Paris Cravings: A Paris & Pastry Novel

by Kimberley Montpetit

  I’m busted. There’s nowhere to go, no place to run. The crowd in the elevator grows bigger, engulfing, and the crush of people suffocating. In fact, when the elevator stops, finally, at the top, Gerald moves to the side to wait for us, to the annoyance of everyone else who has to move around him to get out.

  I glance up at Jean-Paul’s face, questioningly.

  “Follow me. We’ll try to lose him after we get off,” he whispers against my ear.

  Gently, he pushes me into the crowd of people on the opposite side of the elevator from Gerald, which gains us dirty looks because technically those people should be first out before those of us in the back, but it’s our only chance to get ahead of the Educational Tour guide.

  Gerald Polk makes his move to follow us, pushing through the last of the people on the elevator, but as soon as we’re out, Jean-Paul grabs my hand and we’re off, weaving through the mass of people and heading for the first set of stairs to the observation deck. It’s a snail-crawling line but it’s so crowded, nobody pushes through. I can see Gerald stuck below us one staircase level. We have lots of time for talking as the line moves so slowly, but it’s tough with Gerald staring at us the whole time from below. I can even hear his foot tapping on the metal stairs.

  “Ignore him,” Jean-Paul tells me. “We can lose him up on top. At least, we’ll stay on the move as he tries to get to us. It’s not like he can drag you down without it being obvious to about a thousand people.”

  “That’s true,” I say and turn my back on Gerald’s face, trying to do just that even though it’s hard when I can feel his eyes boring holes into the back of my head.

  “I’m wondering how he knows where we are,” Jean-Paul muses. “It doesn’t make any sense. Got any theories?”

  At that moment, my phone buzzes and when I glance down, my home phone number appears with Mom’s name. “My mother,” I breathe out and Jean-Paul and I quickly look at each other, the answer coming to us both at the exact same moment.

  “Gerald Polk is tracking you through your phone. Cell phones have an inner GPS and he can coordinate our location through the cell tower.”

  “Why didn’t we think of this earlier?” I groan. “I should have left my phone at your house.”

  Jean-Paul shakes his head. “He would have staked out the pastry shop and dragged you away when we got back.”

  “You’re right. I’m glad he isn’t there bothering your mother. But doesn’t he need permission to do that? It’s illegal to follow somebody, unless you’re the FBI and I’m wanted for a crime.”

  “The answer to that question is on your caller ID.”

  “My mother—of course! The tour company called and got her permission. I guess she can follow me all she wants since she pays the phone bill.” I let out an annoyed growl. “So what do we do now?”

  “Enjoy the view and the lights and worry about him later,” Jean-Paul says. “We’ll stay one step ahead of him and then ditch him when we get back down. Don’t worry.”

  “My fate is in your hands then,” I try to joke.

  He gives me a smile. “I promise it will be a good destiny.”

  We fall silent for a moment as we concentrate on moving up the stairs with the next crowd surge. “Where was Mireille going to see her family?” I ask, trying to be generous and inclusive. “She could have stayed and come with us.”

  Jean-Paul frowns. “Why would she want to do that?”

  “Because you two are together, like a couple? You even told me yourself that your families want you guys to become permanent one day.”

  He shoves his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “Ah, yes.”

  He doesn’t elaborate and I feel foolish for bringing her up. Obviously he doesn’t want to discuss her and I wonder if I’m being way too nosy. I need to shut my mouth.

  “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “Let’s just enjoy your last night here, okay?” he says. His face looks wistful when he says that but I’m having a hard time figuring out what all the facial expressions mean. “Your plane is very early tomorrow morning?”

  “The crack of dawn,” I tell him, but he already knows that.

  “It will be very, very late when we get home. Like two or three a.m.”

  “I don’t mind,” I say, leaning against the railing as the city plunges deeper into shadow. I can still make out the bridges across the Seine and the Arc de Triomphe because they’re lit up. Thousands of colorful lights sparkle below us. The night air is cooling down, but Jean-Paul brought jackets for us. “I want my last hours in Paris to last for as long as possible. Besides, I can sleep the whole way home on the plane. So, what’s our itinerary?”

  Jean-Paul playfully bumps my arm as we show our tickets and climb the next set of metal stairs. “We have two hours to get to the top, watch the lights turn on at midnight, drink hot chocolate and then go back down. After that, we take the Metro to my favorite crepe restaurant. We’ll eat platters of escargot and salads and then buy chocolate crepes for dessert so you can indulge in your last chocolate of Paris. Then we’ll walk back home.”

  “Won’t we need to take the Metro? It’s a long way back to the shop, isn’t it? And what about Mr. Polk?”

  He shakes his head, his dark hair falling over his eyes. “The Metro shuts down at one-thirty but we won’t be too far from the shop. And Mr. Polk will be long gone by then.”

  “Will your mother worry about us?”

  “Paris is very safe. Besides, you’re with me, Chloe. I’ll protect you. At all costs,” he adds gallantly.

  “So you’ll fight off the evil of the world—the bad guys with swords on horses?”

  “Of course,” he says softly, touching my hand.

  I do feel safe with him. I’ve never met anybody quite like this French guy before. He’s easy to be with, easy to talk to. His eyes linger on my face, even if he’s not intending to look at me like that. I swear my stomach hasn’t stopped jumping since I met him.

  The next moment Jean-Paul slips his hand into mine, just as easy as if we were kids on a playground. Slowly he laces his fingers with each of mine and brings my fist up to his mouth where he lightly kisses the back of my hand.

  “Now the evening is perfect,” he says.

  “Yes,” I whisper, and I can feel my eyes stinging like I’m going to cry. A wild sensation runs through my fingers and up my arm. It’s the same feeling as when he took my hand at L’Opera. Except that this time he’s purposely holding my hand, and he wants me to know it. He’s not like some boys who look away from you—as though pretending that maybe they aren’t really holding your hand. Guys who act like nothing’s happening when they put their arm around you in the movie theater for the first time, but want you to make out later.

  The next moment, Jean-Paul leans closer, puts his mouth next to my ear, and lightly touches my hair with his free hand. “Do you feel that, Chloe?” he whispers, close and guarded, as if we’re sharing a secret.

  I can feel his face against my skin and nod, emotion making me tremble. I know exactly what he’s talking about—this feeling between us, the electricity in our tightly woven hands, whatever it is. He doesn’t even have to speak the words.

  “I’ve been hoping all day it wasn’t just me,” he says.

  I pull back, surprised. “You’ve been hoping? You mean you’ve been feeling this—whatever this is?” I stop, feeling shy. Softly, I add, “I thought I was going crazy.”

  He squeezes my hand again and I think that if I died right then I’d blissfully float up to heaven.

  Now we reach the top of the Eiffel and the sky is a bottomless blue—and black around the edges as night deepens. Lights blink on, faster than I can pick them out. Gerald moves closer and we dart around a corner, ducking down in our dark jackets and then popping back up in a new mix of people. My heart beats faster and I let out a laugh. It’s actually sort of funny, and daring, and I feel a little bit wicked.

  Jean-Paul laughs with me and then stops us at the rail
ing. “Here it comes. Midnight. Wait for it, Chloe,” he adds, nudging me with his arm and looking straight into my eyes. My stomach jumps.

  “I can’t believe it’s midnight already,” I tell him. “We’ve really been walking around Paris and talking practically all day long?”

  “Can’t argue with the clock,” he says, glancing at his watch. “Time is strange when you’re with the right company.”

  Before I can react or speak again, the entire Eiffel Tower suddenly lights up with thousands of bright white lights that run the entire length from top to bottom. The sparkling lights blink and swirl in a spectacular show.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I breathe at last. “I never thought it would be so incredible.” Secretly, I wish we could stay up here forever, with Paris spread out below us, a twinkling fairyland of lights. It’s as though we’ve actually become a part of the tower, the dark blue sky, and the magic that is Paris.

  The temperature turns chilly and I snuggle deeper into the jacket Jean-Paul brought as a chill wind whips against my face. My hair whirls around my neck and suddenly Jean-Paul’s arm is around my shoulders. I want to melt into him, but I feel self-conscious about actually doing it. My thoughts are going as crazy as the lights flashing and sparking and zooming up all around us.

  “Too cold?” Jean-Paul asks, his breath warm in my ear.

  I shake my head. “Nope. It’s fantastic. I love the lights, the view, everything!”

  Jean-Paul’s face comes closer to mine and my heart leaps into my throat. Our noses almost touch and time seems to hang in midair—and then he smiles. “Come with me.”

  There’s a tiny little shop squeezed in among the stair landings and the tower’s gridlines. Jean-Paul orders two cups of hot chocolate and we slowly sip at them as we watch a second light show, feeling as though we’re a part of it because it’s almost possible to reach out and touch the lights with your fingers if you wanted to.

  “We need to get back to the Metro before we miss the last train back to my neighborhood,” Jean-Paul finally says. “And I think Gerald is catching up again, too. Walk fast!”

  “I’ll bet he’s spitting mad at spending his day following me. I sort of feel sorry for him.”

  “Don’t. He’s getting paid.” Jean-Paul waggles his eyebrows and I burst into laughter.

  Then we crumple our empty cups into a trash can and descend as fast as we can, grabbing hands as we weave in and out through the crowds, down the hundreds of metal grated steps. After that, we crowd into the elevator with fifty other people and hit the ground level again. Once the elevator doors open, we race to the corner Metro station, still holding hands. It’s like we’re locked together and neither one of us wants to break the bond. I haven’t seen Mr. Polk since we got our hot chocolate.

  Quickly, we get our tickets and race down the concrete corridors, bursting onto the platform just as the train pulls up. As soon as the doors swish open we dart inside and take the first available seats, then spend the next twenty minutes catching our breath and smiling at each other like we’re a couple of kids running away from home.

  Jean-Paul brushes his face against mine, whispering so no one else on the train can overhear, “I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, Chloe Dillard.”

  “Me?” I’m so surprised I can barely get the word out.

  “Absolument,” he says without a moment’s hesitation, and the look in his eyes makes me believe him.

  “When you rescued me from the floor of the shop yesterday morning and I saw your eyes—well—” I stop, too shy to finish.

  “You looked pretty funny with cream all over you while you clutched your box of pastries, but I couldn’t laugh at you. I was hooked. You were damn gorgeous, but funny, too.”

  Laughing, I punch him in the arm and then he takes my hand and kisses it again, settling me against his chest while the train hurtles us forward into the dark night. Oh, Lord, I can’t breathe.

  Thirteen Days Earlier

  “I swear to you, Chloe—this is the first time—” Mathew splutters.

  I stood stock still, frozen in the middle of the Perotti’s family room while Mathew ran off at the mouth trying to explain.

  “She just showed up—” he went on annoyingly. “I didn’t think you were coming until later—I thought I could get her to leave before—”

  “Oh, stop it!” Parvati interrupted. “You both are so pathetic.”

  “Be quiet, Parvati,” Mathew said.

  “No, I won’t be quiet, Matt,” she told him, getting up from the couch, her legs going on for miles.

  “Parvati—” he warned.

  She cut him off and looked straight at me. “He doesn’t have the nerve to tell you anything.”

  “Shut up!” I yelped, and she actually took a step backward. Furiously, I turned to Mathew. “Have you been dating her?”

  “I swear, Chloe, no, I haven’t.” He ran his hands through his hair. Thick beautiful hair I would never touch again. “We’ve all been friends, you know that. I swear. I didn’t plan for this to happen this way.”

  “This way? What does that mean?” I darted a glance at Parvati’s blouse before he could tell me she’d spilled soda on it and that’s why she was halfway undressed when I walked in. The blouse was dry and stain-free.

  “She surprised me,” Mathew talked faster. “We didn’t plan this. She came over. It just—happened.” His story had holes the size of the Brooklyn Bridge.

  What happened? I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. I didn’t have to ask—it was way too obvious. The feelings, the vibes between them, whatever I wanted to call it, had gone on for so long, the temptation got too great. That’s what he wouldn’t admit. And she came over when his parents weren’t here and—and—I can’t go there. It’s so painful I think I’m going to be sick.

  All I wanted was for him to respect me. To like me. To love me. For me. Without it being about sex all the time.

  “This doesn’t mean it’s over, does it?” Mathew said. “I mean I wasn’t planning on breaking up with you, Chloe.”

  I stared at him. I couldn’t believe he just said that. And hearing him say my name made me want to cry. I’d liked him so much for so long I couldn’t think straight. But it was all starting to sink in. He’d planned on making out with Parvati, maybe even having sex with her, and then pretending it had never happened. Letting me go on thinking we were fine. Until the next time.

  “You can’t decide, can you, Mathew?”I said, my voice shaking. “Me or Parvati. You want us both.”

  “This was all an accident.”

  “An accident?” I echoed. Accidents were fender-benders. Falling and breaking your leg. Spilling milk.

  “I thought—you weren’t supposed to be here until later—you have to understand, Chloe.”

  “You didn’t plan on getting caught? You didn’t plan on telling me? You were going to just keep it a big secret between the two of you?”

  Parvati took a step closer. “Can you forgive us, Chloe?”

  “Forgive?” My throat closed. I was trying not to bawl. This happened to other girls. Not me. Not me and Mathew. I thought we were safe. I’d thought we were perfect together. How could I be so wrong? And yet, hadn’t I known deep in my heart that something was going on between them? All my fears and suspicions, confirmed in one fell swoop. In one terrible, devastating moment.

  “Chloe?” Parvati repeated, her hand reaching out to me.

  I had the awful sensation that I was slogging through quicksand. “I was your friend, Parvati. Right now I think I hate you both.”

  “You can’t have two girlfriends, Mathew,” Parvati said, cutting right to the chase. “You have to choose.”

  Mathew looked at me helplessly. He had absolutely no guts, no backbone, no idea what he really wanted. And I realized how weak and stupid and pathetic he was.

  “Mathew,” I said, glancing down at the box of food I was still holding in my hands. All this beautiful, delicious food made with tender, loving
care, and he could care less. I’d caught him in the act and he still hadn’t even said he was sorry, or acknowledged anything about me or my feelings. It was always about him and his needs—all the time.

  I took a deep breath.. “I’ll make it easy for you, Mathew. I’m breaking up with you so don’t bother spending time or brain cells trying to figure this out or make a decision. That would be just too hard and painful. And we both know you can’t do anything that’s difficult or truthful or courageous.”

  “Do you think we’re safe from Gerald, yet?” I ask Jean-Paul as we hit the sidewalk up from the Metro station, landing on a quiet Paris street.

  “No, he’ll probably find us at the restaurant. I’m not sure what to do next.”

  “Oh! I know!” I pull out my cell phone and stare at it. Even with the power off, Gerald was still tracking me. It was beyond annoying. “Come on! We’re going to the Seine!” Now I start to pull at Jean-Paul, even though I’m not sure which direction I need to be heading.

  “What are you doing, Chloe?”

  I grin at him. “I’m feeling quite daring. I’m contemplating throwing my phone into the river.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “But it’s a perfectly good phone—”

  I put a hand over his mouth, laughing. “Stop before I lose my nerve! I just remembered my mother told me the service is being shut off when I get home. For the rest of the summer. Maybe longer, I’m not sure. So I don’t need it anymore. I’ll be back with my group in the morning at the airport. I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder and worrying that the police are going to show up next. It’s my life and I want to enjoy my last hours in Paris without looking over my shoulder or being interrupted or dragged off in a police car!”

  Jean-Paul pulls me to him in a quick hug. “Oh, Chloe! I’ve never known someone like you before, that is for certainement.”