Parisian Surprise Read online

Relieved to be released from the crowded bus, Allee retrieved the map from her handbag. She used the street names painted on the buildings at every street corner to get her bearings for the short walk to her hotel. The day was sunny, with a light, refreshing breeze. The tree-lined boulevard was exactly what she’d always dreamed of finding in Paris. She strolled along, taking in the sights and sounds that were mysterious without feeling uncomfortable. As she passed by a small shop, she noticed a couple locked in an embrace. She wondered if they realized how fortunate they were to be young, in love, and in Paris. With a quick look in the opposite direction, she moved on. This was not the time to mourn the lack of romance in her own life.

  Although the exterior of her hotel was unassuming, the lobby was stunning. The décor struck a perfect balance between modern industrial fixtures and cozy living room furniture. The inviting chairs in the seating area seemed to beg for someone to settle into their depths with a cup of coffee and a good book. She trailed her hand the length of the dark brown leather sofa on the way to the reception desk.

  Allee pulled her passport from its secure pocket in her handbag and eased her backpack from her shoulders. “Hello. I’m Allee Bell and I have a reservation.” She hesitated, wondering if she needed to produce her hotel paperwork.

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Bell. We were expecting you earlier.” Her nametag read Marie.

  “My luggage got lost and I ran a little late,” Allee explained. “I’m not sure I understood everything, but I think the airline will deliver my suitcase here to the hotel. It hasn’t come already, has it?”

  “Ah, no. Not yet.” Marie tapped on her keyboard. “The bellman will bring it to your room as soon as it arrives.” She handed Allee a huge, old-fashioned brass key. “If there is anything we can do to make your stay with us more enjoyable, phone the desk or ask anyone on the staff. Welcome to Paris.”

  The room was everything Allee could wish for, and more. Although the tiny elevator listed her room number on the first floor, she could see that she was one level above the lobby. She tossed her handbag and backpack onto a striped settee and flopped backward, spread-eagled onto the king-sized bed. How many hours was it since she’d laid flat on a comfy mattress? She’d lost track. Above her, in the center of a trace ceiling hung a crystal chandelier. The room’s walls were a minty, seafoam green. Here and there, pink and scarlet accents brought out the richness of the green and pale gold damask of the chairs, sofa, drapes, and bedspread. The color scheme was carried out in various combinations of stripes, solids, and floral patterns. Adding to the decorating magazine appearance, a pair of French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the street below. The travel agent at Fast and Thrifty obviously spared no expense on lodging accommodations.

  Awakening with a jump, Allee wondered where she was. She sighed and turned onto her side. Oh, yeah. Paris. In an opulent, boutique hotel. Her need for a shower narrowly overpowered her wish to pull back the covers and continue to sleep. After a leisurely yawn and stretch, she put her feet on the floor and dumped the contents of her backpack onto the bed. “What in the world?” Sunglasses and a shaving kit? Where did these pieces of men’s clothing come from?

  Allee peered into the backpack, irrationally hoping to find her own things buried in the bottom. Now wide awake, she stared at the offending bag. It was the same size, shape, and color as hers. Someone, somewhere in this huge city, had the envelope with all of her food coupons, museum passes, and event tickets. Some Frenchman or tourist even had Tina’s brand new red cashmere sweater. Her hand shook as she reached for the ID tag, which to her relief showed a legible name and address. Paul Chevalier, 27 Rue de Miaulement du Chat.

  Grateful she still had her map and phrase book, Allee spread them on the spindly-legged French provincial desk in the corner. It took a while to locate the strange street name on the luggage tag, but at last she saw it in the numbered section of the city known as arrondissement eight. It was only a couple of blocks from the Concorde subway stop. She could do this. She looked up the French words she needed and laboriously wrote them on a sheet of embossed hotel stationery.

  Fortified with an energy bar, Allee followed the hotel desk clerk’s directions to the nearest metro stop. With help from two amused school boys, she bought a ticket to her destination from a vending machine. Within an hour, she stood in front of a stately gray stone building, number twenty-seven on a short street about the width of one automobile. She refused to allow herself to worry for more than a minute about whether this Paul Chevalier was a serial killer. Instead, she pushed the button above his mailbox.

  The voice seemed to come from behind the wall. “Oui?”

  She read from her scrap of paper, certain she was butchering the pronunciation of the French words for “You have my backpack.”

  After a moment, she heard footsteps on the staircase. She took out her French-English dictionary, quickly flipping to the useful phrases in the back.

  “Miss Bell?”

  She glanced up into possibly the most handsome face she’d ever laid eyes on. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy black hair and big, melted-chocolate brown eyes. Allee hoped he didn’t notice her sharp intake of breath. Maybe he was a French movie star. When he smiled, the deep dimple in his left cheek left her knees feeling weak. She realized her grip on the things in her arms was slipping. Too late, she tried to catch her water bottle before it escaped and skittered across the floor. As she grabbed for the water, she dropped her handbag and book.

  They bumped heads when both of them bent to retrieve her possessions from the floor. “For crying in a bucket,” she exclaimed. “I mean, pardonez moi.”

  Once they were both standing straight again, he handed the phrase book to her with a dazzling smile. “I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s speak English.” He had no noticeable accent.

  Too flustered to answer, Allee tucked the phrase book into her handbag.

  “Want me to carry that?” He reached for his backpack.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” She pushed his bag behind her. “You can have yours when I get mine.” She resisted adding that all of her food coupons better be intact, too. Just because he was drop-dead gorgeous didn’t mean this Paul Chevalier person was honest.

  “Then let’s take the lift so you don’t need to carry my bag up the stairs. They’re rather steep.” He smiled his devastating smile again and motioned toward the elevator.

  8

  She must be crazy. Allee hadn’t intended to go inside the handsome stranger’s apartment. But there she was, in an industrial-looking living room open to a stainless-steel kitchen. It was clearly a man’s space, all brown and spare.

  “Make yourself at home. I’ll get your backpack.” He disappeared for a moment but continued speaking from another room. “I’m so sorry about the mix-up. I must have grabbed the wrong bag when I got off the bus.”

  “Actually,” Allee confessed, “I think I did the deed. The bus was crowded, and I asked someone else to hand my bag to me from the overhead rack instead of getting it myself.”

  Returning with her backpack, he smiled brilliantly. “It doesn’t really matter how it happened. All’s well that ends well, as they say.”

  Allee pulled open the zipper and peeked inside. The sight of Tina’s sweater was a welcome relief. She wondered whether she should inventory her vouchers or trust they were there.

  “My name is Paul.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “And yours is Allee.”

  “Yes, only I pronounce it like alley, not allay.” She stared at him. “How did you know?”

  “I was sifting through your paperwork, trying to find a way to get in touch when you buzzed me from downstairs.” He went behind the kitchen island. “I like a cup of coffee in the afternoon. Will you join me? I have tea if you don’t like coffee.”

  Allee hesitated. She was hungry enough to eat a Fast and Thrifty casserole and the box it came in. Plus, if he stayed busy in the kitchen for a little while, she could make sure he hadn’t taken a
nything from her backpack. “I’d love some coffee.”

  As soon as Paul’s back was turned, Allee pulled out the envelope from Fast and Thrifty and started to inventory its contents. The food coupons were all there. Funny how the pictures were mildly interesting when she’d looked at them back home. Now that she was hungry, the photos riveted her attention with their inviting displays of yummy entrees and desserts.

  Paul sat a mug in front of her, along with a small tray containing sugar, artificial sweetener, and a miniature pot of cream.

  Allee looked up, wondering if her face showed her guilt. “I, uh, was just thinking about where to have dinner.” She stuffed her vouchers into her handbag and casually laid the torn envelope on a side table.

  “You have some stellar choices.” Paul trotted to the kitchen and returned with his own mug of coffee and—bless him—a plate of cookies. “In my opinion, Paris has the best food in the world. And you have reservations at the crème de la crème.”

  After stirring all of the cream and most of the sugar into her coffee, Allee took a giant swig. “Oh, that’s heavenly.” She munched a cookie and gave it an appreciative moan. “I don’t exactly have reservations.” How could she explain? “I won two weeks in Paris in a contest, and dinner for two every evening was part of the prize. That’s part of why I was so anxious to get my backpack. So I could figure out where to eat tonight.” She finished off her cookie and took another.

  “One of your restaurant choices is right around the corner from here, close to the embassy. I highly recommend it.” Although Paul sipped at his coffee, his eyes never left her face. “But if you don’t already have a reservation, you need to call and make one or you’ll never get seated.”

  “Oh.” Allee mentally took stock of this new challenge. She’d need to get her mobile phone working and hope the person taking reservations understood English.

  “More coffee?” Paul sprang up and reached for her cup.

  “Well, I shouldn’t, but it’s so good.”

  “French press,” he said, apparently assuming she understood what that meant. “Can’t beat it.”

  Allee felt it would be rude to eat another cookie, but she couldn’t resist taking just one more. “I normally drink coffee only in the morning, but my body is very confused about what time it is.”

  From the kitchen area, Paul asked, “Would I be correct in guessing you don’t speak much French?”

  “Yes. You are correct.” Maybe he wouldn’t realize how many cookies she’d had if she ate the last one before he sat down. “To be accurate you would have to say I speak no French at all.”

  He handed her a full mug of coffee and sat a dish of chocolate candies on top of the empty cookie plate. “Truffles are a well-known cure for jet lag.” He eased into the brown leather chair opposite the coffee table. “I’d be happy to call the restaurant and make your reservation if you like, Allee.”

  “That would be awesome, if you don’t mind.”

  While he punched in numbers and spoke words she didn’t understand, Allee wondered why it felt so delicious to hear him say her name. It was almost like a caress. Better than a chocolate raspberry truffle. Well, maybe not quite that fine, but at least as good as another cookie.

  “You’re all fixed up.” Paul set his jaw firmly and exhaled. “Dinner for two in an hour.”

  Both to delay her comment and to enjoy the last taste of a truffle, Allee chewed her lip. “I forgot to mention I only need a table for one. My traveling companion was unavoidably detained.”

  He drummed his fingers on the chair arm for a moment and said, “I don’t suppose you’d like some company this evening? You’re dining at one of my favorite restaurants.”

  Allee was only too aware she’d been wearing the same clothes for almost two days. Her last shower was on a different continent. Her hair probably looked like a haystack.

  “I can translate the menu for you,” Paul added.

  “Sure.” Why not? It wasn’t as if this was a date. She would never see this guy again. She had a voucher for two dinners, and he’d been extremely nice. She inconvenienced him by taking the wrong backpack. On top of everything else, when would she get another chance for a handsome man to escort her to dinner at a fancy restaurant?

  9

  The restaurant was smaller than Allee anticipated, although it contained twice as many tables as she would have expected in a restaurant of comparable size at home. Somehow, without extravagant furnishings, the place achieved an ambiance of classic elegance. There were quiet conversations amid the tinkle of real crystal and bone china.

  A gentleman neatly turned out in a black suit, white shirt, and tie greeted Paul by name before showing him and Allee to a table for two. She put her backpack under the table and slipped the strap over her knees, determined not to be separated from it again. “You must come here often for him to remember your name.”

  “When out of town guests visit the embassy, I bring them here for dinner.”

  His comment piqued Allee’s curiosity. “The American embassy? The one we walked past on the way here from your apartment? You mean you work there?”

  “Yes, for the last four years, but I’m crossing the pond in three more weeks.” Paul accepted the single sheet menu from the waiter but didn’t look at it.

  “The pond?”

  “That’s military slang for the ocean. I’ve completed my tour of duty at the embassy, and I’m being reassigned stateside.”

  “So, you work for the State Department?”

  “Technically, maybe, at the moment. I’m assigned to the Defense Attaché. Captain Paul Chevalier. U.S. Air Force, at your service, ma’am. All the larger European embassies have a few military folks. Do you want a rundown on the appetizers and entrees?”

  Allee glanced at her menu, but it might just as well be blank for all she understood. “Why don’t you order for me instead of translating all these words? I’m too tired to make a decision anyway.”

  “What do you like?” He stared at her expectantly.

  Your confidence. The way you make me feel protected. That killer smile. Allee realized Paul was waiting for an answer. “I’m crazy for salmon.”

  Watching him order dinner fascinated her. He and the waiter had what seemed to her to be a long conversation, with both of them participating enthusiastically. It was interesting how Paul’s demeanor changed when he spoke French. He became more animated, motioning with his hands, moving his eyebrows to punctuate his words.

  “How did you learn French?” she asked.

  “We moved to Europe when I was three years old, and I’ve lived in Paris and Brussels off and on until I went home to go to college. Enough about me, tell me about you.”

  Allee was suddenly self-conscious. Her life would bore a sophisticated man of the world. “There’s not much to say.”

  “You could start by telling me about the contest you won, the one that got you to Paris.”

  When the waiter delivered plates of salad, Allee was grateful for the delay. “This is too pretty to eat.”

  “I don’t think of eating as destructive. It’s a way of transforming eye-appeal beauty into gastronomic joy.” He smiled but did not take up his fork. “I apologize, Allee. Arnaud and I didn’t discuss drinks because he knows my preferences so well. I should have thought to ask if you want wine with your dinner.”

  “No worries. I don’t drink alcohol.” So what if he thinks I’m a country bumpkin? I’ll never see him again.

  “You were about to tell me how you got to Paris.”

  Allee tried to organize her thoughts instead of continuing to fasten her gaze on his big, brown eyes. “My best friend Tina and I are sharing an apartment until her fiancée finishes graduate school in Michigan. She made a grotesque casserole, and I left her a tongue-in-cheek note about how fabulous it was. You know, as a spoof.” She stopped to take a bite of her salad. Pointing at the plate with her fork, she declared, “This may be the best salad I’ve ever tasted.”

  With
a grin, Paul advised, “Don’t rush to judgment. You have a string of outstanding restaurants to sample in the next two weeks.” He took a sip of water. “So, you left your roommate a note?”

  “Tina entered my silly paragraph in a magazine contest, and I won the grand prize. Two weeks in Paris for two. The plan was for me to figure out how to get around the city and for her to do the translating. The day before we were to depart, Tina had an accident and broke her kneecap. There wasn’t enough time to change the arrangements. It boiled down to me either making the trip alone or not at all.”

  Leaning forward, he said, “So you took the courageous route. And here you are. I am impressed.”

  “Yes. Here I am, alone in a country where I don’t speak the language, with my luggage missing.” She couldn’t resist laughing. “Now you understand why I was so determined to retrieve my things from you. Besides my tickets and food coupons, the only clothes I have are on my body or in my backpack.”

  “They do sell women’s apparel here in Paris,” he said with a grin. “As for the other issues…”

  The waiter appeared to whisk away their salad plates. Immediately thereafter, he artistically displayed hot bread, real butter, and their entrees before them.

  “We’re having salmon crepes.” Paul twirled his water glass by its delicate stem. “I hope they’re to your liking.”

  Meanwhile, Allee dug right into her plate. After one bite, she briefly closed her eyes. “Why did I waste calories on salad?” She gestured toward her crepes. “These are served in Heaven.”

  Paul smiled. “I’m glad you approve.” He set his glass aside and caught her gaze with his. “How do you feel about your choice? To travel alone, I mean.”

  “I’m a little scared, but not enough to make me miss this once-in-a-lifetime trip.” Allee pondered for a moment. “I wish Tina could have come. I’m so sorry she had to miss out. But in a way, her loss is mine, too. That probably sounds nutty.”

  “Not at all. I think I understand what you mean. It’s more satisfying to share an experience than to do something by yourself.” After a short period of silence devoted to eating, Paul asked, “What do you do for a living?”