By this time, my wine buzz had worn off and I was getting a little anxious. Was this a date or not? Were things going to get romantic—or at least a little sexy—between us? I was ready to admit that I wanted them to—he was the complete opposite of my usual type, but there was something about him that appealed to me. I wanted to know what it was like to be with him…that way. But was he attracted to me like I was to him? Maybe he still just felt sorry for me. Biting my thumbnail, I decided to skip shopping and just walk back to my hotel.
I also needed to give some consideration to my own motives. Yesterday I’d been heartbroken over my aborted nuptials. As recently as last night, I’d compared Tucker’s looks to Lucas’s, unfavorably. Was I on the rebound already? Just looking for a warm body to show me some proper attention?
Because Hook Up With Scruffy Half-French Musician/Bartender was so not on the Paris list.
But did I even have to care if it was just a rebound fling? Would Lucas? We were two consenting adults. We were allowed to have some fun, right?
Finally, I dropped my hand to my side and sighed.
Jesus, Mia, stop thinking so much. No need to overanalyze. If something happens tonight, let it happen, and if it doesn’t—no big deal. You met a new friend who gave you the courage to do something on your own you never would have done. Now stop trying to f**king plan everything. Just go with the flow.
When I got up to my room, the message light was blinking on my phone.
Dreading the sound of my mother’s nervous tittering, I played the message, but it turned out to be Coco. A smile took over my face at the sound of her low, smoky voice.
“Hi, honey! Just checking in with you to see how things are going. We’re thinking about you all the time and dying to know what you’re up to. How’s the wine? The food, the shopping, the men? We can’t wait to hear all about it and we hope you’re misbehaving just enough. Love you, babe.”
I thought about calling her back, but decided I’d wait one more day—perhaps I’d have something more exciting to tell her after my maybe-date with Lucas.
There was a second message, which was indeed my mother, fussing nonstop for three entire minutes about my physical and mental well-being. Holding the phone away from my ear, I rolled my eyes and hung it up before she even finished. No way was I calling her back. This day had turned out to be a lot of fun, with the promise of more to come. The last thing I wanted was to let my mother’s nerves bring me down.
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.