by Jan Moran
He clicked a photo, grinned, and then leaned in for a selfie of the two of them.
Verena peered at the shots. “Send those to me?”
“Sure.”
She tapped her phone number in.
Lance took her hand again, guiding her into the lounge. “How did your meeting go?”
Verena shook her head. So many emotions warred within her, but hearing his voice and gazing into his eyes provided a welcome reprieve. “Mia had high hopes, but unfortunately, Rose Beauté can’t help us either. I’ll have to tell Mia right away.”
Lance looked concerned for her. “Sit with me and chill. Besides, Mia and the girls aren’t back yet.”
“How do you know?”
“I arranged a car for them.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” Verena said, sharper than she’d meant.
“Relax, the manager is a friend of mine. It’s a hotel car. He also arranged special passes to the Louvre.” They sat down and he motioned to a waiter. “Rough day, huh?”
“The man I met with was kind enough, but....” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. She was resigned to do what she must, as Henri had advised. She’d have to call Derrick. But for now, the only man she wanted to talk to was sitting with her, filling her mind with even more uncertainties, however enticing.
“Here, try this, it’s an apéritif.” He handed her a small stemmed glass.
She sniffed the fine bouquet, and let it flow over her tongue. “Tastes like walnuts.”
“You have a good palate,” he said. He motioned across the small salon to a table, where several plates rested. “We’ve been experimenting in the kitchen. Here, try this.” He handed her a toast point spread with something that smelled delicious.
The savory treat melted in her mouth, and she realized she was starving. She rarely ate much before important meetings, and today had been no exception. “This is marvelous, what is it?”
He laughed. “A little of this, a little of that. Mushrooms, herbs, cheeses, infused oils. The real work begins tomorrow. You should come to the chef’s event. The food will be incredible.”
“I wish I could,” she said. “But I fly home tomorrow.” As she said it, she realized how disappointed she was to leave him.
Or is it simply Paris and its magical spell?
He studied her over the rim of his glass. “At least join me for dinner.”
“I’d like that, but I’d promised Mia and the girls that we’d have dinner tonight.”
A mischievous smile tugged at his lips. “Will everyone eat crab?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I know just the place for us. Excuse me.”
Verena watched him cross the room to speak to someone at the front desk. Lance wore black jeans and a black cotton turtleneck shirt with the sleeves pushed up to reveal his firm forearms. A light grey scarf was casually draped around his neck. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was French. He was a chameleon, blending in with his surroundings, yet standing out among men. Glancing around, she noticed she wasn’t the only woman watching him.
“It’s all set,” he said as he sat down beside her, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “You’ll love this place. It’s a legend and very hard to get into.”
The joy on his face was apparent. “You love food, don’t you?”
“Good food,” he said, his eyes shining with excitement and his fingers pressed together in a gesture of emphasis. “Food is a primal urge, but good food is an art form. It might be the most flavorful garlic mashed potatoes you’ve ever had, or a duck confit so sublime it melts in your mouth. It doesn’t matter if food is simple or elegant, as long as the ingredients are fresh and natural, and the dish is well prepared. That’s artistry.”
Verena appreciated his passion for his craft. “It’s wonderful to see someone who loves their work.”
“It’s not just work, it’s my life. I love to take care of people.” He took her hand as he spoke. “When customers leave my restaurant, I want them to feel thoroughly pampered, to sense the passion that went into each dish, and to appreciate the creativity. Most of all, I want them to say ‘wow, that was a damned fine meal.’”
“That’s how I feel about my work, too,” Verena said, getting swept away by his enthusiasm. “I want every one of our guests to feel cherished when they visit our salon, or when they use any of our products. It’s a ritual of self-love that people should do every day.”
“We share the same philosophy, the same dedication to excellence.” He twined his fingers with hers.
His touch sent a surge of energy coursing through her. What just happened? The feel of his hand against hers set off sparks in her soul. Is this why people call Paris the city of love?
“I’m glad we ran into one another again here,” he said softly.
“So am I,” she said, finally feeling like smiling again.
“When we return home, why don’t we actually plan to meet, instead of leaving it to chance?”
“Chance has worked well for us.”
“But it’s… chancy.” He grinned, and his amber eyes held her gaze.
“Oh, that was too obvious,” she said, laughing, and then caught herself. What am I doing?
Lance seemed to take this in. “If you ever need me, I want you to know that you can call on me. For anything.” His voice was husky and he caressed her hand as he spoke, trailing his fingers along hers. “I care about you, Verena. Last night was just the beginning.”
His words held an intensity that scared her. She lifted her glass. “To the beginning of a beautiful friendship in Paris, how’s that?” Even as soon as she spoke, regret flooded her. The words seemed to hang in mid-air, dividing them.
“We’ll see,” he said with confidence, rising to her challenge.
Behind them there was a commotion in the lobby as Mia and the twins walked in. Anika and Bella were wearing the new clothes they had bought yesterday, and they both had their hair styled differently.
With a start, Verena noticed they were attracting the attention of several young men in the lobby. The girls were maturing; they were on the cusp of womanhood. They’re like lovely young swans, and I must protect them. The weight of her responsibilities bore down upon her again.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Lance asked.
“I just realized they’re almost grown. Sometimes I don’t notice. I get so overwhelmed with business.”
“You have a wonderful family.” He looked directly into her eyes. “You’re doing a fine job with them, and I know you’ll continue to do so, but you deserve a life, too. A good life.”
She stroked his hand. He understood. “Then let’s enjoy the evening.”
Mia spotted them in the lounge. “Why, there you are,” she said, starting toward them.
Verena quickly slid her hand away from Lance’s, but not before Mia had seen them.
“We had such a wonderful day,” Mia said, beaming. “Lance, thank you for arranging the car for us. What a difference it made. I couldn’t have managed these two energetic girls without it.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Lance said. “The day isn’t over yet. I’ve booked a special restaurant for dinner. Nothing fancy,” he added, nodding toward the twins. “But good, fresh food in a great atmosphere.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Mia said. “Girls, let’s go. We’ll freshen up, and meet you downstairs.” When Bella started to protest, Mia shot her a firm look.
“Eight o’clock—early for Paris, but probably better for the twins,” he said.
“We’ll see you then,” Mia said, excusing herself to take the girls upstairs to their room.
“I should change, too.” Verena glanced down at her black lace dress.
“You look exquisite, but you’ll be more comfortable in casual clothes tonight.”
She rose, and as she did, Lance stood and gave her kisses on her cheeks. Unable to resist, she nipped her lips and he responded with a lingering kiss on her mouth.
“I mean it, you deserve a wonderful life,” he whispered into her ear. “And someone who’ll be good to you.”
Energy surged between them, and Verena’s nerves tingled. “I’ll see you soon,” she murmured.
As she turned away from him, her face grew warm, but this time, her coloring wasn’t from embarrassment, but from a feeling that was infinitely finer. And as she walked away from him, she was glad he couldn’t see the delight on her face.
So much for her idea of friendship. Lance was irresistible.
After all, this was Paris.
15
“BON APPÉTIT,” THE waiter said as he delivered an enormous platter of steamed crab to the table. The scent of fresh seafood and homemade bread filled the air, and laughter bubbled around them.
Verena laughed as she watched Anika and Bella, their eyes widening with delight. She loved having her family together in Europe, just as Mia had always dreamed.
Sitting beside Mia, she saw her grandmother slip her hand into her pocket, pull out a handkerchief, and run her fingers over the monogram. She’d seen her do this a couple of times on their trip, but she couldn’t remember Mia ever carrying one of her husband’s handkerchiefs before. Or did it belong to someone else? Verena tried to see the initials, but Mia slipped it back into her pocket.
“I’ll tie your bibs,” Lance said, chuckling as he helped the girls put on bright blue fabric bibs with the words Le Crabe Marteau emblazoned across the front. “And now for you, mademoiselle,” he said to Verena.
“Oh, no,” she said, holding up her hands.
“What? Are you too proper for a bib?”
“I’m not,” Mia said, turning a coy smile on Lance. “You can help me. It’s so nice having a man around to help. Especially you.”
“It’s an honor.” Lance tied Mia’s bib around her neck with a flourish.
Other diners in the restaurant wore the cloth bibs, too. Fishing nets and lures hung from the walls, along with a chalkboard that featured the specials of the day. Butcher paper covered old wooden tables, and the waiter had left a heavy wooden mallet to crack the freshly steamed crabs.
Verena was glad that Lance had chosen such a delightful restaurant. Everyone was having fun. The meeting today had been disappointing; if Henri couldn’t help them, then the economy was definitely in trouble. But that was for tomorrow to think about. Determined to enjoy the brief time she had in Paris, she gazed around the table, happy that Mia and the girls were having a good time.
“Now you’re the only one left.” Lance stood by Verena with a bib in hand.
“Oh, all right, get on with it. But you’ll never see me with a bib in Beverly Hills.” She shot him a warning look.
“Come on, don’t be a snob,” he said.
The twins looked at one another and burst out laughing.
Verena lifted her wavy blond hair to let him tie her bib. As he did, he brushed his fingers discreetly across the back of her neck, and she thrilled to his touch. Her skin grew warm, and she noticed Mia watching them.
“You look happy, Verena,” Mia said. “Look at us all, what fun we’re having.” She took Verena’s hand and gave it a quick, meaningful squeeze. “I’m so glad you came with us to Paris.”
“Now that you’re all tied up, let me explain this meal to you,” Lance said, sitting next to Verena. He picked up a wooden mallet. “We’ll use this to beat the crab into submission.”
Bella’s eyes widened. “It’s not alive is it?” She poked one of the orange-red crabs on the thick cutting board in front of her.
“Watch out,” Lance cried. “They’ll pinch you.”
Anika and Bella screamed and then fell against one another, giggling with glee.
Regaining her composure, Anika said, “I’m trying to become a vegetarian.”
“I respect that,” Lance replied, looking concerned. “I can speak to the kitchen, have them make something for you.”
Anika eyed the crab and licked her lips.
“It’s really no trouble,” Lance said. “A smart chef always accommodates dietary preferences.”
“I’ll resume my diet tomorrow,” Anika said, a shy smile lighting her face.
Verena observed Lance with the twins. He was good with them, and they liked him. Better than they liked Derrick. Mia was watching their interaction, too.
“Let me show you how it’s done.” Lance took the mallet to the steamed crabs and began to crack them with gusto.
Verena picked up a bowl of red potatoes with herbs to serve Mia, the girls, and Lance.
“We have a good Chardonnay, too,” Lance added. “Mia, would you care for wine?”
“Of course, my dear.” Mia’s face lit with pleasure. After he poured a small amount into her glass, she swirled it to aerate the bouquet and then lifted the wine to her nose and inhaled. “Quite nice.” She sipped, savoring the taste on her tongue before swallowing. “A fine choice, Lance.” She nodded her approval.
“Just a simple wine to go with this hearty fare.” He poured more into Mia’s glass and then matched the pour into Verena’s glass.
Verena glanced at the label. “Not that simple.” Her eyes met his.
“You know your wines.” Lance looked at her with admiration.
“My grandmother taught me.” Verena could feel the electricity sparking between them. Turning to Mia, she added, “In fact, I believe you began your instruction when you brought me to Paris the first time.”
“But you were our age then, Verena,” Anika said, darting a look at Bella.
“So, can we have wine, too?” Bella asked.
“Now, you two know you’re not crazy about wine,” Verena said.
Mia smiled at the younger girls. “Your sister is right. We’ll develop your palate later.”
Lance passed cracked crab around, and soon everyone was eating and exclaiming over the food.
Verena looked around the table, a rush of joy filling her heart. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. This is a perfect evening.
As they ate, Lance turned to Mia and asked, “What are your plans in Switzerland?”
“We’ll stay with my sister Lara in Vevey,” Mia said. “That’s a quaint little village on the banks of Lake Geneva where we were born. We’ll tour with Lara and her daughter, drive around Fribourg, sample cheese in Gruyères, and wine in the Valais. We’ll take a tram into the Alps, too. So much lovely country to explore. There’s never enough time, though.”
Anika and Bella looked at Mia with excitement. Everything was a new experience for the girls, and Verena was glad they were enjoying the trip.
After they finished the meal, Mia said, “It’s still early by Paris time. Verena, why don’t you and Lance leave us at the hotel and go out for a nightcap?”
“She’s right,” Lance said, taking Verena’s hand. “Paris is magical at night.”
Despite her worries, Verena felt a wave of anticipation. “I suppose. How often do we find ourselves in Paris, right?”
Surely there was no harm in spending the rest of evening with Lance.
After Verena and Lance left Mia and the twins at the hotel, they strolled along Rue la Pérouse in the cool evening air. The magnificent Arc de Triomphe loomed ahead in the center of an impressive roundabout, which yawned toward the grand Avenue des Champs-Élysées.
“I know a place you might like,” Lance said. “Are you up for walking?”
“I’d love it. It’s such a beautiful city. And it’s my last night.” Before returning to reality.
“On this trip,” Lance said, touching her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be back.”
They passed an outdoor café where a group of people were engaged in a heated political discussion over a table littered with wine, coffee, and cigarettes.
Verena brushed his hand. “You haven’t been smoking here. Did you quit again?”
“I haven’t touched a cigarette since you chastised me about it. Although I have to admit I’m tempted here in Paris.”
“Don’t d
o it,” she cried. “Remember your skin—and the rest of your body.”
Taking her hand, he said, “For you, anything.”
She squeezed his hand, feeling a thrill at his touch. They walked toward a nightclub where the music was throbbing and fashionable people were milling around outside on the sidewalk. Everyone was having a good time.
Lance stopped. “Do you ever go to nightclubs in Paris?”
She laughed. “That’s not usually on my agenda.”
“It should be, it’s fun.” He looked at her and brushed away a strand of hair that had blown into her eyes. “Come on, I know a jazz club that I think you’ll like. You can dance, can’t you?”
“Of course I can.” She shook her head in amazement. He was a man of many surprises. Though the night was cool, his hand felt warm and sure. A connection flowed between them, linking them in a manner she had never known. Not with Joe. Not with Derrick. Was this one of those signs Mia often spoke about?
They continued wending their way through the streets until Lance found the street he was looking for. “Voici la rue Jean Giraudoux, mademoiselle.”
Hearing Lance’s rich, gravelly voice in French was almost too much for her to bear. Turning onto the lane, Verena shivered with excitement.
“And here it is, Le Speakeasy.” At the entry, Lance spoke in French to a slim man, who quickly swept them into the dimly lit club, which was styled in chic 1920s fashion.
They wound through a young, stylish crowd, past a long bar with ruby-red covered stools and into a room filled with black sofas, tables, and chairs.
They slid onto an ebony leather banquette near a piano, where a Josephine Baker look-alike was draped across the polished wood, cooing a sensual jazz tune in French that made Verena feel like she’d been transported back in time.
Lance put his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to her. “This isn’t a traditional French club, but it’s fun. It’s a mix of French and American jazz.”
As he spoke, his breath was warm on her neck and each puff sent a tingle through her.
“I love it,” she said. There was that word again: fun. When was the last time she’d had any fun? “I didn’t know you spoke French.”
