Page 2 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
And then some afternoon delight back in the hotel room?
Tessa
No. No afternoon delight. No one-night stand.
I’ll be fine on my own. I don’t need a man.
Jade
No one NEEDS a man.
Sara
Whatever you do today, just try to have fun without us, okay? Love you.
Fun. It’s a long shot, but I’ll try.
What I need is a clean slate. A fresh start. While I’ve traveled all over the world, I’ve never lived outside of Texas, and this is my chance. Once I get settled into Portugal, where I have a one-year visa under their digital nomad policy, I will make new friends. I will travel on the weekends—solo travel and trips to visit my friends scattered throughout Europe.
And I will not, under any circumstances, waste my time looking for a man.
The bell above the door chimes with a new customer walking into the coffee shop, this one wearing a bright blue polo with the tour company’s name on it. He scans the room, probably looking for a table of four women. His eyes meet mine for a moment, and I start to smile at him and raise my hand, but he keeps going before I can wave to get his attention.
Ugh. My cheeks heat in embarrassment and I can practically feel the pity radiating off the surrounding tables. I know how to sit by myself at a cafe and enjoy myself, but today I just can’t muster up the enthusiasm.
The tour guide is cute. Young, or at least younger than me. In his early thirties, most likely, or maybe even late twenties. He has brown hair on the longer side that tousles nicely, a wide mouth, and cheeks that are already flushed from the morning heat. His gaze lands on the table next to me, the four younger women, and he starts to head their way. I pick up my to-go cup and sling my bag over my shoulder. I’m dressed sensibly for the day in stretchy jeans, flats, and a flowy top, perfect for walking the city and enjoying the summer weather.
Paris is my favorite city. I trust it to cheer me up.
I cut him off before he arrives at the table. When he notices me approaching, his eyes light up, and he looks me over for a quick moment as an easy smile pops onto his face.
“Good morning,” he says, and I nearly roll my eyes because I haven’t even opened my mouth, and he already knows I’m a native English speaker and can probably guess that I’m American. I swear, the French—especially Parisians—have this sixth sense about who can and cannot speak their language.
Except I have a trick up my sleeve. I’ve been a regular visitor to Paris for decades—maybe even longer than this guy has been alive, so I smile demurely and answer him in French. “Bonjour, vous me cherchez?”
His smile widens, and he answers me in French, which pleases me. “I’m always looking for a beautiful woman.”
Okay, cheesy line, but the teasing in his eyes brings it down on the side of flattery. This close, I can read the name embroidered on his shirt—Luc. “No,” I say, “for the tour. I’m Tessa O’Keefe. I apologize, but I have to cancel.”
His smile droops the tiniest bit. “Cancel because...?”
I paste on a fake smile. It’s hard to hide my disappointment that I’m alone. “My friends couldn’t make it to the city in time. I didn’t know I had to cancel until late last night.”
“Ah,” he says. “But you’re here.”
“Yes, well. I know my way around Paris, and I don’t need a tour guide. You’ve got the day off.” I try to say it as upbeat as possible, cringing inside that I’ve wasted this man’s time.
“Unfortunately,” he says, “we have a forty-eight-hour cancellation policy, so I won’t be able to refund your money.”
I wave him off. “I know, that’s fine. Of course, you keep the money.”
His smile, which has dimmed upon delivering the bad news, brightens again. “If you’ve already paid, and I have no plans for the day, then why not take the tour?”
I bite my lip. I haven’t taken an organized tour in ages, and a tour for one, without my best friends, sounds sodull. There’s too much pressure on me to ooh and ahh all day.
“Ah, what is that?” he asks, pointing at my mouth.
I pop my lip out from between my teeth. “Nothing.”
