After cleaning up the remainder of my spill, I brew a fresh double espresso, this time carefully placing a small white cup beneath the machine’s spout.The rich, nutty scent fills the air, making my taste buds itch for the bitter flavor.
With the freshly brewed espresso cradled carefully in one hand, I grab my phone and the cozy, warm blanket from last night, and head back to the balcony.The crisp morning air pecks my skin the moment I cross the threshold onto the terrace.
I’ve been on this balcony twice now, but it feels like I’m seeing it for the first time.I’m a little less distracted now, so I’m pleasantly surprised to see it’s longer than I realized, stretching the entire length of his apartment.At the far end, nestled in the corner against a stone divider wall, sits an inviting metal bistro table with two small chairs.
Squealing with excitement, I drop down onto one of the chairs, the coolness seeping through my thin pajama bottoms.I ignore the slight discomfort because nothing else is going to ruin my perfect Paris morning, as it could be my last.I pull the velvety blanket over my shoulders, letting the excess drape over my legs.Steam rises from my espresso and kisses my lips as I take a sip.Warmth washes over me, spreading through my chest.I lean back, savoring the rich flavor as I turn my attention to the street below.It’s startlingly quiet outside for seven in the morning.There’s hardly a soul to be seen—so different from the constant hustle of New York City.
I twist in my seat to take a selfie with the Eiffel Tower as my backdrop.I raise my tiny cup of espresso to my lips, ignoring the messy pile of hair atop my head, and snap the photo.
Satisfied, I open my text messages and send the photo to Gretchen.
Jemma: Is this heaven?No, it’s Paris!
I don’t expect her to respond, since it’s the middle of the night back in NYC, so I’m surprised when three little dots flicker on my screen.She’s typing.
Gretchen: Beautiful!So Jealous!Going back to sleep!
My fingers hover over the screen, itching to keep the thread going, so I can spill my morning gossip, but that will have to wait until it’s not an ungodly hour.Instead, I call my credit card company to file a dispute over my rental scam.The woman on the phone is kind and makes it easy to initiate an investigation into the charge.I instantly feel better about the situation, knowing it’s getting handled.
My next instinct is to check my work email, but then, like a punch to the stomach, I remember that’s not part of my life anymore.The thought almost suffocates me.I’m alone for the first time without the shield of my work.My body begins to tingle with dread.
No job to come back to.
No place to hide anymore.
No more money flowing into my bank account.
I push out a deep, long breath.
I can’t go home yet.Things will be so much worse there.
Sighing, I down the last sip of espresso in my cup and open one of the travel apps on my phone.
Minutes tick by as I scroll through listings, coming to the same discouraging conclusion as last night; I can’t afford anything that’s available.I mean, I could, but only for a night or two.The thought of depleting my savings for a quick fix sends me into a full-blown panic.I know I was ready to hand over all my money yesterday, but now things pinch differently in the light of day.It would be so much easier if I could stay here with Luca.
But as I sit here at this perfectly Parisian table on this ideal Paris balcony, staring at the patchwork of gray, blue, and silver slated roofs with their dormer windows and intricate chimneys forming the flawless foreground for the most iconic structure in the world, I’m reminded I came here for a reason.I haven’t found myself yet.If anything, I’ve become more lost.I need to find the girl I came here for.
One thing I do know for sure: Jemma Jones isn’t a quitter.I’m not ready to give up.
ChapterFifteen
JEMMA
My stomach erupts into butterflies the moment I hear his key sliding into the lock.I rush to the entryway to greet him.I watch as he hangs his coat on the rack, desperate to find out how things went this morning with Colette.
Before I can say a word, Luca’s eyes fall to my suitcase sitting next to the door, but he doesn’t say anything.
That’s not a good sign.He’s not begging me to stay.
Okay, okay, I know I said I wasn’t ready to go home yet, but I packed so I don’t look too presumptuous.After all, he only offered for me to stay one night, and I’m hoping he’ll extend his invite for my entire trip.I feel crazy for entertaining the idea.But I really don’t want to leave.
I love his apartment.
I enjoy his coffee.
I’m in awe of the views.
And I adore looking at him.
