At first, I didn’t know it was her.She didn’t have her hair in that cute little side braid that I’ve come to adore.No, she had her honey-blonde hair down, flowing freely around her beautiful face.It wasn’t until our eyes locked that I felt something familiar about her.And then,bam,it hit me when I looked down at her boarding pass.Jemma with a J.The girl in the conference room.Foster & Sons.
In that moment, I was nervous and had to get away.I couldn’t have her recognize me and cause a scene.Plus, I was in a hurry.But quickly, it became apparent she had no clue who I was, so it was easy to escape, thinking I’d never see her again, even if part of me wished I would.
Then we crossed paths again.How does that happen?
Fate.That’s how it happens.Like I was being taunted by the universe.I knew I had to make things right, or at least I had to try.I didn’t want to admit that I knew her, especially while confined in such a small space with hundreds of witnesses.I knew Jemma wouldn’t take it well.She’s feisty like that.So, after the whole seat debacle—which, I might add, could have gone a little better on my part, but I really did need to be on that flight.The next morning, I was moving my dad into his care facility.I still can’t believe my sister had the audacity to orchestrate this whole charade while I was out of the country.
Actually, scratch that, I can.Colette has always been a bit conniving.
So, when I saw Jemma heading to the long restroom queue, I sprang into action, quickly coming up behind her.I startled her—it was cute.She wasn’t expecting me.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said with such bitterness, but I could sense there was a spark of affection behind her words.The way her eyes traced my face, the way she stood, shifting with slight uncertainty—I knew I felt something between us.
When our flight was over, I was sad to see her go, filing down the narrow aisle, drifting into a sea of travelers.
So never in a million and one years did I think she’d track me down.
When I answered the phone from an unknown number—which I never do, especially when I’m off the clock—I was shocked to hear her voice.
But how?How could Jemma be calling me?
We never exchanged numbers, but somehow when we collided, she ended up with some of my paperwork.
So, when I heard her trembling voice through the phone, I knew I had to help her.I couldn’t ignore this calling, and after hearing her conversation with Gretchen, I couldn’t let her go back to New York with no job and no perfect Paris vacation.
I wanted to help her.Ihadto help her.
Sure, things started off with less-than-ideal circumstances—that whole I’m the whole reason you don’t have a job thing.But it led me to her.
It led me to?—
“Jemma,” I shout, losing my train of thoughts as I burst down the last flight of stairs, catching sight of the portier pulling the door back for her.
I was sure I’d beat her to the ground level, but I was wrong.
My dress shoes slide across the polished stone floor as I race to catch up.“Jemma!”I plead, desperation taking over my voice, but she slips through the towering glass doors without giving me a glance, her blonde hair flapping in the wind behind her.
“Tiens la porte!”I shout.
The portier dutifully holds the door, the winter wind striking my face as I burst out of the building.
Frantically, my eyes scan the street for her slim silhouette.My heart lurches when I spot her crossing the road.
I can’t let her leave.I need to explain.
“Wait!”I shout, taking off in her direction.
She quickens her pace, walking much too fast for someone in heels, but that’s when I notice her black slingback pumps dangling from her dainty fingers.
No shoes and no coat.The poor girl must be shivering.
I need to make this right, but Jemma turns toward the Seine.
“You’re going the wrong way,” I shout, breaking into a light jog, coming up behind her.
Jemma halts in her tracks when she practically runs into a blue and white taxi sign.
She turns to me, pain flickering in her eyes.“You were there that day.At Foster & Sons.”
