Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(9)

I don’t think about her any longer.



*

For the next year, I enjoy the hell out of having something to do nearly every day. Something I love. Something that keeps me more than busy—something that brings me pleasure.

Talking.

I’ve always loved to talk. To tell stories. To chat, whether with strangers or friends, business partners or adversaries, my family or the women I’ve dated and sometimes become entangled with. Talking about anything and nothing is one of my greatest pleasures.

Griffin was right. I do love translating, and I love Paris, and I love the life I’ve carved out as I bounce from assignment to assignment, translating for French, Danish, Swedish, and other companies that need my expertise, picking up jobs as I want them, enjoying evenings out with friends in the City of Lights.

The best part? My brother, Erik, moves to Paris with his wife, and works feverishly to expand the firm and strike new deals. That keeps me occupied too, since he lets me dip my fingers in the pie now and then and help him bake the partnerships to the right temperature.

I don’t mind helping him. He’s the reason I have two homes, a fat bank account, and the choice to live my life the way I want. I owe all my success to him.

It’s a brilliant year as I turn 30, with one exception.

For one dark month, I return to Copenhagen to mourn the loss of my grandfather when he passes away at the ripe old age of ninety.

We cry, and we comfort our mum, but mostly we remember how good he was at being human.

Then, I see her again.





5





Elise





Nearly three years ago . . .



Stop and Smell the Days blog

December 12: The enticing scents of cedar and smoke, and being swept off your feet



My lovelies . . .



We must talk about the allure of cedar. Do you know the way your senses tingle when you inhale that fresh, woodsy scent?

You picture newness. You feel first times.

That’s where I am now, in the throes of early enchantment since I’ve met someone. I met him at a bistro in The Marais when I was dining alone. He was too. Isn’t there something about a man who dines alone that intrigues you? It intrigued me. It takes a certain confidence to stroll into an establishment and ask for a table, party of one.

His eyes strayed toward me from time to time as he drank his wine. He looked at me with such intensity that my skin warmed all over.

When at last he rose, walked over, and asked if he could join me, my nose tingled as I inhaled him. His scent, cedar and a hint of sweet smoke, was the kindling. I was the match. He was nighttime and the notion that a feeling can last forever.

After that night, I dabbed some “Daring” behind my ears. It’s a brand-new scent, and it’ll always remind me how I felt when I met him.

Like fire and hot urgent kisses.

Until the next time. May your nights be daring too.



Yours in noses,

A Scentsual Woman





6





Elise





Present day



My heels clack against the sidewalk as I exit the metro in Oberkampf, on my way to meet friends. I wonder what Joy’s new beau will be like. He seems like a stand-up fellow, so enchanting.

But I thought that about Eduardo too. We were all enchanted by him, including my followers, from back when I used to weave stories about him into my perfume blog—a blog I rarely write anymore. He’d cast a spell far and wide, across continents.

Flicking memories of him away, I stroll past Annalise & Charlie, doing a quick scan of the windows at one of my favorite boutiques. My gaze lands on a pair of candy-pink shoes with a strap over the instep.

“I’ll be back for you,” I whisper to the shoes, because shoes can’t hurt your heart.

When I reach the hotel, the doorman nods in greeting, swinging open the door with Hotel Particulier Tenth calligraphed across the gleaming glass. I’m early, and that’s by design. I say hello to the owner, Armand, who’s working at the front desk. He’s also a new client.

He beams. “Elise, to what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here tonight?”

I bring my finger to my lips. “Shh. It’s a best-kept secret.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Yes, I love our marketing tagline.”

This small partnership could pave the path to a bigger one. Armand’s business partner is expanding a luxury chain across Europe, and I hope to secure a meeting with him. He’s being courted by several agencies, including the Thompson Group, the same company I lost two of my clients to more than a year ago. That was my fault—my work focus had strayed during my marriage to Eduardo and the fallout after his death.

This time around, I plan to fight harder.

I say goodbye to Armand and walk through to an enclosed courtyard. Lush trees climb high, and ivy crawls sensually along the white walls. Strings of lights cascade from the branches of the trees, turning the bar into a glittery adult fairyland. The low beat of a bass thumps from the sound system, an enticing aural embrace.

A few minutes later, my redheaded friend arrives, and I say hello. By her side is the tall, dark-haired, handsome British man who’s captured her attention and her heart since she’s been in Paris.