“So you’re traveling in first class, enjoying a glass of wine or bourbon, and just reading up on Paris on the flight, looking all classy in your tailored slacks and a dress shirt.”
“You’ve got this complete image of what I wore on the plane,” he says, clearly amused.
“Tailored business clothes are hot. What can I say? Don’t ruin it and tell me that you wore sweatpants or a track suit.”
He laughs lightly. “I didn’t wear sweatpants or a track suit on the plane.”
“Is that because you’re an executive? It’s probably forbidden, right?” I adopt a schoolmarm voice. “No executive shall wear casual clothes on a plane. You must maintain the image of an executive anytime you fly.”
“Yes, I wore a dress shirt and tailored slacks,” he says, glancing down at his jeans and polo, which is just the right amount of snug, showing off his strong arms. “This afternoon, I went casual since I didn’t have any meetings,” he says, but his voice is a little distant, almost coolly professional for a moment, and I’m not sure why.
Before I can think more on it, we round the bend past some tall hedges into a quieter section of the park. We’ve stumbled into a small garden that feels almost secret, tucked away. Just beyond the immaculately trimmed rose bushes I can hear the faint gurgling of water. I follow Finn around them till we reach a large fountain with water cascading into an emerald pool below us, like a grotto with an iron railing around it. At the base of the fountain are two carved lovers, twined together.
“The Medici Fountain. For now, we’re the only ones here. Soon we won’t be. But I wanted to show you,” he says, and I love that he planned this for me.
“It’s so different than the rest of the gardens,” I whisper. Trees canopy the fountain, giving us shade that makes the spot feel more intimate. This is not on the list Camden and I made. I’ll add it myself, though, because it belongs there.
It’s as if we’ve left the city and found the country, all alone in these secluded gardens. A sweet floral scent lingers in the air, making me feel like I’m caught in a hazy dream as the afternoon sun shines down on the pool, casting a golden glow. At last, this is the Paris in my mind. “I think even the sun wears rose-colored glasses in this garden,” I say.
Finn smiles, clearly satisfied. He should be. “Did I understand the assignment, or what?”
“You did.” I drink it all in, wanting to remember every detail—like the flower pots next to the statue. I point to them. “That’s sort of quaint. Flower pots in the midst of this,” I say as I head to them then sniff. “Pansies.”
Joining me, he leans in and inhales. “You and your scents,” he says then tilts his head. “What’s it all about, Jules, your love of scents?”
This man pays attention. He listens, but he sees too. He notices me. “They make me happy.” That simple admission is a strangely vulnerable one. But he deserves it. He’s earned it. He took me here.
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?” I toss back, but he waits patiently for me to give some kind of an answer. “I’ve always been drawn to scents. Maybe I just have a good nose. But there’s just something about perfume and flowers and gardens that does it for me. I wish I could explain it better. But they speak to me. I close my eyes, inhale, and I feel…transported.”
I draw a deep inhale, catching that fire and leather scent of him, then falling back in time. Earlier today, he must have splashed on cologne at his hotel. Closing my eyes, I see Finn in front of the mirror, freshening up. Did he think at that moment that he might run into me? Was he hoping, as he put on his cologne, to see me? A just-in-case hint of his mysterious scent?
When I open my eyes, I feel wobbly.
“Where did you go a few seconds ago? To a memory?”
Instantly, I’m rooted to the now. “I read somewhere that the sense of smell is the one most closely tied to memory. Maybe that’s why I’m attracted to scents,” I say, connecting the dots inside of me.
“Did you think of the past just now?”
I shake my head. “No. Just a few hours ago. It’s not even my memory. It’s my…imagination…You. Your room. Putting on your cologne. Setting down the glass bottle, adjusting your shirt, leaving.”
His eyes darken, and his smile disappears as he stares at me like he can’t look away. “You pictured it.” He sounds intrigued and aroused.
“And I imagined you wanting to see me,” I admit, since I want it to be true.
He glances down at his clothes. “I didn’t have meetings today. That’s true. But mostly I dressed like this because I hoped to see you. I knew we were staying in the same hotel.” His jaw tightens for a beat before he lets go. “I chose that one because you were staying in it.”
That’s…obsessive. And I like it. I grab hold of the iron railing so I don’t throw myself at him. “Well, it’s a nice hotel too,” I say dryly.
“Yeah. Nice because I wanted to run into you.”
I can barely catch my breath. “Same for me.”
He looks behind him, perhaps checking to see if the coast is clear. It’s still just us here at the Medici Fountain. He stares at me in the way only a lover can. Intense. Passionate.
“Fuck it,” he says, then he drags his thumb along my cheek and comes in for a kiss.
It’s a heady, dreamy one in the middle of the gardens that makes me feel a little lost and a little found all at once.
When he breaks it, we wander through the rest of the tourist attraction as if the kiss didn’t happen.
Like it’s just a memory now.
22
ALL THE OTHER THINGS
Finn
The next morning, I’m sitting at a sleek black metal table in a conference room in the offices of a luxury goods marketing partner. Several stories below us, Rue Saint-Honoré bustles with shoppers and expensive cars, with the nearby Opéra Garnier just visible at the corner of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
But the city’s not what’s distracting me. Thoughts of a woman are.
I’m doing my damnedest to pay attention to the presentation the brand is giving my team and me about the superior quality of their luggage and the way their advertisements will reflect The Rendezvous.
But my mind is half here, and half on Jules.
“When we run this campaign, we can show the snippets of the characters with their luggage,” Henri says, gesturing to the image projected on the wall—a mockup of one of the scenes from the show.
It’ll be set in the character’s flat in Le Marais. Did Jules arrange details for that flat? Did she set up the shooting schedule for that day? Is she there right now?
“So we’ll integrate the travel aspect of the series into all our marketing, just as the show is slated to integrate our goods,” Henri says with a professional smile, tinged with hope that this deal will come through.
And it probably will, if I sign off on these plans that were ironed out by the prior majority owners.
Plans—the things I didn’t make with Jules yesterday when I took her back to the hotel. She was yawning the whole time in the car, struggling to stay awake. When we reached the lobby, her eyes fluttered closed and I said a chaste goodnight, not the words go out with me tomorrow that were on my lips.