Page 17 of Falling for Paris
“Why not? No, seriously, that’s the extent of my logic. I love cooking, I love Paris. Signing up for a cooking school that had excellent reviews and located near my rental seemed as good a choice as any. I figured I could do worse.”
It was Rafael’s turn to choke on his drink.She could do worse?It took great effort to let that damning praise go but he managed. His silence invited her to continue.
“Maybe I’m going through a typical midlife crisis.” Her tone was self-deprecating, making him scowl.
“I doubt it. There’s certainly nothing typical about you. And you’re too young for that kind of crisis.”
“I couldn’t stand it, Rafael,” she blurted with exasperation. “I’m in charge of marketing resources in a prominent DC accounting firm and my team depends on me. I don’t want to let anyone down, but if I’m honest, nothing from my job comes close to wanting to make perfect scones.”
“What kind of scones?” He was easily distracted that way.
“I have this lemon cranberry recipe that’s just—”
“Rhubarb. Try rhubarb next time,” he stated tersely. “And if you like lavender…” As soon as the words left his mouth, he was mortified by his rude interruption. “I’m sorry. You were saying.”
“I took a month off. A few weeks in Paris and a few weeks…well, I haven’t decided yet. Which is kind of nuts for me. I usually plan everything. This time, I’m going to let things happen and hope for the best.”
“So, you’re letting serendipity lead you to your next destination.”
“Exactly! The last time I did that, I was a college student. That’s when we met, by the way.” Her eyes were alight with excitement.
“Can I ask you something?” she ventured. And then seemed to change her mind. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.”
“Evasion is not a look I’ve ever seen you wear.”
Exasperated, she continued. “Why didn’t you call me back?”
“What?”
“All those years ago. I left my number with a server in your restaurant during lunch because I couldn’t make it for dinner. When you never called, I just assumed—”
“I never got it.”
“Oh, OK. Not that it matters.”
They were quiet for a beat, both seeming to consider the possibilities and the perils of leaving things to fate.
“Is that what you think?” he asked cautiously. “Do you really think it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d called?”
“How would it have mattered?” she said in a half whisper. Rafael’s lungs seized at the sight of her. So beautiful, so trusting, so happy. She took his breath away.
“It feels like a story that started and hasn’t quite finished,” he found himself saying.
“Or a cautionary tale.” She smiled candidly.
“Or that,” he agreed before continuing his interrogation. “So you drop everything for one month to escape. That’s what Paris is for you, then? An escape from every day. From responsibilities. From plans.”
She nodded. Rummaging through her comment, however, Rafael didn’t know how he felt about the information she offered. She was escaping from responsibilities. Aside from the time she spent in this kitchen, her next few weeks were unplanned.
Rafael couldn’t help wondering,What does it take to escape responsibilities in a way that felt like a celebration, instead of a cowardly act?Because that’s what he’d been doing: shirking responsibilities by depending on Inez to run the school, spending meaningless days proverbially licking his wounds and literally hating his body. Returning to Paris wasn’t an escape for Rafael. It was a reckoning.
“I think I’ve upset you,” she mumbled regretfully, her full lips pressed together in a tight line. Yet her eyes glowed before she added, “Or you’ve changed your mind about the tart.”
Her attempt at humor shook him out of self-pity.
“I am jealous, that’s all. To see Paris through your eyes. A city full of promise and beauty and freedom.”
“What’s stopping you?” she asked while resting her forearms on the table. He was momentarily distracted when she leaned over slightly, her cleavage deepening by the movement and giving him a whiff of her sweet skin.
