Page 80 of Never Too Late
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Thankfully, Tomas hadn’t chosen one of our old haunts, something I’d wondered about as we descended the winding wooden staircase of the apartment building. Instead, his car was parked outside and pressing a button on the fob in his hand, he unlocked it and opened the passenger door.
‘It’s such a shame there are no cafés in the city,’ I said as I stepped towards him.
He gave me a look.
‘You are still a smart arse, I see.’
‘Some things are worth keeping.’
‘C’est vrai.’
He offered his hand as I made to get into the car and I knew it wasn’t for show. Tomas had always done this. For all their faults and judgements, his parents had at least instilled some manners into their son. His aftershave had earthy, deep-scented notes but it was only when I got close the fragrance teased my senses. He closed the door and I was ensconced in the cabin of the car, its tan leather seats releasing their own luxurious scent to the mix.
Moments later, Tomas slid behind the wheel and pulled out onto the cobbled street, before joining a larger road, and pointed the car away from the city centre.
‘So where are we going?’
‘To a vineyard.’
My head snapped around.
‘Not that vineyard,’ he answered without looking at me.
‘So where?’
‘Somewhere different.’
‘Oh?’
‘A new start.’
He flicked his gaze to me before returning it to the road and we both dropped back into silence.
Paris fell away as we drove on, the urban views gradually morphing into those with a little greenery until that became the overriding prospect.
‘We really aren’t going to that vineyard, are we?’ I said eventually, if only to break the silence and faintest hint of tension.
He shook his head and I studied the silver at his temples. It suited him. Git. The hair that was once collar length and out of a Timotei advert (if that reference didn’t date me, I didn’t know what would!) was now short and neat. The dark tresses I’d once dragged my fingers through were now cropped tidily, flecks of grey only enhancing the blue eyes. He was, as Sasha would have said had she not taken against him immediately, the very epitome of a Silver Fox.
‘You’re staring,’ he said without turning his head.
‘No. I’m studying. It’s different.’ Oddly, I wasn’t thrown by the fact that he’d caught me. Between Reine and the City of Light, something was happening to me, and I was glad of it. Perhaps she was right when she had told me I just needed to bloom again. Perhaps this was the first hint that warmth was hitting my petals and tempting them to think about tentatively beginning to unfurl. But I knew that this time around, Tomas wasn’t the sun that I revolved around.
‘Still staring.’
‘Still studying.’
‘And what do your studies tell you?’
‘You’re going grey.’
‘True.’
‘And that you’re not vain enough to use hair dye.’
‘Can you imagine my sister letting me live that down, even if I wanted to?’
