He shrugged. “Well, Paris is a romantic place.”
“Paris can kiss my ass.”
“Why don’t I get you a drink, um…”
“Mia.”
“I’m Lucas.” He offered his hand across the bar, and I shook it. ”So what’s your pleasure, Mia?” He smiled and called a greeting in French to some people entering the bar behind me.
“A plane ticket back to Detroit. I want to go home.”
“Well. Can’t help you there, but I bet you can grab a flight tomorrow. And since it’s your last night in Paris, let me pour you a glass of wine.”
“It’s my first night in Paris,” I said miserably. “And my last.”
His brown eyes went wide. “In that case, the wine’s on me. Hang on.”
Moving to the far end of the bar, he pulled a wine bottle off a shelf and poured a glass. I watched as he filled a few drink orders for other people, and noticed he spoke French with everyone but me. Although my ear wasn’t expert by any means, he sounded like a native speaker. And yet he also spoke English with a pretty good American accent. I had to admit I was a little curious about him.
Propping my chin in my hand, I looked him over more carefully. He wasn’t tall or built like Tucker, but he was slender and possibly muscular in a less obvious way. He had a trim waist and a cute butt, shown off nicely in gray pants worn more fitted than Tucker wore his. Too bad he was such a mess above the shoulders, though—that scraggly hair probably hadn’t been washed in days, and even though he had nice full lips, you could barely see them with all the scruff on his face. I thought he could be handsome if he’d invest in a razor and a good haircut.
My taste in guys is clean-shaven and neatly coiffed with a pretty face, which was Tucker Branch to a T. He was as vain as any woman I knew, worked out daily and spent hours in front of a mirror, but it never bothered me. His careful attention to his appearance meant he cared what I thought; he wanted to look good for me. As the memory of his hard, cut body underneath his gorgeous custom suits infiltrated my brain, I experienced a pang of regret. God, he’s just so good-looking. Those blue eyes. The sculpted abs. The smell of his neck when he’d cover my body with his.
“Here you go.” Lucas set down a glass of red wine, generously poured. I liked how the outside corners of his brown eyes got a little crinkly when he smiled, but he was no Tucker Branch. I’ll bet he doesn’t smell as good either. But Coco might have liked Lucas; he was more her type. I wondered if he had any tattoos.
“Thanks.” I offered a small, tight-lipped smile, and he winced.
“Jesus Christ, Mia. It can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, yes it can.”
He leaned forward onto his elbows. “Try me.”
I took a deep breath. “OK. But wine first.” Lifting the glass to my lips, I took a hefty drink. It was delicious—big and earthy and velvety on my tongue. “This is incredible,” I told him before taking another sip.
His smile deepened. “I’m glad you like it.”
After a few more swallows, I set the glass on the bar with a clink, but I didn’t let it go. I stared at my fingers on the stem as I admitted, “This trip to Paris was supposed to be my honeymoon. But my fiancé called off the wedding.”
Without a word, he walked to the end of the bar, grabbed the wine bottle from the shelf and poured more into my glass, replacing what I’d drunk.
I looked up at him gratefully. “Thanks. It’s been rough.”
“I’m sorry. Was it a total shock?”
I sighed. “Yes and no. If I’d been honest with myself, I think I would’ve realized that things weren’t perfect. But I was so caught up in planning the perfect wedding that I didn’t want to admit the marriage might be a mistake.”
Lucas nodded, leaning on the bar again. “Did he give you a reason? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”
“It’s OK.” I paused to drink some more wine before going on. “It’s nothing earth-shattering, really. He said he loved me, but that he wasn’t ready to get married yet.”
“And you were?”
“Sure. I mean, I’m twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight. I’ve always planned on being married by that age, and, you know…” I lifted my shoulders. “We were in love. We were the perfect couple.”
“Clearly.”
I narrowed my eyes. Was he making fun of me? “All I meant was I thought we were a good match at the time. I could totally see our life together.”
“You had that all planned out too, huh?”
I didn’t care how good the wine was, Lucas was starting to get on my nerves. While I wondered how to respond, several customers needed his attention and then more people came in the door, keeping him busy for the next twenty minutes. I didn’t mind, though—his last couple remarks had pissed me off. And I had bigger problems than a rude bartender, like what to do with my miserable self for the rest of the week.
Trying to be positive again, I made a list.
Things I Like About the Trip So Far
1) Seeing the Eiffel Tower.
2) This glass of wine.
And then I stopped, because I couldn’t even think of a third item for the list. Earlier I’d told my mother that I needed the alone time, but now I wasn’t sure I could handle it. But what could I do? Go home tomorrow and admit to Coco and Erin that I wasn’t as strong as they thought I was?