One Summer in Paris

Tonight was her date with Etienne.

Anxiety flashed through her. Not because Audrey reminded her of Sophie, but because Audrey reminded her of herself.

She’d been exactly Audrey’s age when she’d first arrived in Paris. Granted, she hadn’t had Audrey’s street smarts, but she’d had the same almost giddy excitement at finally being away from home. It had felt like an escape. Freedom, finally.

And that feeling of freedom could lead to problems. It was like letting a puppy off the leash for the first time. Why was it that she had more concern for Audrey than she had for Sophie?

Probably because Sophie had inherited almost all David’s traits. She was sensible, practical and reliable.

On the surface Grace was all those things, too. She was the only one who knew that underneath she was someone quite different. She’d buried that part of herself but somehow being with Audrey had uncovered it.

She walked to the little kitchen and unwrapped the cheese she’d bought earlier.

With no one to feed but herself, she hadn’t seen the point in spending hours fussing in the kitchen so she’d bought a selection of good French cheese, a baguette with a perfect golden crust, some grapes, a ripe pear and a bottle of good red wine.

Wine.

She didn’t drink, but tonight she was drinking.

Something else she wouldn’t have done had she been with David.

It was the ultimate departure from her old life.

She added cheese to her plate and broke a chunk off the baguette. Then she poured half a glass of wine and took it back to the little bistro table that lay in a pool of lazy, hazy sunshine.

There was a clatter from upstairs, followed by the muted sound of swearing.

Grace glanced up toward the open window and wondered if she should check on her.

No, Audrey wasn’t her responsibility. She didn’t want to be overbearing.

She sliced into the cheese and spread a little on the bread. It tasted like heaven.

The moment she took her first sip of wine, she remembered.

They’d taken a picnic to the river. Philippe had spread out a blanket and unloaded a feast from a bag. Local sausage, fresh figs, bread still warm from the bakery. He was the one who had pressed a glass of wine into her hand, even though she told him she didn’t drink. Up until that point she hadn’t touched a drop.

“This isn’t drinking,” he’d said, lifting his glass to hers. “It’s living. You need to live, Grace. Not just a little, but a lot.”

She hadn’t disagreed.

Food, she’d discovered, tasted different in France, and Philippe was the one who had introduced her to all the different flavors. The first time he kissed her, she wasn’t sure if the turmoil inside her was from the wine or his kiss.

He’d invited her to live a life that was far from the one she was used to.

For a short time, she’d lost herself in the world he’d created.

With Philippe she’d discovered the secret Paris. Not the sites that attracted the crowds, like the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower, but those hidden gems that the locals talked about in whispers and rarely mentioned in guidebooks. They’d strolled hand in hand along the riverbank, enjoyed long leisurely breakfasts in arty cafés, lain together in dappled sunshine on lawns that sloped down to the river. They’d explored crooked streets and little-known art galleries.

It was as if a curtain had been lifted, revealing an alternate life. She’d seen possibilities, and a world she wanted so badly it was like the most painful type of hunger.

Now, years later and with one swallow of red wine, that feeling was back.

She took another sip of wine, and finished the cheese. If Paris had a taste, it was this. The fruity tang of red wine and the smooth creamy texture of good goat’s cheese eaten at room temperature while the last of the sunlight spilled through the open doors.

She’d been determined not to think about Philippe, but now she could think of nothing else. The past swirled into her mind, cascading past all the barriers she’d built.

She stared at her laptop.