Moonlight in Paris

by Pamela Hearon

  They hadn’t chatted in days. Not since he and Tara had made their peace. A power outage Wednesday had sent Henri and his staff into panic mode and put them behind with the all-important reports everyone was expecting. And then Garrett and the marketing crew had gotten slammed. His friend was still unaware that Tara was watching Dylan, but tonight wasn’t the time to bring it up. Henri would demand all the details.

  “Veronique and Jean Luc will come to my house tomorrow.” Henri’s tired eyes brightened when he spoke of his youngest sister and her son. “Would you enjoy to come to dinner, also? The boys can play, and Dylan can stay the night, peut-être?”

  Dylan would want to go. He and Jean Luc always had a great time together. But Garrett had really been looking forward to a dinner with Tara, and tomorrow night was the night he’d earmarked.

  “Um, actually...you remember my American neighbor, Tara?”

  Henri’s chuckle was a low growl. “Mais oui.”

  “Well, Monique’s father is in the hospital, and Tara has been keeping Dylan for me. I’d sort of promised her we’d make dinner for her tomorrow night. I owe it to her after all she’s done this week.”

  Henri’s face split into a wide grin. “C’est parfait, Garrett. Prépare le dîner pour Tara. Dylan will come to my house and stay for the night, and you will have the time alone.”

  Alone time with Tara, and Dylan nowhere around? Garrett’s mouth went dry. Even the mention of it filled his head with all kinds of possibilities—dangerous thoughts involving the two of them naked and a treasure hunt where he would search her body for hidden tattoos. His head spun as all the blood in his torso headed southward.

  Guilt took a swipe at him. “I’ve been away from Dylan a lot the past two weeks.”

  “Oui.” Henri was always Dylan’s champion. “But you will have the complete day together tomorrow. And Dylan will not want to miss the chance to have a sleepover with Jean Luc.”

  “That’s true,” Garrett admitted. But the chance for a sleepover with Tara was what he needed to get out of his mind. Maybe it would be better to go out to dinner? Give her a real night on the town to repay her for her help...and avoid the risks that an intimate dinner on the terrace might lead to.

  He clapped his friend on the back. “You’re right, Henri. It’s perfect. Dylan will be so excited. What time would you like him at your house?”

  “I do not care, mon ami. But, if I were you, I would bring him as early as possible, oui? And allow him to stay late the next day, so you can sleep—” Henri half smiled and half leered at the young woman bussing the table “—for as long as you desire.”

  Garrett sucked a breath deep into his lungs. What he desired and what he allowed were two altogether different things.

  He wouldn’t even think of this as a date. This would be a nighttime sightseeing excursion with a friend.

  And that was all.

  * * *

  FAITH COULDN’T STAND the pressure anymore.

  What she was about to do would be a life-changing event for her and Sawyer, the kids, the church...maybe the whole town. But she couldn’t bear one more second in this tortured hell of a life she’d been living for the past month.

  This change was necessary. She’d tried suffering in silence. Remaining stoic. Facing the world with a calm demeanor and pretending everything was fine.

  But everything wasn’t fine, and her serene facade was crumbling. People were noticing her weight loss. Friends were whispering, speculating on illness. Cancer had been mentioned...and leukemia. Her mom had died of heart disease, so some people were betting on heredity.

  If people were talking anyway, why not give them the truth to talk about?

  She’d let a lie exist between her and Sawyer for twenty-eight years, and that lie had ended and come to light at long last. She refused to let another one take its place—at least, not for any longer.

  All the lying ended today.

  She grabbed a luggage handle with each hand and hauled the two pieces from the bedroom.

  The door to Sawyer’s study was closed. He always used Saturday morning to fine-tune his sermons.

  The pot of coffee she’d heard him making a half hour before had barely a cup gone, and the paper sack of Ivadawn’s cinnamon-glazed yeast doughnuts still bulged with its contents, a big grease mark soaking through the side.

  The sights. The smells. Everything was as it had always been—and yet nothing was the same.

  No doubt, Sawyer waited on the other side of the door for her knock—her bidding him to stop his studies a little while and share a cup of coffee and a doughnut.

  Faith blinked, expecting tears, but she had none. She’d cried them all. Maybe that’s where the weight had gone.

  She pulled the luggage across the kitchen floor, the wheels making a racket on the tile. They beat out a thunk-thunk rhythm, squealing like piglets who’d been pushed off the hog’s teat. She ignored their protest. She’d thought this through for days and had come to the conclusion that only a separation would give her any peace.

  Being within touching distance of the man she loved yet not being allowed to touch him was a torture she could bear no longer.

  She jockeyed the luggage through the door to the garage and popped the trunk with the button on the key fob. There were already a few items in there boxed up—just a few sentimental things from the kids that she wanted with her...homemade birthday cards and valentines...a few pictures.

  She wasn’t taking much.

  She shuddered at the finality in the sound of the trunk slamming, closing her eyes and allowing the vibration to move through her and out.

  “Faith?”

  Her eyes flew open to find Sawyer standing in the doorway, his coffee cup poised chest high, a look of bewilderment on his face as if he’d forgotten where his mouth was.

  “What are you doing?”

  She stepped around the car to face him with nothing between them. “I’m leaving, Sawyer. I can’t stand this. I was going to come back in—I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”

  “You’re leaving?” His tone was the same one she’d heard when they got the call from the police about Tara’s accident. “Where are you going?”

  “To your mom’s.”

  It was just across town—a few blocks away. The house was still fully furnished. They hadn’t gotten rid of anything since Lacy died. It wasn’t an ideal location. She’d still be smack-dab in the middle of the talk and the meddling. But it would give her a quiet space that wasn’t a forced quiet, and it wouldn’t cost their tight budget anything extra.

  Sawyer’s other hand came up to grip the coffee cup like he didn’t trust the finger through the handle to hold the weight. “Faith, don’t do this. Please don’t do this.” His normally calm voice shook with emotion. “I’ve counseled enough couples to know that people don’t separate to work things out. People separate to start the process of living away from each other permanently.”

  She placed a trembling hand to her throat, feeling the steady pulse. Somehow she was living through this. “I don’t know what I’m starting. I only know what I’m ending. The lie. I’ve had all I can take of the pussyfooting around town like everything’s fine...pussyfooting around each other, trying to act like we’re one thing when we both know we’re something else entirely now. I don’t know what that something else is, but I’m not getting any answers here. I need some alone time to sort things out for myself.”

  “I love you, Faith.” His words sucked the air from her lungs. “I’m just having a hard time right now.” He stepped into the garage, watching her closely like he did the deer in the backyard, afraid the wrong movement might send her scurrying.

  She squared her shoulders to show him her leaving wasn’t a fear-induced reaction. She’d thought it over for days and hadn’t come to the decision
lightly. “I know you are, Sawyer. And I’m so, so sorry for putting you through this. But what’s done is done, and I can’t take it back. But I also can’t continue living in what feels like a perpetual state of punishment.”

  He leaned against his workbench, pushing some tools out of the way to clear a place for his cup. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel that way. I’m not trying to punish you.” His hands thrust deeply into his pockets. “This isn’t even about you. It’s about me, and the lie I perpetuate week after week. Every Sunday I preach about love. How love is the answer to everything.” He shrugged. “I love. And yet, my love isn’t enough. I’m trying to figure out why.” His hand came out of his pocket, balled into a fist that he rapped against his chest, punctuating his words. “I could understand if it had just been you. But it isn’t enough for Tara, either. What am I missing? What do I need to change my message to? How do I lead people to the answer when I don’t have the answer?”

  Seeing him like this made her sick to her stomach. Sawyer—the rock...battered and broken into pebbles. “I don’t have the answer, either. But this—” she wagged her finger between them “—isn’t the way to find it. So I’m ready to try something else.” She jerked the car door open.

  Sawyer was there in two steps, holding the door to keep it open. “The whole town will know ten minutes after you get to Mom’s. Maybe not even that long with Sue as your next-door neighbor.”

  The woman’s name sent a surge through her. “You don’t get it, Sawyer. I. Don’t. Care. I want people to know. I’m tired of living a lie. I am who I am, and you and the town can try to pretend I’m someone else, but that doesn’t make it so.” She pressed the button on the key fob, and the garage door started grinding open.

  “Then, let me go.” Sawyer’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You shouldn’t have to be the one to leave when I’m the one with the problem.”

  Dear Lord! She was finally beginning to understand the depth of Sawyer’s misery...and the mindset behind the impotence. She had to get out of there before the man broke completely. “I’ve thought this over, Sawyer. Stay. Leave. Do whatever you want. Just find your answers so we can start getting our lives back together.”

  “What about Tara? This will ruin her trip if she finds out.”

  “I thought about that, too.” The past few nights, all she’d done was think, her mind wandering aimlessly, shifting directions like a rabbit being chased by a fox. But her focus always came back to Tara. “She’s got enough on her plate over there. She doesn’t need to be worrying about us, too. When I call Thea and Trent, I’ll ask them not to say anything when they talk to her. I’ll call Emma, too.”

  Faith climbed into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. A small tug pulled the door from Sawyer’s grasp, and he stepped out of the way.

  She backed out of the driveway, leaving him standing there, a lost look on his face. With a push of the button, she lowered the garage door.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE EIFFEL TOWER was even more beautiful at night—an image in lacy, gold filigree, more stunning than any photo could possibly capture.

  Tara just wanted to stand and drink it in.

  “It’s even better from over there. The Trocadéro.” Garrett pointed to a crowded pavilion across the way. His hand found the small of her back, sending a delicious shiver up her spine. “But we’ll have to hurry.”

  “Why? It doesn’t appear to be going anywhere.”

  Garrett laughed and gave her a wink. “You’ll see.”

  The wine served during the cruise had apparently worked some magic because Garrett had loosened up, at last. When he’d first picked her up, he’d been stiff and distant, treating this more like a guided tour than a date. Up until this moment, it was as if they’d reverted back to square one with the flirtation of the other night forgotten—at least, on his part. She, on the other hand, had been giving it all she had. That he’d finally touched her was encouraging.

  The cruise had been beyond delightful. The views of Paris from the Seine with each movement of the boat bringing more opulence into view...the running commentary of fascinating tidbits told in the tour guide’s sexy French-infused English...the undivided attention of the ruggedly handsome man sitting at her side. Ooh-la-la!

  Now, walking toward the Trocadéro, she kept turning around, eyes constantly drawn back to the Eiffel Tower, half afraid it actually might disappear, the other half unwilling to miss a second of the view.

  Garrett took her hand, causing the endorphins in her brain to break into a happy dance. Keeping her in tow, he threaded through the crowd, his urgency evident. She paused the questions and comments, keeping pace with his jog up the steps to the crowded top level of the pavilion, where they found an open space and fell against each other laughing and gasping.

  “Whew!” Garrett checked his watch, then flung his arm around her shoulder and whirled around to face the landmark. A few seconds later, the Eiffel Tower erupted into a twinkling mass of brilliant white lights, diamonds encrusting the gold filigree—a royal brooch worn by the Queen of Cities.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Tara squealed as the crowd shouted and broke into applause. Caught up in the excitement, she intertwined her fingers with the ones on her shoulder and tilted her head against the side of Garrett’s face. “You’re right. This is better.” A blissful sigh accompanied her next breath.

  “Told you.”

  She swiveled her head and watched the side of Garrett’s mouth rise slowly in a lazy smile that oozed sexy. Her insides coiled with heat. “Don’t give me that Mona Lisa smile, Garrett Hughes. I can’t stand here gawking at you when I’ve got tourist business to take care of.”

  The twinkle in his eyes when he laughed made her even more reluctant to let go of his hand, but a video of the glistening tower to post on her Facebook page couldn’t wait. Her heart skipped a beat, though, when she put her phone away, and his hand found hers again.

  “C’mon.” He bobbed his head in the direction of the landmark. “More good stuff awaits.”

  They wove their way through the crowd and back across the Seine via the Pont d’Iena, but the slower pace did nothing to calm her breathing. Garrett’s sudden decision to stay in constant physical contact by holding her hand or resting an arm around her shoulders kept causing her breath to hitch. By the time they stood on the top level of the Eiffel Tower, she was dizzy with excitement and the effects of looking down from the thousand-foot height at the exquisite city below.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to recapture some calm. “I still can’t believe I’m here, standing at the pinnacle of worldly sophistication. If Taylor’s Grove could see me now...” She massaged her face, which ached from the smile she’d been wearing all night. When she opened her eyes, a lustrous golden dome caught her attention. “Ooh. What’s that over yonder?”

  “Yonder?” Garrett’s deep laugh brought a flush of embarrassment to her face.

  “Guess I haven’t stood at the pinnacle long enough to absorb much of that sophistication, huh?”

  “I wasn’t making fun. That laugh was pure enjoyment. Hearing you say things like that brings home a lot closer.” He pulled her around to face him, brushing a finger down her heated cheek. “I’d like to find a quiet place where I could close my eyes and just listen to you talk.”

  Oh, Lord! Heat moved through her again, having nothing to do with embarrassment. Were all guys in Paris hot? Or was it just something about being in this city? “Thanks,” she murmured. “That was a nice thing to say.” Over his shoulder, she could see the couple behind them locked in a kiss of romance novel quality.

  So maybe it was the city.

  Garrett leaned in so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. Was he about to kiss her? Her own breathing came to an abrupt halt.

  Instead, he pointed. “The gold dome ‘ov
er yonder’ is Hôtel des Invalides, Napoleon’s tomb.” His boyish grin, so much like Dylan’s, said he was obviously pleased with the reference to their personal joke.

  “Hôtel des Invalides.” She repeated the words, using her best French accent. Being short of breath made it sound even better. “Only the French language could make a tomb and a military museum sound so divine.”

  “It’s pretty interesting, really.” His eyes lit up. “We could go there tomorrow, if you’d like. Dylan loves it, and there’s a tradition about touching the foot of the Mansart statue in the garden.”

  “I went one day last week although I think I missed the Mansart statue.” Tara drooped her lip in a pretend pout and watched as Garrett’s gaze moved to her mouth then back up slowly to tangle with her eyes. There was enough electricity in that look to keep the City of Lights in business for a while, but if he didn’t kiss her soon, she was going to blow a breaker.

  His eyes darkened. “Well, if you missed Mansart, we can’t take any chances. There’s another tradition we need to take advantage of right now.” With a tilt of his head, he directed her gaze to the couple next to her, who were also enjoying a sensuous moment, oblivious to everyone around them. “Tradition says if you kiss on top of the Eiffel Tower, romance will forever spread out around you like the city below.” He leaned toward her again, hesitating as if asking permission.

  Tara answered him by meeting him halfway. Their lips touched, and she expected something short and chaste, but once her mouth settled on his, it felt so nice, she was in no hurry for it to end. Her hands found his waist and his hands found her back, and they relaxed against each other, warm and comfortable, yet pleasantly enticing. The kiss lasted much longer than she thought possible with no tongues involved.

  She leaned back a little, meeting his gaze, but kept her hands where they were. Likewise, his stayed put. “I like this tradition,” she said.

  “Well, there’s another one, too, you know.”