Page 45 of Beauty
“Now that you’ve got an award-winning fashion line and a hit television show,” the host says, “what’s next? Announcing a new relationship, maybe?” She smiles like an idiot, as if finding a man is every woman’s end goal.
Then again, I’ve already determined that I’m the idiot, because I found the perfect one and let him go.
“A woman never kisses and tells,” Cat says when I don’t respond right away, her raspy voice a bit chiding.
The host looks from Cat to me, still expectant.
I affect an aloof smile that mirrors the one my mentor so often wears even as I consider launching into a detailed description of Noah in hopes that someone watching knows him and can find him for me.
It’s tempting, but if I did that, I’d be cheating.
If we’re meant to be, he’ll find me. Or I’ll find that book.
Another year later
“Where are we going to dinner?” my intern Millie asks as she turns off the studio lights.
I’m going to miss her terribly. Cat hired her last year, and the two of us clicked right away.
When she first showed up in Paris, we rented one floor of the building. Now we’ve taken over the entire thing. We’re in the process of bringing on more designers, and soon, I’ll officially launch my own fashion house. It’s thrilling and beyond scary at the same time.
Especially because Cat’s gone back to Boston. Now that Millie is leaving too, I’ll be in Paris without any true friends.
But Millie’s move is a good one. She and my brother Gavin spent months sneaking around, which had to have been tricky, since they live on different continents. Though they thought they were being discreet, I’m not an idiot.
When their relationship fell apart, she was devastated. The pain was only compounded by the fact that she had no one to talk to about the secret affair.
She’s going back to Boston to—hopefully—win him back. I couldn’t be more excited for her. They deserve to be happy. I just hope it’s not too late for them.
I know a thing or two about regret and I don’t want her to live like that.
Before allowing the thought of Noah to bring me down, I mentally shake it off and smile at my friend. It’s spring in Paris; the best time of year. I’m determined to enjoy it.
“The piano bar, of course. I want to hear you play one last time,” I tell her as we step out into the beautiful night.
I had no idea how talented Millie was until several months ago, when Gavin came to visit. She sat down behind the piano and sang the most gorgeous song. That was the night I knew for sure that she was sleeping with him. She forgot that I speak fluent French and understood every word she sang.
Lucky for her, her father, who also happens to be my brother’s best friend, doesn’t speak the language. If he did, he also would have figured out his forty-year-old best friend was sleeping with his twenty-two-year-old daughter that night.
I suppose he’ll find that out soon enough. Hopefully Beckett is around to defuse that. And Brooks. If Beckett can’t talk some sense into her father, then at least my goalie of a brother can protect Gavin.
Aiden might be able to tell a joke or sing a song, but fighting isn’t really his strong suit.
God, I miss my brothers.
As we head toward the bar, Millie pulls her curly brown hair back into a low ponytail. The peach sweater she’s paired with tight black pants that are cinched tightly at the waist looks incredible with her flawless skin. “Fine, but I’ll only play if you let me stop at the bookstore first. I need something to read on the plane.”
She doesn’t have to twist my arm. I sneak into the shop almost daily. The habit is so obsessive that the owner knows exactly what I’m looking for. Stopping to check myself is pointless. If the book Noah sold, with his name and number scrawled on the title page, showed up, she’d have called. Still, sometimes I wonder if the book will just appear on the shelves. It’s silly, really. It’s been two years. The book probably ended up on a shelf in someone’s home in Boston. I’m in Paris.
It’s time to move on.
That’s what I tell myself at least once a day.
Even so, the moment we step into the bookstore and I’m overwhelmed by the scent of the pages, old and new, overtaken by nostalgia, that familiar zing of hope settles in my bones. The romantic girl from the Bahamas returns, and the jaded Parisian disappears.
While Millie scans the new release shelf, I head straight to the romance section and run my fingers down the spines until I find the name of the author I’m looking for. In the two years since I met Noah, this author has written several more books, but I only look for that first title.
And as I find a copy, my heart flutters. I slide the book out of its spot and close my eyes. Then I turn that first page. When I open them again, all the air leaves my lungs.
