Page 43 of The Boyfriend Material Novellas

Who am I kidding? I know how to finish that sentence.

I’ve known it for three years.

But what are the chances I’ll see her again? I’ve nearly given up. I’ve been searching, stupidly searching this city for a woman I met once upon a time.

I wander into shops, look in windows, imagining I might see her again.

Someday I’ll shuck off that wish for good.

But today?

Today, I still have a smidgeon of hope. After all, I can recall with crystal clarity the way she curled a hand over my shoulder, showed me a display of pink and white lace, and said it was her favorite.

I sigh, wishing I’d done something different that day.

One thing different.

Regret is an awful taste.

To counter it, I’ve given myself three months to entertain a quest.

To pop into shops.

Jewelry stores. Clothing boutiques. Lingerie shops.

What are the chances I’ll see my five-hours-in-Paris woman?

I don’t let myself answer that question.

Because the three months are nearly over.

But today I’m still looking. Today, I still have a chance, one offered to me by the store owner who I met thirty minutes ago.

Peyton extends a hand, gesturing to the shop she’s lured me into.

“And this is my little slice of New York. Welcome to You Look Pretty Today,” she says. I made her acquaintance in a coffee shop with my good friend Lucas, and she encouraged me to stop in here, luring me with promises of a single woman who likes water parks.

What can I say?

I’m easy. I like water parks.

But does the woman I met in Paris like them?

I have no idea.

See, I don’t even know her last name.

Another regret.

This woman can’t possibly be the one I’ve been looking for. But my time is running out, so why not turn over this stone? You never know.

I walk inside and gesture to the shelves of underthings. “I see you have some wonderful items for my nan,” I joke.

“I can definitely find something for her,” Peyton says. “I have customers of all ages. But right now, I want you to meet my store manager.” She guides me through a display of bustiers.

“Got a little matchmaker in you?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I might. She says she has a thing for British accents.”

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