One Summer in Paris(43)

That was one of the great things about being an adult—you didn’t have to pretend to do things just to be cool. Anytime Audrey was at a party, she had to find a way to pretend she was drinking without actually drinking. To admit that she didn’t drink alcohol would have been like painting a target on herself.

“Chocolate,” Audrey said. “I’m addicted to chocolate. How about you?”

“I’m not addicted to anything.” Grace turned away and Audrey was left with that same uneasy feeling she always had with her mother.

She was never quite sure what she’d said to cause offense, but she’d said something. Her mother changed mood with the wind. Grace was obviously the same.

Instantly on guard, she put her glass down. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course. Door on the left.”

Left.

Audrey’s heart beat faster. Left.

She made a guess, walked confidently to the nearest door and found herself in the dressing room.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

She turned, burning up with humiliation and saw Grace frowning.

“Audrey—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m an idiot, I know. I don’t listen properly. I’ve had a long day, I’m tired, I’m not thinking straight—”

“It’s this one.” Grace stood up and walked to a different door.

“Thanks. I knew that.” Audrey pushed past her. This wasn’t a treat, it was torture.

She locked the door and stared in the mirror, willing herself to get back under control.

She had to get out of here. She’d say she felt sick.

And she was never, ever eating with some stranger she’d never met before, even if they seemed kind on the surface. Her mother was kind occasionally, but it was like petting a dog. You never knew when it might bite.

Taking a deep breath, she left the bathroom. “Actually, I’m not feeling too good, so I thought I’d take off.”

“Oh!” Grace looked startled. “Why? We haven’t eaten yet.”

“Look—I—” Audrey glanced around desperately, wishing she’d never come. Even for a free meal, this wasn’t worth it. “This place isn’t me, okay?”

Grace gave a faint smile. “It isn’t me, either. Why do you think I invited you here tonight? I couldn’t face eating in that stuffy restaurant on my own again. Please stay, Audrey. It’s a lovely sunny evening. It will be fun. I was thinking that we could people watch from the balcony. How do you like your steak?”

Audrey stood frozen, torn between wanting to get the hell out of here and consume a free steak. The hunger pains won. “Cooked?”

Grace walked to the phone. She spoke in rapid and fluent French that left Audrey feeling more inadequate than ever and then joined her on the balcony.

The view was incredible.

Audrey fished around for something to say. “So how long are you staying here?”

“I booked a month, but I’m not sure I’m going to make it that long.” Grace sat down.

Everything about her was tidy, Audrey thought. Her dress was ironed and perfect, and she was wearing tights. Who wore tights in summer?

“This place would be, like, most people’s dream.”

“I think with the right person, it might be.” Grace stared across the flower-festooned balcony toward the Eiffel Tower.

You didn’t need to be a genius to work out she was thinking about her husband.

Why did anyone bother with love when it was so complicated?

“So your husband left and you were stuck with this holiday. You didn’t have anyone else you could bring?” Audrey sipped her water. “Do you have kids?”

“I have a daughter the same age as you. She’s traveling with a friend this summer. I miss her terribly, but don’t tell her I said that. I expect your mother feels the same way about you.”

Audrey knew for a fact her mother wouldn’t be missing her at all. She hadn’t been in touch with Audrey, except to reply to a text.

Fortunately she’d had an email from Ron earlier, telling her not to worry about her mother.

She wasn’t sure it was good news that he seemed to realize there was something to worry about.

“You should probably immediately take a French lover. The hottest guy you can find.”

“And what? Post his picture all over social media?”

Audrey shrugged. “Yeah, go for it. Lip-lock by the river Seine at sunset, eye gazing, bubbles rising in champagne—that kind of thing. Hashtag stuff you.”

Grace gave a tentative smile. “That’s not the kind of person I am.” She sat back in her chair. “I envy you working in the bookshop. Mimi—my grandmother—has talked a lot about it over the years. Are you hoping to study English when you get to college?”

“I’m not going to college. I’m going to get a job.” Why did it make her feel embarrassed to admit that? What was so good about running up a ton of student debt? She glanced at Grace, expecting judgment. “I’m pretty good with hair. I thought I might do extra training. Get to be really good, you know?” She waited for Grace to make a dismissive comment about hairdressing as a career choice, but she didn’t.

“Your hair is beautiful,” she said, “so I can already see how good you’d be at that. And you are such a great listener. You’d be warm and kind, not scary like some hairdressers.”