One Summer in Paris

“No one can reach the age of forty-seven and not change.”

“Life sculpts you into a certain shape, that’s true, but it’s almost always better. Just as some wines are better when they have had time to mature. This is probably the reason older women are invariably more interesting than younger ones.”

David hadn’t thought so. He’d chosen the younger one.

“Some people find youth attractive.”

“Those with an unsophisticated palate. There is nothing more attractive than a confident, older woman.” There was an intimacy to his gaze that made her deliciously aware of her body. She felt the tingling of her skin, the stirring low in her belly and the rapid thud of her heart.

After so many years with David, it came as a shock to realize she could be so intensely attracted to another man.

“You like my dress.”

“I like what’s in the dress. Age brings a level of freedom, doesn’t it?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You can take more chances. You have less to lose.”

She had nothing to lose.

Her whole body felt charged and on edge, as if she’d been plugged into a power source. She had to be careful. David’s brutal rejection had left her feeling needy, and Audrey’s makeover had left her feeling reckless. It was a risky combination.

Between her and Philippe there was a shimmer of tension. An awareness that she felt as an ache in her throat and stomach.

They talked until the waiters had cleared the table, until the sun had set and most of the other diners had left.

It was only when she felt a chill on her arms that she realized it was late.

“I should probably go.”

“Why? Is there a curfew?”

“No.”

“Then why rush?”

“Habit, I guess. Do you live near here?”

“Close. My apartment is ten minutes away. Join me for coffee.” He said it casually, but there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes.

And she knew he wasn’t offering her coffee.

“I’d like that.” It hadn’t been part of the plan, but she no longer really had a plan. She’d always been frightened to let life just happen. She’d seen spontaneity as being about lack of control, but now she realized it didn’t have to be that at all. She was still in control. Still making the decisions. She’d thought it was important to know everything that was going to happen, but she’d never appreciated the fun of not knowing.

His eyes darkened, and she finally acknowledged that this had never just been about dinner. The moment she’d sent that friend request, she’d known they might end up here.

Deep down she’d been asking a question she’d never asked herself before. What would have happened between her and Philippe if she hadn’t left?

In a way, Philippe represented the life she hadn’t chosen.

He stood up and insisted on paying the bill even though she argued.

He pressed the tips of his fingers over her mouth to silence her. “You can pay next time.”

Grace agreed, surprised how badly she wanted there to be a next time.

As they walked from the restaurant, he looped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and slid her arm around his waist. It was as if her body had suddenly woken up from a long sleep.

“This is it.” He paused outside a tall, elegant building. “I live on the top floor. I keep everyone awake with my piano playing.”

She couldn’t think of anything she’d like more than to be woken by the sound of the piano, especially if he was the one playing it.