Wishing for Wonderful (Serendipity #3)(39)

The following Saturday night Lindsay and Matthew had their first date. She wore a black dress that was a bit snug in some spots and a smidgen low in others. He noticed immediately.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “A lot different than the lab coat.” He didn’t have to say anything more. The look in his eyes said it for him.

“I hope that means what I think it means.” Lindsay looked square into his eyes, and this time she didn’t look away when the thirty seconds were up. That’s the rule—thirty seconds of eye-to-eye contact is flirtatious; anything more is an invitation—and that’s exactly what she intended it to be.

“I know you like Italian,” Matthew said nervously, “but there’s this wonderful little French place in downtown Philly and I was thinking—”

Before he could finish the thought, she said, “I like French even better.”

On the drive to Philadelphia they spoke of many things: music, books, food, travel, childhood memories and mutual friends, but the topic of conversation that never surfaced was Matthew’s moved-to-Seattle fiancé. Hopefully she was the past and this was an evening for new beginnings.

Bistrot La Minette was everything Lindsay could wish for: cozy, intimate and full of charm.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“I thought you’d like it,” Matthew said. “I do too. It reminds me of Paris. Have you ever been there?”

Lindsay answered no and then asked if he had.

“Yes, twice,” he said.

Her tongue itched to ask who he’d been there with, but she bit back the words. Lindsay had always thought of Paris as a place for lovers, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d taken Brianna there. Before those thoughts could blossom, he spoke again.

“I spent the summer of my junior year in France. It was Mike Trent, two guys he knew from Duke and me. We backpacked from Provence to Paris then stayed there for five days.”

“I’m so jealous,” she said jokingly. “I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”

As Lindsay toyed with the stem of her wine glass, he reached across the table and touched his hand to hers. His gesture was not one of those passing happenstances. It was deliberate to the point of being meaningful. It both asked and offered. She gave him a smile of acceptance.

Across the candlelit table, Lindsay saw something she’d never noticed before. Matthew looked exactly like her father. He was so obviously a man with principles.

After dinner they strolled through the park, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She gave a slight shiver.

“Chilly?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she answered and snuggled a bit closer.

Lindsay was tall, and where most men had to settle for holding hands or circling her waist Matthew’s arm looped across her shoulders perfectly. The air was brisk and the sky clear, so they walked for over an hour. Matthew searched out Orion in the sky and then the Big Dipper. He pointed to them and as Lindsay looked up she leaned deeper into his arms. It was long past midnight when he kissed her goodnight, and by then Lindsay knew she was falling in love.

~

Did you notice the POW moment? It was in the park when he put his arm around Lindsay. Yeah, yeah, I know. You expected a steamy love scene, right? Those romance novels will be the death of me. It’s never the way those books tell it, but humans go right on thinking it will be. That’s why a lot of them miss out on the beauty of what I give them. Panting, sweating and bodice-ripping are definitely not my style.

True love happens with the brush of an eyelash or the touch of a hand. It’s gentle and sweet. It tells a woman, “I’m here, and I’ll be here forever.” Lust comes panting and sweating. It says, “I’m here, baby, but who knows where I’ll be tomorrow.”

Now which one would you really rather have?

I thought so.





In the light of morning, Lindsay began to think back on the evening and one troublesome thing kept picking at her mind. Who had Matthew taken to Paris the second time? It wouldn’t have been his buddies. Guys do that once, but it’s not likely he’d return with them a second time. Paris was the city of love. It was a place for picnicking on the grass, strolling along the Seine and kissing under the Eiffel Tower. She thought back to her first day on the job and the observation that Matthew resembled so many of the handsome men she’d dated.

She groaned. “Oh dear, maybe this is a mistake. Maybe this is Phillip all over again.”

When she arrived at the breakfast table, Lindsay’s forehead was crumpled with worry.

“Did you and Matthew have a nice time last night?” Eleanor asked.

“Yes,” she answered and left it at that.

“Is something wrong?” her father asked.

Lindsay gave another short end-of-the road answer. “No.”

“Well, you look like something’s wrong,” he said. “If something’s wrong speak up—”

“Hush, John, leave her alone,” Eleanor cut in. “Lindsay’s just tired this morning.”

Lindsay waited until he’d finished his eggs and gone off to read his newspaper in the den. But the moment he was out of sight, she turned to Eleanor and asked, “Did Matthew ever take Brianna to Paris?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Eleanor answered. “He took Gracie, and another time he went with some fellows from college, but I don’t know of—”