“Alright, if money were no worry, I would be a travel blogger,” I foolishly admit.“But you’ve got to travel to blog about it.”I let out a nervous, self-deprecating laugh.
“How long are you staying?”he asks.
“I’m leaving on December 26.”Or sooner.
“Okay, it’s settled.Jemma Jones is going to start gathering information for her first blog post: Christmas in Paris.”
“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here.First, we should figure out where I’m sleeping tonight.”
Luca chuckles.“First, I think you should enjoy your food.What do you think of the mussels?”
I use my tiny fork to scoop out the tender meat and slide it into my mouth, closing my eyes in surprise at the burst of flavor.“Wow.This is amazing.”
“I’m pleased you enjoyed it,” Luca says with a giddy smile.
“So, have you lived in Paris your whole life?”I ask, keen on switching the focus back onto him.
“Yes, well, most of my life.When I was younger, we lived in Italy for a year.My mother was from a small village in Toscana and wanted to be closer to her family again.But it didn’t last long; we all missed France—even my Italian mother.”His eyes momentarily flicker.“She was amazing.”
“Was?”I ask softly.
“Yes, I lost my mother about five years ago.”He doesn’t elaborate, and I understand.
“I also lost my mother—three years ago.This time of year hasn’t been the same since.I pretty much avoid all things Christmas now.”
Wow, I can’t believe I just admitted that—out loud—and to a stranger.
“Is that why you’re not with your family for the holiday?”
“You could say that.My dad remarried someone much younger, and he’s happy, but I’m not.I think he moved on too quickly.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, but Jemma, life is short.The living should live.”
“I suppose you’re right.”I shift uncomfortably.“I feel bad that I don’t visit much.I know my dad misses me, but it’s hard to see him settled into his new life without my mom.”
“Family can be hard sometimes.”He nods, his forehead crinkling as he reaches for the wine bottle.
“You can say that again.”
He frowns as silence settles over our table for the first time since we’ve met.Luca pours more wine into his glass while he studies me.“You’re fidgeting.”
I crinkle my nose.I hate when people point things out that I’m doing.It makes me insecure, and I hate feeling insecure.I push around the food on my plate before noticing that’s a form of fidgeting too.So, I slide another piece of meat into my mouth.
“I’m just getting nervous about finding a place to stay.It’s getting late.”
I’m halfway through a bite when Luca announces, “You’re staying with me tonight.”
I choke on my appetizer.“Excuse me.Your translation doesn’t seem to be coming across right.”
“I have to confess something,” he says, his tone turning serious.“I had my brother, Henri, check hotels in the area.The hotel employee you spoke to was right: there’s nothing reasonable available tonight.I invited you to dinner to make sure you’re not a crazy person before I offered you my place to stay.”
“Wait, so you knew when you picked me up?”My mind races to process this information.
“I knew you were having a bad day, and I wanted to help.I knew if I told you right away that your search was useless, you’d have me take you straight to the airport.And you would be missing out on the trip of a lifetime.”
“Some trip,” I mutter, dropping my head.“I’m in one of the biggest cities in the world, and I don’t believe there’s nothing available.”Agitated, I yank my phone from my bag, desperately scanning for options they might’ve missed.
I shouldn’t have let Luca distract me; I’ve wasted valuable time.
