, so we barely left the bed in our hotel room for the first couple of days. After all, this was our honeymoon. But after that, we finally ventured out and explored the city, which was everything I’d thought it would be and more.

During our second week in Paris, we began the intensive two-week patisserie class I’d signed us up for as soon as I knew we were coming here. For me, this was a bucket list item. For Bryson, it was pretty much a review of what he’d already beentaught in culinary school. He said he was learning a few new tips and techniques though, and we both were having a lot of fun with it.

The class took place every weekday evening for two hours. Afterwards, we walked back to our hotel hand-in-hand. Our route took us down a gorgeous boulevard lined with trees that had been strung with white lights. It looked and felt like a fairytale.

On this particular night, a light snow started to fall. I paused and whispered, “Listen to that.”

Bryson turned to me with a smile, flecks of snow clinging to his dark hair. “What do you hear?”

“There’s a hush. It’s like the whole city got quieter all of a sudden.”

He pulled me close and said, very softly so as not to disturb the stillness, “I know exactly what you mean.” His lips felt soft and warm when he kissed me. Then he adjusted the scarf around my neck and said, “We’d better keep going if we’re going to make it to the bakery before it closes.”

This had become our nightly ritual. Our route took us past the most beautiful, elegant pastry shop, and we always stopped in after class. When we reached our destination, Mr. Dupont, the shop owner, greeted us with, “Ah, Messieurs Baudelaire, bonsoir!” I’d decided to take Bryson’s last name a few months back, and it still made me smile every time I heard it.

Since my sexy husband was fluent in French, I stood back in awe and watched their rapid-fire conversation. After a minute or two, Mr. Dupont tried to include me by asking in English, “What did you learn to make today?” I loved the fact that he treated us like locals after only a few days.

“We made croissants,” I told him. “It was so hard to get the dough right! They’re resting overnight, but I don’t think mine are going to puff up when we bake them tomorrow.”

He nodded solemnly, although I wasn’t sure how much of that he understood, and then he produced a box from behind the counter and handed it to me. “These almost run out, so I save two for you.”

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