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He reached for her case and slid it into the cab, then reached for her hand to help her follow it. His hand was warm, dry, strong. He made sure she was inside then slammed the door shut, leaving her alone on the back seat.
“Where to?” the driver asked, turning around to look at her. When he saw how wet she was, he grimaced.
She brushed her wet hair from her face and tried to put as little of her wet behind on the chair as she could. “The Solar Hotel. Do you know it?” She should be there now, warm and dry. Would have been if she hadn’t left Ella’s birthday gift in Paris and had to make a quick stop to buy a replacement.
“I know it.” He nodded, pulling away from the sidewalk and from her knight with a shining umbrella, who was already looking for a second cab.
She stared at him through the droplet covered window, a pang of regret pulling at her chest. Maybe she should have offered to share with him. Maybe she should have flirted with him.
Maybe – if she was Ella and didn’t give a damn – she could have invited him to her hotel room. But she wasn’t Ella, and she did give a damn.
And you’ve sworn off men for good, remember?
The driver switched the radio on and she leaned her head back on the rest before remembering how wet she was and pulled it away again.
She was home. Well, in her home country at least. After almost four years away.
And the weather felt way too much like a bad omen.
* * *
Walking into the hotel bar later that evening, she took a deep breath and looked around for her friends. She was overdressed, that much was clear. She was wearing a dress she’d bought in Paris last year – black and clingy with one of those plunging necklines that only work if you’re notthatendowed (thanks genetics). It had seemed the right choice when she pulled it out of her soaking suitcase.
The clothes inside had been dry, thank goodness. Mostly thanks to the fact that she’d put everything into vacuum bags. She had a limited luggage allowance and an entire closet to bring back to the States, so she had to be resourceful.
Her two friends and their boyfriends were in the corner booth. Ella stood and waved and Grace bit down a smile at the sash that fell over her jeans-and-dress top combo.
Birthday Bishwas written in silver over the satin pink sash.
That wassoElla.
“You made it!” Ella pushed herself out of the booth and ran across the bar area, meeting Grace halfway there. Ella hugged her close, smelling of the Hugo Boss fragrance she’d always worn during college, then stepped back and held Grace at arm's length.
“Look at you! All French and chic.”
“Hardly.” Grace smiled. “You should have seen me an hour ago. I was a drowned rat.” Ella led her back to the table as Grace regaled her with the story of the cab stand off with the suit guy.
“Youshouldhave brought him back with you,” Ella said as the cocktail server came to take another order. “I wouldn’t have minded if you were late for my party.”
“Come on.” Lucy, who’d roomed with them in freshman year, rolled her eyes as soon as Ella had filled her in. “When have you ever seen Grace have casual sex?”
Grace rolled her eyes. It had been four years since graduation. She’d moved to France shortly after, yet somehow their conversations still got back to her love life.
“Maybe now’s her time to sow some wild oats,” Ella said. “After Pascal.”
Lucy grimaced. “I heard about you and him,” she said to Grace. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s old history.” Grace opened her purse and pulled out a small gift wrapped box. “This is for you,” she said to Ella, pleased to change the subject. “Happy Birthday.”
As she put her purse down on the seat beside her, she felt her skin prickle. Her Great Aunt Gina always said that meant a goose was walking over your grave.
Yeah, well, the goose could get out of there. Her neck was itching now.
“Hot guy at nine o’clock,” Ella whispered.
“That’s not nine o’clock. It’s six o’clock, dufus.” Lucy sighed. “And he’s looking at Grace.”
“Of course he’s looking at Grace. Every man in the room is. Have you seen her dress?” Ella said.
