Page 27 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
Flopping facedown into the pillow, I fell sound asleep inside a minute.
#
I woke up in a little puddle of drool with my shoes still on, feet hanging off the bed, totally panicked. Had I overslept? Frantic, I checked the bedside clock, which assured me I had forty-five minutes before Lucas would be here to collect me, so I put on some music and danced around the spacious room, elated about the evening ahead.
After a quick bath, I wrapped myself in a towel and perused my clothing. Since this date wasn’t on my outfit calendar either, I had to wing it. Originally I’d planned on wearing a dress and heels tonight, but I wasn’t sure that would be right anymore.
After trying on five different outfits, I settled on dressy jeans, a flowy sleeveless blouse with a beaded neck in a soft shade of pink, and a fitted ivory jacket that was slightly cropped. I was tempted to wear my new shoes, strappy nude Jimmy Choos with skyscraper heels, which I’d bought for the trip and had never worn. But I stuck to flats in case we did a lot of walking—Tucker always got cabs when we traveled, but Lucas seemed to like walking or taking the Metro, and I did too. Giving the gorgeous sandals a longing look and a kiss on the sole, I put them back on the closet floor and slipped on my flats.
After I touched up my hair, I added a little smoky eye makeup, but I skipped the lipstick, filling in my lips with dusky pink liner and going over it with balm. Rubbing them together, I made sure they were neither sticky nor goopy, just soft with a hint of color.
Hell, with a little luck, maybe I could cross Kiss on a Train off the Paris list tonight.
See, Lucas? Lists are fun.
The final step was a little spritz of perfume, but when I held the bottle in my hand and sniffed it, the scent reminded me of Tucker. In fact, it had been a gift from him.
I set the bottle back on the marble vanity and decided on scented body lotion instead. It was sweet but not overpowering, and I even took off my clothes to rub it all over my body, ignoring the inner voice demanding to know why I felt it was necessary to have my inner thighs smell like roses and jasmine.
Since I’d taken so long to get ready, I was running about ten minutes behind. Racing down the hall and into the elevator, I hoped I wouldn’t cause us to miss a reservation or something. I tapped my foot as the car descended, fidgeting anxiously as I willed it to move faster. Jesus, Mia. Calm down.
But when the elevator doors opened and I saw him across the lobby, I couldn’t keep the smile from my face nor the hot-air balloon feeling from swooshing up inside me.
His hair had been tamed, and his scruff trimmed—maybe not clean, but much closer to it. Without the shaggy curls and the whiskers, I could better appreciate the handsome planes of his face—the cut of his jaw, the prominent cheekbones, the curve of his mouth. He wore dark jeans, a clean white t-shirt and a blazer, and even though I’d always been a suit and tie kind of girl, the sight of him made my insides tighten. Best of all was the look of his face when he saw me—a cross between surprise and delight.
“I was beginning to think you’d left town after all.” He smiled before kissing both my cheeks.
“Sorry,” I said, slightly out of breath. “I fell asleep when I got back.”
“Good. Naps are amazing. And now I can keep you out late.”
Was it my imagination or did he squeeze my arm as he said that? Either way, my blood heated up about a thousand degrees, a hot pooling at my center.
We took the Metro to the Latin Quarter and walked to a small Italian restaurant called Marco Polo. We were seated at an outdoor table on the patio, but tall heat lamps and candles on the table made the crisp night air seem warm and cozy.
“Sorry, I didn’t even stop to think that maybe you’d like French food tonight?” Lucas leaned across the table with a worried expression on his face.
“No, not at all. This looks amazing. And I can actually kind of understand the menu.” It was in French, of course, but the names of familiar Italian dishes jumped out at me.
“Everything is good here. It’s my favorite restaurant in Paris.”
“Really? What should I have?”
He went over the menu with me, and when I couldn’t decide between two dishes, he ordered them both and promised me I could have as many tastes off his plate as I wanted. I chose a bottle of wine, an Italian red, and made him promise to let me pay for it.
“Let’s not worry about that,” he said. “Talk to me about what else you’d like to do while
you’re here.”
I told him about wanting to visit the flea market, and we got into a lengthy discussion about our mutual love for old things and the stories behind them. As he talked about some of the vintage pieces in his mother’s Paris and his New York apartment, I propped my chin in my hand and thought how different he was from Tucker, who preferred modern to antique. Sometimes he didn’t mind if a piece looked old, as long as it was a pricey reproduction and not the genuine article, which might fall apart, and besides—someone else had used it. He thought that was weird.
“The flea market isn’t open tomorrow, but would you like to do something else?” asked Lucas. “I could take you to a few of my favorite vintage stores.”
My chin came off my hand. He wants to see me again tomorrow! “I’d love to! But are you sure you’re not busy? I don’t want to monopolize all your time.”
“No, I’m not busy tomorrow. I do have to go out of town the next day, but…” His voice trailed off. “Tomorrow is good.”
My happiness deflated. He’s leaving in two days? But I pasted what I hoped was a bright smile on my face. “OK. Tomorrow sounds great.”
