Page 4 of It Happened In Paris

“This must be the hero sent to save the day,” I muttered under my breath and exited. I stood by my door as a man in a tuxedo approached and avoided slushy snow puddles in his shiny leather shoes.

“Vivian?” He called out. Only I recognized him instantly, as if time reached out and transported me to a night about seven years ago, one I never expected. We’d strolled along the river Seine, stood beneath the lights ofla tour Eiffel,my favorite partof the city. We ended the night giving in to temptation in bed in his luxury suite…

“Are you Vivian?” He asked again. “I’m Richard Buchanan.”

With a slight shake of my head, I focused back on the present, and on the face I hadn’t thought about in years. He stood tall with the same commanding presence as before. His dark hair—dotted now with a few grays at the temples—perfectly complemented his charming blue eyes. I’d never forget his sultry voice that whispered into my ear while thrusting inside of me…Such a good girl for me.

Time had been good to Richard Buchanan.

Up until a few minutes ago, I only knew him by his first name and the place of our intimate night together.

Richard from Paris.

He was my savior then, rescuing me from the evil clutches of my ex. Fast forward to the present, here he was, saving the day again. Talk about the shock I didn’t expect today.

But… why was he looking at me like he didn’t know me?

“Y-yes. That’s me. Vivian.”

“Then I’m your knight in shining armor sent here to save you,” he said with a chuckle. I choked and coughed. “Are you okay? Rex told me to retrieve you and the cake. We haven’t got much time. Where is it?”

Over the past several months while Chelsea planned her Christmas wedding to Rex Buchanan, I’d heard his brother’s name mentioned here and there but never connected the dots until now that he wasmyRichard from Paris.

“You’reRichard? Rex’s brother?” I found my voice and asked.

“Last I checked, yes. Is the cake back here?” He pulled open the side door of the van, revealing dozens of cake boxes, a bin of things I’d need to do my job, and a suitcase. “Look, we have to go and try to beat this storm that’s coming. We need to loadeverything into the car quickly. My helicopter is waiting at the nearby heliport.”

Thunder clapped again, or was that my heart palpitating at the thought of going anywhere with Richard, especially in a flying object?

My hands grippedthe seat tight. I’d never flown in a helicopter before, and never would again if I could help it. I didn’t relish this powerlessness of being in the air, while also relinquishing my life into the hands of the man to my right at the controls.

The memory of Richard, of us, tangled in each other’s arms in his bed had stayed with me as a symbol of the last reckless thing I did before being forced to become an adult. Once I got pregnant, life changed for me.

“It’ll be about an hour’s flight time. I take it you’ve never flown in one of these before?” Richard’s voice blared through my headphones, startling me.

“Never. I don’t want to die.” I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking only of the one person in my life I would hate to leave behind. My daughter.

“Hey, Vivian… relax, okay? I’ve been flying choppers for years without any issues. Don’t worry, you—and the cakes—are safe with me.” All his cocky assuredness aside, his words did little to calm my nerves.

“Knock on wood,” I murmured, lightly tapping the glossy wooden panel on the door beside me for luck. As a singlemother, I couldn’t leave anything to chance in order to survive—my daughter needed me.

“Have you ever lived in New York City?” he asked in a curious tone.

“No. Born and raised in Holly Creek.” My beloved small town, although from the moment I touched down in Paris to attend culinary school, I loved my French life, too. If only my ex hadn’t ruined it. Now back in Holly Creek, I did whatever I had to do for my daughter’s sake. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve never lived anywhere else?” he probed further, his eyes squinting at me. When we met, my hair was blonde, and I wore tons of makeup. Now, with darker hair and no makeup, and the circles under my eyes, an extra twenty pounds, and all the signs of a tired mother, did he really not remember me?

“I was in Paris for a few years. I studied and worked under a famous pastry chef.” Come on, Richard—surely one passionate night of surrender between us in bed shouldn’t be so forgettable?

“Ah, Paris. The City of Love. One of my favorite places on earth. I’ve visited often.” He bared bright white, perfectly straight teeth, likely the work of one of New York’s top dentists, reserved for the extremely wealthy. “Do we have that in common? Did you enjoy your time in Paris, too?”

“Yes and no,” I answered mechanically.

Paris had given me my career and the drive to open Cupcake Cottage in Holly Creek. It had also given me my daughter, the light of my life—but my ex-husband, Adrien Bardeaux, was the worst part of living there. One of the most regrettable decisions I’d ever made was marrying him.

Yet I wouldn’t change a thing, because I wouldn’t have learned these hard lessons:

Lesson one: Never fall for the first Frenchman who approaches you.

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