It is perfection. And in perfection, there is seduction. Because maybe if you stay long enough in a city that’s so perfect, you’ll find perfection in your own life, too.
The night before I was scheduled to leave for the junket in London, I worked late and walked home alone, looking forward to a night by myself, for once. Poppy had left for London a day early to visit some friends and work out some last-minute details at the hotel. As I turned down my street and started walking the several yards to my building’s front door, I stared up at the Eiffel Tower, which loomed over me from two blocks away. For the hundredth time, I marveled at how lucky I was to live here. How could I honestly live in the shadow of that and consider, even for a moment, leaving to go back to my old life?
I was so focused on the Eiffel Tower that I didn’t notice the door to the American Library swing open in front of me. Nor did I notice a man walk out, balancing a tall stack of books that swayed uncertainly to and fro as he looked in the opposite direction. In fact, I didn’t notice anything but the Eiffel Tower until I ran smack-dab into the man, sending the books flying everywhere.
“Oh!” I exclaimed in horror. “I’m so sorry! Um, je suis désolée! Is there anything I can do to . . .”
My voice trailed off in midsentence as the man stood up and grinned at me.
“Well hello, Emma,” he said. “Imagine running into you here. Literally.”
My jaw dropped.
“Gabe,” I said stiffly. “It’s you.”
“Indeed it is,” Gabe agreed cheerfully. He looked down at the books lying around us like a pile of rubble. “I suppose this was your revenge for the little incident in your office with the box of pens?”
“What? No!” I said sharply. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to run into you!”
“Mmm, so you say,” Gabe said, arching an eyebrow at me.
I stared at him for a moment before I realized that he was kidding. I smiled reluctantly. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one not looking where I was going, you know.”
“Duly noted,” he said with a mock-solemn nod. “Now, don’t you think we’d better clean up this mess?”
I bent to help Gabe pick up all the books. “Big weekend of reading?” I asked as I stacked the final one—a James Patterson novel—on the sidewalk beside him.
“I don’t know about you, but I have a junket to go to,” Gabe said with a little grin. “This is just some light reading for the train ride over.”
I smiled. “Good plan.” I paused and looked down. “Hey, I meant to thank you for the nice article the other day,” I said softly.
“Oh, that?” Gabe waved a dismissive hand. “No need to thank me.”
“Yeah, but—” I paused. “The interview was a little weird. I know Guillaume was not exactly . . . nice to you. You could have been a little harsher on him in the article. I appreciate you going easy on him.”
Gabe sighed. “Look,” he said. “This isn’t easy for me to say. The guy’s a nutcase. But Guillaume is very talented, Emma, even if he’s an obnoxious bricon. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t the truth.”
I just looked at him. After a moment, he rolled his eyes and smiled.
“Fine, fine,” he said. “Also, my editors make sure I stay nice.”
“Oh,” I said awkwardly. I didn’t know why I was suddenly feeling tongue-tied. I realized it was the first time I’d seen Gabe out of work attire. He was dressed casually in dark jeans, a gray T-shirt, and maroon Pumas, and I had to admit, he didn’t quite look like the annoying journalistic foe I usually thought of him as. He looked great.
“So, Emma, I’m glad I ran into you,” Gabe said. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“Oh.” Inwardly, I groaned. It was just my luck that I’d be cornered on the street by the very journalist who seemed to be a master at getting his way. “What is it?” I braced myself for him to ask me about Guillaume’s mental state. Or his alleged alcohol addiction. Or something equally horrifying.
“Do you skate?” he asked. I blinked at him a few times in confusion. Was that code for something embarrassing? Was it some sort of French slang?
“What?” I asked.
“Do you skate?” Gabe repeated.
“Like . . . with roller skates?” I asked tentatively.
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes! Do you?”
I stared at him for a moment. With his bright eyes and his big smile, I swore he looked just as crazy as Guillaume for a moment. I blinked a few times.
“Um, yes,” I said after a moment. “I mean, I used to sometimes in Florida. But . . . why?”
“Excellent!” Gabe exclaimed. He beamed at me. “You must come skating with me tonight!”
I furrowed my brow at him. “What?”
“The Pari Roller!” he said excitedly, as if I would know exactly what he was talking about. Of course I hadn’t a clue.
“The what?”
“The Pari Roller,” he repeated. “Every Friday night, twenty thousand people meet in the fourteenth arrondissement and skate all over Paris!”