Paris Rose (7 page)

****

“Hello?” Nick yelled, banging on the locked doors of La Maison Rose. “Bonjour?”

Frustrated, he peered through the glass windows, waving wildly to attract the attention of the people he could see moving around in the kitchen at the back of the building. They glanced up at him and then quickly away, shaking their heads and frowning as if he were nuts.

“
Bonjour!”
Nick bellowed, his throat growing slightly hoarse. He’d been travelling nonstop for two days, changing planes once, and then doing his best to figure out the Metro, Paris’s underground train system. It had taken him ages to hail a taxi to La Maison Rose, where Lucy’s old boss at Biscuits and Berries informed him his ex-wife was now working. He felt dirty and rumpled and tired.

Finally, a very wrinkly old lady in a black dress opened the door and glared at him. “Closed!” she snapped, indicating the sign on the door.

“I’m sorry,” Nick said. “But I need to speak to Lucy Rawlinson. She works here, right?”

The old lady nodded and replied in a thick French accent. “Mademoiselle Lucy, yes, she work ’ere.”

Finally, he was getting somewhere, Nick thought, beaming. “May I speak to her?”

“She is at church, at wedding.”

“She’s at a wedding?”

“Jean-Luc, ’e ’as wedding today.”

Nick’s heart went crashing down into his shoes.

The old lady smiled happily. “Jean-Luc, ’e marry American woman.”

“Oh, God,” Nick whispered.

“You are very late, you must ’urry!” she chided him, and went out into the street, surprisingly quick on her feet, and hailed a taxi.

It screeched to a halt, and numbly, Nick climbed inside as the old lady gave the driver instructions. The taxi took off, whipping at an alarming pace through the bumpy, narrow streets, and he understood vaguely that he’d been mistaken for a confused wedding guest. He was on his way to Lucy’s wedding to Jean-Luc. He’d lost her. He’d come all this way only to find it really was too late.

Despair settled over him, not just for himself, but for Lucy. She was making a bad mistake, he knew that much. This was all wrong for her, he was sure of it. She didn’t love Jean-Luc. He was pretty sure she loved him, in spite of the fact that he’d trampled all over her heart and behaved like a prize moron.

“Could you go a little faster?” he asked the driver, and then lurched sharply as the taxi swerved around a corner.

Determination took the place of despair. Even if she’d already tied the knot with Mr. Pastry Chef, he’d talk her into getting a divorce and coming home with him, where she belonged. They’d already wasted so much time, and he knew that was largely his fault. His ego had been badly bruised and he’d hung on to his anger, refusing to listen to Lucy, hell-bent on sticking to his guns and living life without the woman he loved. But the days meant nothing without her; they were just hours to be lived through, devoid of meaning or laughter. Well, he’d damn well had enough.

The taxi stopped suddenly, and Nick almost shot through the windshield. He began to exit but was stopped by an indignant cry from the driver. Reaching into his pocket, Nick drew out a wad of cash and handed it over, then bounded up the steps of the church and burst inside.

It was crowded with people, applauding and smiling toward the couple at the altar, and Nick realized he was moments too late. Lucy was married.

“No!” he yelled, his voice raw with grief. “I can’t let you do this!”

A sudden hush fell over the church as everyone turned to stare at him. A startled Jean-Luc whirled around.

And then, very slowly, it dawned on Nick that the buxom blonde gazing wide-eyed at him from Jean-Luc’s side was not Lucy. The bride had an enormous bosom and elaborate blonde curls. He didn’t know who the hell she was, but she wasn’t Lucy. All around him, whispers started up and fingers pointed.

“Oh, shit,” Nick said. “I—I’m so sorry. Sorry, everyone. Um, carry on.”

And he turned and hurried out of the church with about two hundred pairs of horrified eyes glued to his back, feeling like the biggest asshole on the face of the earth.

****

Lucy fell into a gentle doze as Jean-Luc and Anita made their vows, and then sleepily opened her eyes at a spatter of applause from the congregation and realized the ceremony was over. The thought of returning to her cozy little apartment for a nap was very appealing, but she was expected at the reception.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps rushing up the aisle disturbed the sweetly tranquil atmosphere inside the church. There were horrified whispers as a man shouted. Lucy sat up sharply and gasped in shock, covering her mouth with one hand.

It was Nick.

A tired-looking, slightly gaunt Nick, very badly in need of a shave, gaping in confusion at Anita. He seemed to realize he’d made a mistake and a horrified look came over his face as he apologized and spun around. Lucy was galvanized into action, but her progress forward was impeded by rows of knees and feet and handbags.

“Excuse me,” she said frantically, over and over. “I’m sorry, excuse me.”

Finally, she burst free of the pew and raced up the aisle and out of the church. From the top of the steps, she scanned the street as waiting photographers looked up at her in confusion. She spotted Nick, just turning the corner, and screamed his name, then tottered down the steps in her high heels.

Lucy had wanted to look both pretty and professional today, and so she’d teamed dark green dress pants with a floral top and heels. The chilly autumn air raised gooseflesh on her arms as she ran, her heart pounding wildly. It began to rain. She reached the corner, turned, and excitement surged through her as he came into view.

Jubilation ran through her veins as Lucy clattered down the cobbled street, her cheeks turning pink with the cold. Nick wanted them to be together. He’d decided he couldn’t live without her. That had to be it.

She was gaining on him in spite of the agonizing pain shooting through her feet and ankles. Six inch heels were definitely not designed for frantic chases after ex-husbands on cobbled streets. She yelled his name again and saw him hesitate before stopping in his tracks and starting to turn. And at that moment, Lucy’s left foot wobbled treacherously, and she helplessly lurched forward, crashing to the ground.

The impact knocked the wind from her, and she lay quite still on the wet cobblestones for several moments before her body began registering its hurt, and she moaned faintly, trying to sit up. There was blood on her hand, and as her foot moved, Lucy sobbed out loud with pain. A small crowd began to gather, and a woman tried to help her to stand, at which point Lucy’s sob of pain turned into a stifled scream. She was lowered to the ground again and sat there, as around her the crowd offered advice and comments and questions. All Lucy wanted to do was howl, and not from the pain in her ankle. She bowed her head, tears beginning to fill her eyes.

Suddenly the crowd began to part, and she looked up. Nick knelt beside her.

“Are you okay?”

“I think I’ve broken my leg,” she said pitifully. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Carefully, he removed her shoe, and frowned. “You’ve twisted your ankle. It’s pretty swollen.”

“Did you think I was marrying Jean-Luc? Is that why you burst into the church?”

“Everyone, the situation is under control,” Nick addressed the crowd. “Give her some air, please.”

The onlookers began to disperse.

“Please tell me what’s going on,” Lucy said, as Nick began to scoop her into his arms.

“Grab your shoes,” he said, struggling to his feet. “God, have you gained weight?”

“Either put me down or talk to me,” Lucy said. “I’m serious.”

Nick looked at her. “Isn’t it obvious what’s happening?”

“I’d hate to reach the wrong conclusion again.”

“I have been traveling for two solid days,” he replied. “I haven’t slept, eaten, or showered in all that time because, quite simply, Lucy, I can’t live without you.”

She went still, staring up at him.

“Taxi!” he yelled, and one came to a halt beside them. Nick bundled her inside and climbed in beside her, then looked confused when the driver asked for a destination. Lucy gave the address of her apartment. She was stunned, her heart pounding in shock, the throbbing agony in her ankle all but forgotten. The driver took off, and when Nick pulled her close, Lucy realized she was shivering.

“Are you cold?”

“I think I may be in shock,” she said.

“Shall we try again?” he took her hand. “I promise that this time, I’ll listen to your worries and fears, just as I did to your hopes and dreams. I won’t let you down again.”

“I’m so sorry about what I did—”

He shushed her. “You’ve already said that a thousand times.”

Lucy bit her lip, hardly daring to believe this was happening. He was really here. She was sitting on his lap, and his arms were around her, strong and sure. He loved her after all.

“So what I wanted to ask was if you’d be interested in coming home with me,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “I thought we could spend the rest of our lives loving each other and raising kids—that sort of thing.”

Lucy wanted to say something beautiful, words Nick would remember forever, that would seal the moment they found each other again. But all she could do was nod, and melt into his arms. Nick brought his lips down tenderly, telling her everything she needed to know. And she responded, her kiss deep and yielding, her heart opening wide, realizing words weren’t necessary after all.

****

Eighteen months later

As he smelled bacon, Dexter looked up hopefully, then let out a single, loud bark. Nick scowled down at him. “What did I tell you about that?”

Dexter looked chastened.

“Good,” Nick said, and dropped a scrap of bacon on the kitchen floor.

He drained the grease from the pan, then carefully arranged the bacon on a plate with grilled tomatoes, hash browns and toast, wishing it looked a bit nicer. Then he placed the plate on a tray with the card and a glass of orange juice and began carefully making his way up the stairs with Dexter on his heels. Nick nudged the main bedroom door open, a big smile on his face, and was about to speak when he saw that Lucy had fallen back asleep. Her hair was all over the pillow, and there were pale violet smudges beneath her eyes. Even exhausted, Nick thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He placed the tray silently on the nightstand. There was a cry from down the hall, and Dexter gave a low woof and took off. Nick followed him, shaking his head. Everything was upside down this morning.

“Hey, sweetie,” he said, going into his daughter’s bedroom. “You’re supposed to be fast asleep, and Mom’s supposed to be awake and digging into her Mommy’s Day breakfast—care to tell me what’s going on?”

Six-month-old Paris Rose beamed up at him delightedly, and Nick felt the surge of love he experienced every time he looked at her. It was so fierce it almost frightened him the first time he felt it, the day Paris arrived in the world and he held her in his arms, blinking in wonder. He picked her up now, and she nestled against him, warm and sweet-smelling, absolutely perfect.

“Nick?” Lucy called.

He smiled and went back into the main bedroom with Paris. Lucy was sitting up in bed, tucking daintily into her breakfast.

“This is delicious!” she announced. “Did you make it?”

“With a little help from Paris and Dexter,” he replied, joining her on the bed and leaning over for a kiss. “Happy First Mother’s Day.”

Lucy dabbed some ketchup from the side of her mouth and opened her card, and Nick watched her take in the words he’d written, words he hoped expressed some of the joy she’d given him.

She looked up at him and said softly, “Thank you.”

Paris bounced in his arms and reached out for her mother and as his wife reached for their baby, and Dexter barked and jumped onto the bed, his tail wagging wildly, Nick suddenly wished he could capture this moment and keep it forever. He didn’t know how he could contain all the love he felt without it somehow brimming over.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Mmm,” Lucy nodded.

As he left the room, Nick glanced back. Lucy was holding Paris, blowing bubbles into her neck to make her giggle. And he set aside the wish he’d had to capture the moment, because he knew there’d be a lifetime of moments like this. They were just waiting.

A word about the author...

Dawn Douglas lives with her three children and writes in Colorado.

She loves reading, writing, cooking and occasionally traveling.

~*~

Other Dawn Douglas titles

available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.:

AN ACCIDENTAL KISS

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