One Summer in Paris

So now she had a decision to make.

Should she tell Grace he was here?

Or should she keep that information to herself?

Audrey

Audrey rolled over in bed and discovered she was alone. The rumpled sheets and the dip in the pillow next to her told her she hadn’t imagined the night before.

She sat up, bleary-eyed. There was her dress on the floor. Her shoes by the door. Her clothes, signposting the events of the previous evening.

In the end they’d gone to a bar. He’d ordered a fashionable brand of beer and insisted she try one, too. The music had been so loud they’d had to sit nose to nose in order to have a conversation, although to be fair they’d done more kissing than talking. They’d been so wrapped up each other, he hadn’t noticed that she hadn’t touched her drink.

Etienne had known a lot of people. They’d drifted past, speaking rapid French, but Etienne had always replied in English so that Audrey was included.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She liked him. She liked him.

And there was nothing wrong with her.

Remembering, she smiled.

There was the sound of a door opening and then he shouldered his way into the room carrying a tray. He paused in the doorway and grinned. “You’re still here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He gave a shrug that was as cute as it was awkward. “Morning after. Things look different in daylight, no?”

If anything, he looked even better than he had the night before.

She wished she had sprinted to the bathroom and at least brushed her hair. “I had fun last night.”

“Me, too. I don’t know what you like for breakfast, so I made a selection.” His chest was bare, but he’d pulled on a pair of shorts. They rode low over his hips and she felt her mouth dry.

They hadn’t said much to each other the night before, but what if he suddenly wanted to talk? What if he picked a topic she knew nothing about? She didn’t want to look stupid. She felt more self-conscious about conversation than she did about sex.

She sat up in bed, holding the sheet across her breasts.

“Your apartment is like a hotel.”

“My parents’ apartment.” He put the tray on the bed. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with warm croissant. His hair flopped over his forehead and his jaw was dark with morning shadow.

He was so unbearably cute her stomach clenched.

“So they’re like mega successful, I’m guessing.” She reached for a croissant. “Should I use a plate? I don’t want to get crumbs everywhere.”

“If you do, I’ll lick them off you.” He leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re incredible. Your hair looks as if it’s on fire.”

No one had ever told her she was incredible before.

The way he looked at her made her feel incredible.

The croissant was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Buttery, flaky and still warm. “Where did you buy this?”

“At the bakery next door.” He slid off his shorts and joined her in bed, making a grab for the coffee before it spilled everywhere. “Are you tired? We didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

“I feel great. Are your mum and dad away all summer?”

“They get out of Paris and go to the beach.” He was casual about it. “My dad’s an investor, so he works from home.”