From Paris With Love This Christmas

by Jules Wake

  Will’s mouth firmed. ‘Thanks Marcus, for broadcasting that enlightening titbit, I’m sure Siena was enthralled.’

  ‘Oh, it’s OK. Lisa already mentioned it.’ The minute the words were out of her mouth she regretted it. Will looked like thunder.

  ‘Moving on,’ said Marcus with a rictus grin stretching his lips. ‘Siena you get good tips. I get good tips. So we’re equal. I like working with you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ From someone as experienced and at home as a waiter as him, that compliment resonated.

  ‘We make a good partnership.’

  Will’s face softened. ‘Yes. I have to admit, you’ve done brilliantly this week. Like I said at the beginning of the week, I had a few reservations—’

  ‘You never said anything,’ said Siena horrified.

  He flashed her a wicked grin. ‘The customers like you. You’ve loosened up with them. You can stay on for as long as you like. I know you only wanted until Christmas but if you decide to stay on, I could use the help in the New Year.’

  Siena’s heart raced. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes Siena. You’re good. It’s not everyone’s idea of a good job but,’ he lifted his shoulders, ‘you’re actually pretty good at it.’

  ‘Am I?’ A warmth blossomed in her chest as pride radiated from her heart. It might not be everyone’s idea of a major achievement but she wanted to burst. She’d got a job. By herself. Jason had arranged the first part but she’d done the rest.

  ‘I’m not sure what my plans are after Christmas,’ she said suddenly shy, ‘but I’d like to stay for the next few weeks at least. I love working here. Some odd people,’ she shot Marcus a teasing grin. ‘But most of the time it’s great.’

  ‘Excellent. I can post next week’s shift pattern. There’s a wedding on next week, I’m going to need an extra pair of hands.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Jason when she went skipping into the brewery, running up the stairs to tell him. ‘I’ll be another five minutes.’

  ‘Thank you and don’t worry. I wait for you every day.’ She turned her back on him, hugging her news to herself. It might not mean anything to him but she couldn’t help smiling. She had a job. A proper job. Inside her heart sang. A job. Earning her own money, that no one could take away or tell her how to spend. It might not be enough to buy the designer handbags and shoes she was used to but it was all hers. Bursting with energy she shifted happily on the spot, still wanting to jump up and down, and turned back to face him.

  As if he’d only just noticed her, he looked over the top of his laptop at her and sat back in his chair, closing the lid of the laptop, watching her fidget.

  ‘Sorry I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?’ He got up from his chair and stretched.

  She sighed and smiled as he pulled his denim jacket off the back of the chair and began to shrug into it. The double denim look had definitely grown on her. ‘I’ve got a place on the next manned mission to Mars, it’s unlikely I’ll be back.’

  ‘Right … what?’ He walked towards her heading to the door and stopped beside her.

  Good, he looked confused. She waited a minute, enjoying having his sole attention. ‘I’ve got a job. Will’s taken me on.’ And then she did a little excited jump. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s brilliant.’ She paused, unable to stop the huge grin stretching her mouth. ‘A proper job, not a horrid skanky one.’ If hadn’t have been for him, she might still be knocking on doors. She threw her arms around him. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’

  The spontaneous hug had come from nowhere and she still didn’t know what instinct had prompted it. She wasn’t a hugger. No one in the family hugged. She froze. What the hell was she doing? Throwing herself at him. What would he think? To her absolute relief, Jason returned the embrace as if it were totally normally.

  ‘Well done you.’ He smelt musky with the slightly sweet smell of hops clinging to his jumper. He gave her a reciprocal squeeze which surprised her and pulled her off balance so that she moved, closing the gap between the lower halves of their bodies. ‘Will wouldn’t have taken you on if you weren’t any … er.’ He swallowed and she felt him shift slightly against her. ‘I, er, only got you the, erm, interview, you did the rest.’

  ‘No, you helped a lot. I have to do something nice for you.’ As she said it their thighs brushed and a tingle of sexual awareness shot through her, at the same moment the double entendre registered along with the slight bulge in his jeans. Jason’s eyes narrowed and locked on hers. She swallowed, mortified, but couldn’t look away. Desire pooled between her legs and her breath caught in her throat.

  ‘Meat,’ croaked Jason, managing to shift his gaze. The ceiling seemed to have sprouted grass or something because he appeared to find it fascinating.

  They disentangled awkwardly and she hitched her bag onto her shoulders. Was this some English thing she was unaware of?

  ‘Meat?’ she echoed in a silly squeaky voice.

  She saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. Her fingers trembled, wanting to touch the strong column of his throat. Really wanting to touch his skin. Puzzled she resisted the urge, stunned by the revelation that she’d always been passive with Yves. She’d never felt that want or need to touch him, even though he was probably ten times better looking than Jason. No, that wasn’t true. If Jason took more care and smartened himself up, he’d give Yves a run for his money.

  Jason managed to combine kindness with strength. She’d seen him heft the heavy metal tanks around the yard and although she was tall for a girl, he topped her by several inches. Yet even at his grumpiest, she’d never felt intimidated by him.

  ‘Yeah, meat?’

  She focused on him. The awkwardness fading as he took control again. ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful. I like your cooking,’ he lifted his brow with feigned enthusiasm. ‘I really do, but,’ he adopted a hangdog expression, ‘to be honest. I’m bloody sick of the veggie stuff.’

  Siena burst out laughing, the tension between them diffused. ‘You pay for the meat, I’ll happily cook it.’

  ‘Really? God, I thought you were on some healthy French type of diet.’

  ‘Have you ever been to France?’

  Comprehension dawned. ‘Right, yeah.’ He nodded with a self-deprecating snort. ‘Not exactly the first or last bastion of vegetarianism.’

  ‘What do you fa—?’ She stopped herself just in time. ‘What sort of meat would you like?’

  ‘Steak,’ he said with unequivocal firmness. ‘Come on woman, we are going to the butchers.’ He gave her a little nudge and pushed her towards the door.

  Siena’s heart gave a funny little twist, half with relief that they were OK again and half with regret.

  Maybe the candles were a touch too much but she left them anyway. Jason had bought the steak at the butchers and while he was doing that she’d nipped to Marks & Spencer, of which her mother had always been a huge fan, to buy some new potatoes, salad leaves and a pot of cream.

  Rummaging in the sideboard, she’d found a dusty bottle of brandy which was great, as she’d resigned herself to going without because she couldn’t justify buying it. Now she had an idea for a pudding. There were two fresh oranges in the fruit bowl.

  She hummed as she gathered everything together. Funny how quickly the tiny kitchen had come to feel like home. Jason still grumbled that she wasn’t very good at tidying up but was always appreciative about the food she served up.

  As the potatoes went in to boil, she seasoned the steaks, tossed the salad leaves in a little oil and vinegar and heated the heavy cast iron pan. Jason had gone up to take a shower, after she’d had her soak in the bath which she’d deliberately not overfilled so there’d be enough water for him.

  As she turned the steaks, he appeared in the kitchen, his hair damp, freshly shaven and barefoot in ancient jeans that were worn thin at the thighs and a faded T-shirt that hugged the contours of his chest and abdomen.

  He was a million light years from the well-groomed, designer clad men s
he was used to, and her mouth went dry.

  ‘This looks nice,’ he said strolling to the dresser. ‘I think I should open some wine. There are a couple of reds in the wine rack in the lounge. I’ve never touched them but I’m sure Laurie wouldn’t mind, especially when we’re celebrating you getting your first proper job.’

  As she poured the brandy into the pan over the peppercorns she heard the satisfying pop of the cork. Jason squeezed between the kitchen chair and her, his body brushing hers. She felt the soft hairs on his arm tease her skin on her forearm as he placed a glass on the side next to her. Her heart stuttered in response. She gripped the wooden spatula harder.

  ‘Thank you. This will be ready in a minute.’

  ‘It looks great.’ He remained behind her. ‘Can I do anything to help?’ She felt his warm breath on her neck.

  ‘You could put the salad on the table and drain the potatoes,’ she said gritting her teeth, praying he’d move before she gave in to the urge to melt back against him. ‘There’s a hot dish in the oven to put them in.’

  Thankfully her voice sounded normal and he didn’t seem to think there was anything amiss. Most of the time, she didn’t register how good-looking he was, but tonight he looked utterly edible. Masculinity seemed to ooze out of every pore. The dark hair on his arms fascinated her. The smooth chin with a hint of dimple. That full lower lip that begged to be nipped. She almost laughed at herself. Miss Frigid wanting to jump someone’s bones. What would Yves say about that?

  She reached out and took the glass. ‘Thank you. And thanks for helping me get the job.’

  ‘Pleasure, and thanks for dinner.’ He picked up his glass and chinked it against hers. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Salut.’

  The rich mouthful hit her like an explosion of cherry and fruit flavour. Her eyes widened and as she swallowed she stared into the glass. ‘Merde! Are you sure Laurie won’t mind us drinking this?’

  Jason shrugged. ‘There were a couple of different bottles in the wine rack. This one was one of two the same, so I thought it would be better to open this one so at least there’s one left.’

  Siena nodded gravely and crossed to the other side of the table to pick up the bottle.

  ‘Well picked,’ she said her eyes brimming with mirth.

  ‘It is rather nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very nice,’ she agreed. Should she tell him that he’d opened a bottle of Chateau Lafite 1985 which was worth over four hundred euros? Hopefully Laurie would forgive her but what the hell; it was open now and she planned to enjoy every last mouthful.

  She served up the steaks, pouring peppercorn and brandy sauce over them. It smelt great. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had cooked for him like this. Not Stacey that was for sure. They’d lived on take-away meals and eating out. He shuddered to think how much money they’d wasted.

  Looking at Siena now, her blonde hair rippling down her back, kinked from the plait she always wore for work, she could pass for a normal down-to-earth person. Sometime in the week the vibrant nail varnish had vanished and she barely seemed to wear any make-up. He had a hard time remembering what she’d been like the night he’d picked her up. Luckily the pale blue, soft as butter leather jacket she wore – which must have cost a fortune – and the handbag with its designer badge, which she slung over her shoulder each day served as a timely reminder that she came from a very different world and wouldn’t be here forever.

  Funnily enough, Will seemed absolutely delighted with her and he was nobody’s fool. Silly bugger had even gone as far as to thank Jason for suggesting her. To be fair, he had to give her credit. She certainly worked hard, but in three weeks she’d be gone. Back home. This was temporary and it wasn’t so easy to slum it when it was indefinite. Living on next to nothing soon palled unless you had a damn good incentive. And even then, it sucked some days.

  He couldn’t stop the greedy moan that escaped with his first mouthful.

  ‘Wow, this is bloody fantastic. You’re a great cook. ’

  Siena flashed him a delighted and surprisingly grateful smile. Sadness lanced him as he realised that she wasn’t used to praise. What sort of life had she led? He’d felt quite sorry for her when she told him how she’d learned to cook, reading between the lines, she’d been a lonely little girl relying on the staff for company.

  ‘So, have you got any further with your fashion degree plans?’

  ‘Yes.’ With usual Siena enthusiasm, she tossed her hair back over her shoulders and put her elbows on the table. He’d never met anyone so constantly animated and enthused.

  ‘Lisa’s friend Katie has an aunt who works at the London College of Fashion. So I’m going to talk to Katie and hopefully,’ Siena’s face lit up with its sunshine beam, ‘go from there.’

  As they sipped their way through the wine, Siena asked lots of questions about the brewery, how he knew Will, how he knew Laurie and Cam.

  ‘You played rugby?’ She looked impressed and her eyes swept down his body. He straightened and determinedly ignored the brief jump to attention in his boxers. It had been a while, that was all.

  ‘At university and then for a while after but I gave it up when I started to feel like I’d been crushed by a millstone the next morning.’

  ‘Your ears are OK.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  She giggled. ‘Not all turned inside out and lumpy.’

  He warmed to the sound, realising it was the first time he’d heard her giggle since he’d come home to find her huddled in that very chair. Her black eye had faded and the gash on her cheek was a lot less vivid.

  ‘You mean cauliflower ears.’

  ‘That’s the one. Like Fabien Pelous.’

  ‘You like rugby?’ She really didn’t seem like the type.

  ‘Love it. Harry has a box at Stade de France. I always go when I’m in Paris.’

  ‘Lucky you.’ He felt a dart of envy.

  ‘Not in the box.’ She shook her head and waved her hands. ‘That’s boring. It’s much more fun with everyone else.’ She giggled again. ‘Especially the English fans. They are so funny. So polite and so sweary and then apologetic.’

  ‘You looked like you’d been in a rugby match the other day.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’ She touched her face.

  It seemed natural when every last scrap of steak was demolished and both plates were empty, to pick up the wine bottle and move to the lounge. He lit the fire and the conversation moved on, nothing complicated or searching. Relaxed end of the week, undemanding chat. And she was easy on the eye. Not exactly a hardship.

  Throughout the evening he noticed her pick up her phone and, every now and then, give it a troubled look but she didn’t do any more than that. It intrigued him, most women, actually most people to be fair, would be tapping away in response to texts, tweets or Snapchats.

  She perched it on the edge of the coffee table within easy reach and curled her feet up under her in the corner of the sofa. Feeling relaxed after two glasses of wine and a beer, he stretched his legs out with his hands behind his head. Inadvertently he kicked the phone and it fell on the floor. He picked it up to hand to her. The display flashed into life.

  ‘Bloody hell, you’ve got twenty-three missed calls and a bunch of messages on here. That’s going some. You’re a popular girl.’

  She looked down at her lap but not before the guilt darted across her face.

  ‘Your mother? Yves? Have you not spoken to them?’

  She kept her head bowed.

  ‘Not at all?’ He tried to bite back his impatience. Surely she realised that they were concerned. She’d led a sheltered, pampered life, completely protected from the grittier side of things. For all her family knew, anything could have happened to her. They were probably climbing the walls.

  ‘Siena,’ his voice rose, ‘I get that you’re having problems. But they’re family. They’re bound to be worried about you.’ He knew what his mother had been like when he was a teen. Waiting up, no matter how
late he’d been.

  All he could see was the top of her head. From her curled up position, knees up to her chin, it looked as if she were trying to burrow back into the sofa like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, hands wrapped around her knees.

  ‘They’ll be worried sick. Yes, I know your mother cancelled your cards but it was probably a knee jerk thing. If she’s not heard from you since, she’ll be really worried as well as feeling guilty. At least listen to your messages.’

  ‘I can’t.’ He could see the white mounds of her knuckles on each hand pressed tight to the surface of her skin. ‘It’s easier if I don’t.’

  ‘Easier for you? Hardly fair on them.’

  Her chin lifted. ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘Try me,’ he glared at her. She had to understand that everyone had responsibilities, parents to children and children to parents.

  Mutiny sealed her mouth with an un-Siena-like tight-lipped slash.

  ‘For God’s sake, it’s your mother. Of course she’s going to worry. She probably was angry at first that you’d gone without saying anything,’ he paused until she lifted her head to meet his burning gaze, ‘but now …’

  Siena’s stubborn attitude burned low in his stomach. Spoilt and thoughtless and, more annoyingly, seemingly totally unrepentant, just when he was starting to think there might be a bit more to her than met the eye. ‘Excuse me for saying it but I think you’re being selfish and unkind.’

  Two spots burned in her cheeks. He ignored them; he knew what it was like to be responsible for other people.

  She sat bolt upright, swivelling from her comfortable pose to perch on the edge of the sofa. ‘You listen then, if it’s so … so,’ her mouth worked as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to swear, ‘important.’

  She tossed the phone onto his lap with a violent throw, which hit his thigh with a painful thud, just missing his balls. He winced at the near miss. Spoilt brat.

  ‘Alright, I will.’ He snatched up the mobile.

  The first message, understandably, came from her mother.