Tempting Donovan Ford (26 page)

She didn’t say anything. She wanted to look away, to look at anything but him. Her eyes stayed locked on his.

“If that’s not an option, then I want you to have La Petite Bouchée.”

Julia swallowed. She really needed a sip of that coffee, but her shaking hands made that impossible. She clasped them together in her lap, digging her fingers into the backs in an attempt to gain hold of her roiling emotions. “I told you I need to think about that.”

“Why?” There was no underlying note of whining or irritation in his question. Just simple curiosity.

“Because I do.” Because she feared that accepting the offer would be accepting him, too, and she didn’t know if she could handle that. He’d burned her once. Could she trust him not to do it again?

“Julia, La Petite Bouchée is your dream.”

But was it? She’d been thinking about that, too. Yes, La Petite Bouchée reminded her of her mother, of the loving relationship they’d had. But did she really need the restaurant for that? She had her memories, her photographs, her love of food. All of those were part of her mother’s legacy. “You know, I’m not sure that it is.” She saw his blink of surprise. “I want to own a restaurant, yes. That dream hasn’t changed, but I’m not sure it needs to be La Petite Bouchée.”

He scratched the side of his jaw, then shook his head. “I’m not buying it. You love that restaurant.”

“Buy whatever you want. I’m not for sale.”

“Is that what you think? That I’m trying to buy you?”

She hadn’t, not consciously, but now that he’d put it out there, she wondered if that hadn’t been hiding in the back of her mind, just waiting for a chance to surge to the forefront. She shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Donovan. I’m only telling you my own thoughts on the matter.”

“If not La Petite Bouchée, then what? You have something else lined up?”

“No.” She couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. “But I will. My investors are motivated and we’re actively looking for the right space.”

“I’m offering you the right space.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand you. A month ago, this was all you wanted.”

“A month ago, I thought you trusted me. I thought we were a team.”

“We were.” His hand moved across the table and this time he didn’t stop. She didn’t meet him halfway, not even a tenth of the way. She leaned back in her seat, staying out of range unless he were to get up out of his seat and come around. He didn’t pull back, just remained in the same position, palms facing up, a silent plea for her. “We could be again.”

She steeled her heart. “No, Donovan. We couldn’t.”

“We could.” His eyes caught hers and held. Reminded her of how he’d made her feel like something precious. “I’ve missed you. I want to fix this. All of this.”

Her eyes prickled and she blinked rapidly to prevent tears from rising. “I can’t do this, Donovan.”

“Do what?”

“This.” She waved a hand between them. “All of this. It clouds my judgment. I need to figure out what I want on my own.” Maybe if she’d done that in the first place, considered her own wants and needs instead of simply assuming that she needed to follow in her mother’s footsteps, she wouldn’t be in this situation now.

“You’ve had almost a month.”

She nodded. “I know. But I need more time.”

“Julia.”

She held her breath, afraid that if he pushed, if he came around the table and took her in his arms, she’d crumble. She’d let those raging emotions—the ones that reminded her she loved him, too, and that people made mistakes and that everything from his body language to his actions showed that he was being sincere—take over.

But he didn’t. He simply watched her, his expression so open and transparent that she’d have to actively choose to ignore what was there. “How long?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in and her heart to start beating again. “I don’t know.” She really didn’t. Her mind was so frazzled that she couldn’t think. A minute, a day, a decade? “I’m sorry, Donovan. I’d tell you if I knew.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

But it didn’t feel okay. And sitting there, his gaze on her, knowing that all she had to do was reach out to have everything she’d wanted so badly only a few weeks earlier, scared her. Because what if she’d been wrong a month ago? What if his presence, so prominent and potent, had confused her into making the wrong choice?

Suddenly, her flippant remark to Owen about heading to Paris for some R & R didn’t seem so crazy. In fact, it was starting to sound pretty good.

True, she was saving up to ensure a larger piece of whatever restaurant she decided to buy, but more important than that was making sure she chose the right restaurant. And with La Petite Bouchée back in the game and Donovan pushing hard, she wasn’t sure she could make an unbiased decision. Not in Vancouver, where it was too easy for him to find her.

And although he’d indicated that he’d give her time, Donovan Ford wasn’t the type to sit back and let things happen. No, he’d be in there directing and guiding to ensure the outcome he wanted. She knew he would. The same way he’d slowly inserted himself into her life until it seemed he’d always been a part of it. He’d do it again. And she’d let him because she still loved him.

Oh, God. She
loved
him. And he’d betrayed her.

She took a long walk home, wandering along the sidewalks, eyes skipping past the cheery trees springing into bloom, the daffodils bursting from the ground. All she could think was that she still loved him. But she didn’t know if she could trust him.

Her legs were tired when she finally walked up to the apartment, but her mind refused to shut down. Spinning and spinning, going over the same things she’d already thought of a thousand times until she felt as if she was caught in some sort of tornado. And she knew what she needed to do to get her thoughts in order.

It was easy to buy a same-day ticket as a single traveler. Before the sun had even set, Julia had packed a carry-on bag, printed off a ticket, grabbed her passport and headed to Vancouver International Airport. She made two phone calls from the cab. One to The Sun Café to tell them that she wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. And one to Sasha so that someone would know where she was.

She considered calling Owen but decided against it. Yes, he’d been fully supportive of her, but he’d also brought Donovan to her workplace. And she knew Owen wanted her to go back to La Petite Bouchée. But she wasn’t ready to make that decision. Not yet.

As she watched the city disappear below, she felt some of her concerns slip away, and by the time they neared Orly airport ten hours later, she almost could believe she’d left them behind in Vancouver along with most of her clothes. And she knew she’d made the right decision to get away from everything in that city, the confusion, the worry, the love, and go back to the place where she’d first found herself.

Paris.

Where she’d learned about herself, found her own personal space in the world and grown as both a chef and person. In Paris, she could just be herself. She could inhale the culture, the language, the food and wine, and those would help her uncover what she needed to move forward.

The plane bumped down, the jolt lurching Julia up and down. Much like life in general. The plane unloaded, dropping her off into a world she well knew and still loved. Julia probably could have called one of her old friends, any number of her former coworkers who still called the City of Light home, and found one who would be happy to put her up for a few days. But she didn’t want contact with anybody. Even the well-meaning chatter and questions of people unattached to the business might influence her.

Julia knew this was a decision she needed to make on her own.

She booked herself into a small room in a good hotel in the First Arondissement, in the heart of Paris. Although she’d flown through what was nighttime in Vancouver, she’d been unable to sleep. Probably a good thing, as it was evening in Paris now. The smell of the Seine, the twinkling lights that gave the city its nickname. She needed to go out and live it, reset to European time and lose herself. If only for tonight.

But she’d promised to call Sasha upon her arrival, and even though she didn’t feel like chatting, Sasha had always been a good friend to her. If all she asked was for Julia to check in, then she would. She even tried to fake some good cheer when Sasha answered.

“I’m okay,” she told Sasha even though she still didn’t feel okay.

“Oh, Jules.” Sasha sounded sad and worried. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Her throat was thick with pain and disappointment. Julia feared she might actually drown in her own tears. “I just needed to get away.”

“I don’t see why you had to go all the way to Paris,” Sasha said. Her voice sounded tinny or maybe that was the ringing in Julia’s ears. “What’s wrong with Seattle? Or Whistler?” Whistler. Where she and Donovan had decided to start fresh. Julia’s eyes prickled.

“I wanted space.” Almost five thousand miles’ worth, please.

“You could have come and stayed with me.”

Julia didn’t point out that staying with someone else would have been the opposite of space. “I appreciate the offer, but I need to figure this out on my own.” Needed to see what her feelings were when uninfluenced by the needs and wants of everyone around her, which she couldn’t do when she was surrounded by them. Even if they meant well.

“Jules, I’m worried about you.”

Julia was worried about herself, but she pasted on a smile, choosing to believe the theory that it would be audible in her voice. “I’m going to be fine. I just need a few days and then I’ll be back.” And hopefully she would have everything figured out. Or at least her next step. Which didn’t seem too much to ask. “I’ll be fine. How are you? Everything still good at the restaurant?”

It hurt to ask about La Petite Bouchée. In fact, she rarely did, but it was one way to get Sasha talking about something other than Julia’s tender heart.

“Everything is fine, though we’re all still waiting for you to realize you belong here.” There was a whiny note to Sasha’s voice. She’d been acting as executive chef since Julia’s departure, but she had no interest in running her own kitchen. She preferred to be the next person in line, which gave her almost all of the same respect and almost none of the same responsibilities. “Last night was a gong show. An absolute gong show.”

There were times Julia wondered if Sasha didn’t have the right idea. Sasha never ached for more, worried about the customer base, took work home with her. She came in, cooked her ass off and left. If Sasha were in Paris, she certainly wouldn’t be concerned about the restaurant. She’d be out shopping on the boulevards and making friends with the locals. “I’m sure you were fantastic.”

“I was. But I didn’t want to be. Come back. This is where you’re meant to be.”

But Julia was no longer sure that was true. “Maybe, maybe not. That’s what I’m here to figure out.”

Julia reassured Sasha again that she was okay and then hung up. She changed out of the pants and sweater she’d worn on the plane and into something clean. Fitted black leggings, a loose black-and-white-striped T-shirt with a bright blue sweater.

But if she hoped that all her fears and worries would fall away in clean clothes, in a new city, she’d been mistaken. They still weighed down her shoulders, made her steps heavy as she traversed the cobblestone streets and sidewalks. Still, she soldiered on. She hadn’t dipped into her tiny and hard-earned nest egg only to mope around the entire time.

Paris at any time of year was gorgeous. It was magical whether dusted with snow in winter, during the heat of summer when everyone grew tanned under the bright sun or in autumn as the land and people prepared for the cooler weather. But Julia had always loved Paris in spring. The blue, blue sky, the tree-lined streets, the glitter from the fountains and ponds that dotted the cityscape as the city and everyone in it seemed to bloom.

And on an early-spring evening, Paris glimmered. Too elegant and classy to shake and shimmy, she simply glowed with vivacity and taste. Like a perfectly cut diamond, well aware of her innate beauty and happy to display it to the world.

In her casual outfit with some dangling silver earrings and a bangle bracelet at her wrist, her hair swept back in a loose knot, Julia decided to enjoy it. The trip didn’t have to be solely about deciding her future. She could try out some new restaurants and visit some of her old haunts to see which parts of the menu had changed. She could take a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower or visit Versailles. Two things she hadn’t done when she lived here because they’d seemed too touristy and gauche. But she wasn’t trying to impress any local-born colleagues now.

She could take the Metro into Montmartre and let one of the local artists sketch her portrait. Take a dinner-boat tour on the Seine and walk along the Champs-Élysées. Indulge herself for the first time in months and figure out exactly what she wanted from life.

She walked for a few blocks, bypassing cafés and bistros until she got to one of her old favorites. She did want to try new things, but not tonight.

Tonight, she wanted to go somewhere she’d been many times before, a place she could trust when it came to food and drink. It didn’t disappoint and she allowed herself to get lost in the flavors. Instead of picking apart each bite, trying to pinpoint each of the ingredients and their ratios, she simply ate.

She lingered over her meal as did the other patrons. In France, people knew how to enjoy their meals, slowly savoring each bite.

It seemed nothing had changed. Nothing except her. But she pushed that thought away and enjoyed her meal and the small decanter of wine she drank with it. She wandered back to her hotel, feeling full if not wholly satisfied. She wanted to feel satisfied, wanted to feel that this had been the right decision, the right place to go. Instead, she fell asleep wondering if she was ever going to feel right again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

D
ONOVAN TRIED CALLING
Julia’s cell phone before he left the office the next day, but it went straight to voice mail. She’d probably forgotten to charge it again. On the plus side, her inbox wasn’t full, so he left a message on the off chance she’d think to check it. He considered calling La Petite Bouchée
,
but was pretty sure that Sasha would be less than thrilled to hear from him. She might technically be an employee, but she was also Julia’s best friend. And Donovan knew which one was more important to her.