“I have to work until two,” he complained.
“Better get right home afterward, then. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow if you’re going to sell Paris to me in just one day.”
He groaned and opened the cab door, and I flashed him a victory smile. I’d sort of been expecting at least a hug or something, but he didn’t go in for one, so I didn’t either. Sliding into the back seat, I lifted a hand in farewell as he shut the door and did the same.
It was oddly disappointing.
#
The next morning I woke at eight, showered, and donned the smaller of the two robes that hung in the bathroom. Humming along with Kate Nash’s “Paris”, one of my favorite songs on the Paris playlist, I let my curls air-dry as I sipped a delicious pot of room-service coffee, nibbled on strawberries and pain au chocolat, and sifted through my clothes for just the right outfit. According to the English-language newspaper that had been waiting at my door, the day would be overcast but not rainy, and the temperature mild.
Hmmmm. Tapping a finger on my lips, I considered my wardrobe. I wanted to look nice but not like I was trying hard—because I wasn’t—but I needed to be comfortable too. My flats had been OK for walking yesterday, but I thought I might go with sneakers today. I paired them with my favorite jeans, rolled up, and a plain white tank top. In case I got chilly, I tossed a soft little sweater in watermelon pink over my shoulders.
Once I was dressed, I put on some mascara and fussed a little with my hair, but really, there wasn’t much I could do once it was dry. Kerastase made products I loved, but sometimes my curls had a mind of their own. Today, thankfully, they were behaving properly.
I finished my coffee and was brushing my teeth when the front desk called up letting me know I had a guest in the lobby. I rinsed, spit, and put on my favorite lip balm before slinging my bag over my shoulder and rushing out the door.
On the elevator ride down, my stomach was actually jumping—what the hell? I put a hand over it and reminded myself not to expect too much out of this day. Lucas was a nice guy and all, maybe even a little attractive, but there was no guarantee I was going to enjoy his company for hours on end, nor he mine. In fact, this day could be totally awkward if we didn’t have anything in common. I’d have to think of an excuse to cut out early if that was the case.
After exiting the elevator, I walked into the elegant lobby and scanned the crowd.
“Looking for someone?” The voice came from behind me, and I turned to find Lucas standing there, hands in his pockets.
I smiled. “This time, I am.”
He returned the smile before leaning in and kissing me, once on each cheek. Was it my imagination, or was he cuter this morning than he’d been at the bar last night? Was something different? I took a quick inventory—no, the scruff was still there and the hair was still kind of a mess. Jesus, did the man own a comb?
But his outfit wasn’t bad. The gray pants from last night were making a repeat performance, but on top he wore a white shirt and a cardigan sweater. It was cute in a sort of nerdy-chic way.
We exited the hotel and Lucas gestured left. “This way.”
“Where are we going?” I fell in step beside him.
“For coffee.”
A sound of frustration escaped me. “I’ve already had coffee! I want to see something!”
“Relax, princess. We’re going to stroll up the Champs-Élysées like proper tourists and then sit at a cafe and have coffee in view of the Arc de Triomphe. You’ll be able to cross two famous sights off your list.”
“How you do know I have a list?”
He grinned sideways at me. “Just a guess.”
Pursing my lips, I smacked him on the shoulder. “You said no analyzing today.”
His eyes lit up. “Oh my God, you’ve got a list for everything, don’t you? I bet you even have one that says ‘Tuesday Morning: blue jeans, pink sweater, gray sneakers.’” He raised his voice to a high feminine pitch to mimic me. “Outfit change at four forty-five into cocktail dress and black heels.”
“Stop it. I do not.” I lifted my chin and kept walking, refusing to look at him lest my expression give me away. How f**king annoying that his stupid analyses of me were so spot-on.
Lucas laughed. “I was kidding, but you do, don’t you? You do have an outfit list!”
“So what if I do? What’s wrong with being organized and planning ahead? I’m good at that.” I’d always thought of my well-preparedness as an asset, so why were my cheeks so hot?
“Nothing’s wrong with it at all, princess.” He took my elbow to pull me up a side street, and I tugged it from his grasp.
“Stop calling me that. I’m not a princess.”
“Says the girl staying at the Plaza Athenee.”
“I’m not paying for it, remember? The ex-fiance?”
Lucas paused. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about him.”
“I wish I could forget about him.”
“You can. You will.” He tossed his arm over my shoulder and squeezed for just a moment, surprising me. “I’m sorry I teased you.”
We walked slowly up the Champs, stopping occasionally so I could ooh and ahh over the merchandise in store windows lining the avenue. I entered a few shops, but he chose to wait outside each time, never telling me to hurry up or complaining that he hadn’t had his coffee yet, like Tucker would have. Tucker didn’t get the point of window shopping—if he liked something he saw, he bought it.