Plum Blossoms in Paris

a speciaL EXCERPT

Q
uickly, I scout the long promenade below. There are masses of humanity down there, and too many wear brown. Yet instantly I spot him, brown hair and blazer, pulling away from me. Perhaps it is the fact that he moves purposefully, while the others linger. My heart is squeezed by the idea that I will lose him. He is already near the exit, his steady stride stretching the distance between us like a rubber band about to snap. Damn his speed. Must he be that anxious to leave, knowing he’s left me behind? My foolish expectations winter with the chill at his back, and I start to wilt. There, he’s gone. My grip on the rail slackens, and I go limp.

“Promise me you will not jump.”

The shock of him, standing at my elbow and wearing a crooked smile. I immediately start to hiccup.

“Your jacket”—
hic
—“is gray!”

“Your eyes are blue.”

The French, of course, are famous for their seductive powers. One should really keep her guard up around them. He didn’t, after all, admit that my eyes are a pretty shade of blue, or some variation on the theme. It doesn’t matter. He could have said my eyes were the color of dried cement, and the same giddy glee would have throbbed through my bones. It is the look, not so much the words. And that look is international.

“I am Mathieu,” he says, extending his hand. He moves toward me but stops. I can tell he’s not sure about the cheek kissing—that I, as an American, might think it too forward. This consideration touches me, even as I lament the absence of those lips upon my ready cheek.

“Daisy,” I say, looking down.

I take his hand, waiting for a muffled guffaw, an ironical smile. But his hand is warm, and he presses mine lightly, letting it linger.

“Daisy, would you like to share a cup of coffee with me?”

Surprised, I look up. Our hands are still clasped, each reluctant to let go. He gestures toward the café behind us.

And that is when I start loving Paris.

For Paul

Published 2010 by Medallion Press, Inc.

The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO
is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.”

Copyright © 2010 by Sarah Hina
Cover design by Arturo Delgado
Edited by Helen A Rosburg

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro
Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-160542126-1

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition

I am deeply indebted to my agent, Jeffery McGraw, of The August Agency, for his tenacity, his handholding, and his knowledge and passion for good and smart books. His colleague, Cricket Freeman, also provided excellent support and guidance. I am very grateful to the editorial team at Medallion Press, including Helen A Rosburg, Emily Steele, and Lorie Popp, as well as Ramona Tucker, for their friendly professionalism and tireless efforts to make the novel shine. I also want to thank Christy Phillippe, who acquired the book for Medallion, Arturo Delgado, for his lovely cover art, and James Tampa, Medallion’s director of art and production.

My friendship with Jason and Aine Evans was invaluable during the rewriting process, and I will always be grateful for their help and enthusiasm. I’d also like to express my appreciation for Courtney and Tony Xenos, two friends who have shared in the joys of this journey and made my life fuller. All of my blogging buddies (you know who you are) deserve big hugs and smiley-faced emoticons.

I am happy to thank my mom, Judy Harmon, for giving me her unconditional love and support, and my dad, Bill, who provided me with an early love of literature and the discipline to follow through on my dreams. My siblings, Katherine and John, are equally important in my path, and I thank them for their great examples and cheerleading. My wonderful children, Caroline and Alex, have been very patient with Mom’s computer addiction, and I love them for that, and much more.

Lastly, I would like to single out my husband, Paul, without whom this book would not have been written. You’ve given me Paris, and so much more. From my heart, I thank you.