Текст книги "She: Part 2"

Автор книги: Annabel Fanning

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

Before I miss my chance, I quickly finish my champagne and while we wait for our skipper to arrive, I take out my phone, hit the camera app, and capture the view in every direction. One attempt at a panoramic shot, which includes the hotel, the ocean vista and Logan on the boat, results in a photograph that I know instantly will end up on my wall.

“La plus belle vue,” I smile at Logan. The most beautiful view. And he really is. No amount of architecture or Riviera views, stunning though they may be, come close to how heart-achingly beautiful Logan is. He is rare amongst men, and certainly unprecedented to me.

He enjoys watching me play the tourist, grinning back at me, before he stands up and puts both of our champagne flutes back onto the dock. “Alright, well… I guess we should get moving,” he says, walking right up to the control deck. He starts flipping switches and pushing buttons and the boat comes to life beneath us.

I stare at him incredulously, my mouth open in surprise, and when he glances over his shoulder to check my reaction, he laughs jovially at what he sees.

“Surprise!”

“What?” I exclaim. “You can drive this thing?” When he quipped earlier about the skipper needing to eat, I assumed he was joking.

“I can, and I will be,” he nods, walking away from the controls, and opening a few side latches until he finds what he’s looking for. He hands me a couple of blankets. “It’s going to be cold on the open water,” he tells me.

I take them gratefully, wrapping them both around me, covering up my outfit, which is comprised of my favourite boots, my dark blue jeans, and one of Logan’s shirts.

“Are there, uh, any lifejackets? I ask tentatively, not wanting to insult his skipper skills.

He grins at me. “Of course, but you won’t need one.”

“If you say so.” I stand next to the controls and pretend to start pushing buttons and pulling leavers. “But you may need one,” I play with him.

“Can’t you keep your hands off of my goods?” he teases me right back, and I laugh out loud at his double entendre.

A few minutes later, the jetty shrinks behind us, as Logan points us out to sea. When we’re a good distance from the shore, he turns the steering wheel south. He seems proficient, though knowing so little about boating myself, I wouldn’t know if he weren’t. We’re still safely onboard after the first ten minutes, a good sign by all accounts, so after that I push any doubts to the back of my mind, reminding myself that Logan would never take me out like this if he weren’t sure of his own abilities.

He pushes the accelerator and we speed across the water. My hair is going to hate this, I think, already dreading the tangles. But aside from that drawback, the experience is incredible. It feels liberating and empowering somehow, to be out on the ocean by ourselves. The eye-catching coastline zooms past us on our right, and all around us, the water is clear and glorious, looking good enough to dive into, though I wisely avoid the temptation.

“When did you learn to do this?” I ask, opening one of my blankets and wrapping it around his middle in an attempt to share the warmth.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Logan wraps his other arm around me, saying, “Last year when I initiated the project in Marseille. I was there for two weeks at one point, and I needed something to do on the weekends. I’ve always loved the ocean, so I figured it was a good opportunity to learn. But I don’t have my license yet,” he announces, startling me. Are we acting outside of the law right now, I wonder wildly. He looks down at me and chuckles at the look of shock on my face for a second time. “I don’t need one,” he then lets me know.

Oh… “Does that mean I can drive it too?” I check, now grinning at him.

He smiles back and slowly shakes his head. He continues to gaze at me for longer than I judge to be safe.

“Eyes on the ocean, Logan,” I tell him hurriedly.

“You distracted me,” he mutters to himself, a smile still in place on his face.

“When you initiate projects outside of Paris do you often have to leave for several weeks?” I wonder.

“I always have done,” he tells me, “but things change.” His arm tightens its hold around me, and I know he’s talking about me. “The nice thing about being a boss is that I can delegate. It’ll give me the chance to stay in Paris, and someone else the chance to step up into a new role.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask. “I mean, the beginning of any project is always exciting, and if you want to be there, then, you know, you and I will make it work,” I promise him.

He looks at me lovingly. “I don’t want to spend two weeks away from you,” he says with absolute certainty.

“I don’t want to spend two weeks away from you either,” I tell him. “But I also don’t want to fuck up your company,” I add.

He laughs heartily. “You won’t. You and I come first, and then Leary Constructions. That’s non-negotiable,” he grins.

“Fine then, I guess I’ll just have to put up with you,” I sigh sarcastically. In reality, his words thrill me.

Fifteen minutes later we arrive at a much shorter, darker dock, which leads to a stairway with at least two hundred steps up a vertical cliff-face.

There had better be something good up here, I think, as my legs start to scream after step one hundred. There is something good, something amazing! Huffing and puffing at the top of the stairs, I’m in awe of the beguiling manor house that sits some five-hundred metres in front of us. Between us and it, lies a perfectly manicured garden, with neatly trimmed hedges edging the pristine pebbled pathways. The sight would be breathtaking if I weren’t already out of breath.

“We can have a look in the manor house if you like, but my main aim was to show you the gardens,” Logan tells me. “There are twenty acres in total, they’re award-winning, and apparently a must-see for botanical fans,” he says, reciting the information that he’s obviously looked up in advance. So thoughtful, Logan! “Knowing your affinity for landscape design, I hoped you’d like it too,” he says, waiting for my reaction.

I lunge at him, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his. “I love it already,” I beam at him. “Thank you, Logan, this is…” Words momentarily fail me. “It’s surprising, actually, considering how brief our conversation about landscaping was.” I’m honoured that he remembered it.

“Brief, yes, but your passion was obvious, baby,” he tells me, taking ahold of my hand and leading the way.

We spend over two hours walking around at a very sedate pace. I talk Logan’s ear off, my enthusiasm bursting out of me as I encounter detail after detail that blows my mind. No wonder this place is renowned, it’s phenomenal! The more of it I see, the surer I become that my days as an interior designer are numbered. I have to follow this passion, I tell myself. Suddenly, I feel giddy about implementing Logan’s roof terrace garden in a few days time. That will be an indicator, I organise in my mind, after which I’ll decide if I’m daydreaming about this passion or not. Though, truthfully, all I’d need to do is create something half as good as this place, for me to consider myself a success.

“Wow,” I breathe, taking in another exemplary sight. It’s an eight-metre high hedge, Gem, it shouldn’t impress you this much. And yet, it does. It’s the simple things, I think, remembering Logan telling me that his passion for buildings was sparked by nothing more than being impressed by the sight of skyscrapers, and I liken my eagerness to his.

I snap a photograph on my phone; my camera is getting quite a workout this weekend.

“Why do you like it?” Logan asks curiously.

“That?” I point at the huge wall of green. “Or any of it?”

“Any of it,” he wonders. “What is it about landscaping that gets you? When did the love affair begin?”

“It began eight years ago when I moved to Paris,” I tell him. “Seeing the urban landscaping within the city, and gardens at Versailles…something ignited in me. I started reading books, and becoming nerdy,” I grin. “Did you know that the gardens in La Défense were designed by an American soldier in the nineteen-fifties?” I ask him.

“OK, you get extra nerd points for that,” Logan smiles, making me laugh.

We continue walking, hand in hand, and I divulge more. “A garden is always alive,” I say, constantly looking all around, not wanting to miss one part of the experience. “It grows and it changes and it dies, and it grows anew. There’s constant movement, even if we can’t see it with our eyes. And I think that’s why I like it so much,” I reveal. “Nature is all about life and rebirth and,” I shrug, “that seems like a nice thing to spend my life working with. Plus I like the colour green, so…” I trail off, making Logan chuckling.

“I have one thing left to show you,” he then tells me.

He leads me down a path following a signpost that reads: Lookout. Our path grows narrower and narrower, with greenery closing in on all sides, until we round a corner and step onto a rocky outcrop which is free of any trees or shrubs and has the most incredible, uninterrupted sea views. My mouth drops open in amazement. There are sun loungers perfectly positioned for watching the sunset. We won’t be able to stay for that, I think, knowing that we’ll have to get back to the hotel and pack ahead of our evening flight back to Paris. But we can stay for a little while.

I tap the panoramic setting on my camera app once more, taking a few steps backwards, and saying to Logan, “Will you be in it?”

Appeasing me, he stands on the left side of the photograph and when I reach halfway, I steady my hand, and say, “Can you come over and hold it now?” Unsure what I’m up to, he does as I ask anyway, carefully taking the phone from me, before I run over to the right side of the outcrop. “OK, you can keep moving it,” I tell him. The photo that ends up being captured appears to have both he and I in it at the same time.

Smiling down at it, Logan mutters, “Magic.”

We swap positions again and I take several more photos, capturing him from all angles while he stands patiently, looking like my very own adonis in the light of the afternoon sun. Lowering my phone I then take a moment to observe him for myself, drinking in his handsome features and his beautiful presence, and feeling like many times before now, overwhelmed by him and the fact that he waited, so long, for me.

“What?” he asks, smiling at me. His dimples appear making him look even more gorgeous. And sexy. And adorable.

“I’m just thinking about your patience,” I confess. “I don’t think I can put into words how thankful I am that you saw me that evening at the AABD party; that you were aware enough to notice me and notice our potential; that you held onto that vision for so long. I can say with certainty, Logan, that without your persistence we wouldn’t be together right now, and that would be a real shame, because I kinda like being with you,” I smile at him, delivering the understatement of the century.

“I’m good at persistence,” he admits. “Besides, you’re worth it, Gemima. You’re worth waiting for,” he tells me again.

My heart starts pounding. I’m seduced on the spot. I bound over to him and wrap my arms around his waist squeezing him tightly, and nuzzling my face into his neck. “Thank you,” I say, meaning it with my whole heart. “This whole weekend has been wonderful!”

Expectedly his arms encase me. “You’re welcome,” he tells me.

“Your consideration knows no bounds.”

“You bring out the best in me,” he compliments.

Smiling against his skin, I mumble, “Then I must be doing a really good job.”

“You know, baby, I didn’t mean to keep you on my mind – you wouldn’t leave me alone,” he accuses, making me laugh.

“Maybe I did know something would happen between us, and my subconscious kept lingering around you until the time was right,” I joke, gazing up at him.

“Maybe,” Logan laughs too. “You see, it was you all along.”

I smile, but shake my head. “It was you. And I’ll be grateful until the day I die,” I tell him, earnestly.

“A long, long, long time from now,” he demands.

I nod.

“And you’ll spend all that intervening time with me?” he asks openly.

“I’d like to,” I tell him, my voice quiet, but sure.

Joy radiates from him as he smiles at me, and I marvel that I am able to evoke such a reaction in him. He is so beautiful! “I’d like you to, too,” he says earnestly. And just like that we’ve, once again, both admitted that we want to spend the rest of our lives together. We gaze at each other for a moment, before Logan takes ahold of my hand, “Come.”

He leads us over to one of the sun loungers and sits down, his legs wide, leaving room for me. I sit too, nestling between them, and Logan pulls me backwards into his embrace, his arms wrapped firmly around my stomach and I relax against him, my head resting on his shoulder, his lips to my ear.

We stay like this, content and so in love, gazing out at the sensational vista. The warm sunshine on my skin, combined with Logan’s arms around me, feels divine. I close my eyes, just for a minute, in an attempt to feel it all better – it’s utter perfection. The minute turns into two, and then three and four, and before I realise what’s happening, my eyelids grow too heavy to open, my head lolls sideways, and I drift off to sleep.

3. Ex’s And Oh’s

I wake up on Monday morning in Logan’s bed, my phone alarm ringing loudly on the bedside table next to him. I roll over him to turn it off. Funny, I don’t remember setting it, nor can I recall actually getting into bed last night. Yesterday evening is a total blur in my memory. I know eventually we left the picturesque lookout, and once back at the hotel we packed hastily and were driven to Nice International Airport. Our flight was quick and Logan used his make out tactic to distract me during takeoff, but I cannot recall landing at all. And now, here I am…

Beneath me Logan rouses, his arms wrapping around me, keeping me in place over him. I stay readily, watching him wake up with a smile on my face.

When his eyes finally open he smiles back at me. “Good mornin’,” he grumbles.

“I think I’ve learnt to teleport,” I tell him.

He laughs, and it’s a beautiful sound to hear first thing in the morning. Knowing what I’m referring to, he says, “That’s not how you got to bed last night.”

“Did I walk, and just not remember it?” I wonder.

He shakes his head and my eyes narrow.

“Well, I know you couldn’t have carried me, considering you’re still not allowed to do any heavy lifting,” I tell him pointedly.

“Would you rather Philippe carried you?” he grins. Philippe being a chauffeur for Logan’s company.

My eyes narrow even further. Then I roll off of him, pull the covers down to his midriff and start looking over his scarred abdomen.

“What are you doing?” Logan chuckles.

“Checking for hernias,” I say dramatically.

“Gemima,” his voice purrs, persuading me to look away from this perfect physique to his gorgeous face, “you teleported,” he informs me.

I laugh out loud at this revelation. “Good,” I nod.

“But, by all means, continue manhandling me,” he smiles, putting his hands behind his head, welcoming my touch.

My desire to do so is unquestionable, but alas, we both have jobs to get to. After a too-brief make out session, we reluctantly get up, get showered, and get dressed.

Just as we’re about to leave his apartment, Logan nips into his home office to pick up some documents for his day, when I hear him burst into laughter. Suddenly it clicks: whatever Buddy’s installed during our weekend away, Logan’s just found it.

I hurry to join him, and find in the doorway between his man’s den and his office, a large metal pole drilled horizontally parallel into the doorframe. What is that? I think it looks a little like the structure that the material is hung from in my airyoga class.

Logan is looking down and laughing at a piece of paper in his hands. I peer over his shoulder to see it. Jeez! Buddy has drawn a very explicit picture of the purpose of said pole, which is to hold up a sex swing! In the swing he’s drawn two figures, labeled Gemima and Logan, and they certainly seem to be having an enjoyable time. Oh my! My insides squirm deliciously. Underneath his drawing, he explains:

The framework is steady. Obviously. However, the swing itself (which I may have tested out with a ‘friend’ on Friday night) broke during our…test.

So, really it’s a good thing that I had sex in your home, otherwise you’d be injured, instead of me. Don’t worry, I’m fine…I’m sure it’ll straighten up in time.

I’ll replace the swing imminently. So, it’s mirrors vs sex swing… how did I do? Pretty great, right?

I laugh too as I read his explanation. “That’s a really good drawing,” I note. “It, uh, looks like we’re having fun.”

Logan smiles over his shoulder at me. “I’ve no doubt we would do, if it were working.” He laughs again, and then sighs, “Oh, I’m going to kill him.”

Why? “Because he had sex in your home?” I ask.

“No, because he’s installed a fucking sex swing the week my parents are coming to visit,” Logan exclaims.

I laugh again. Ah, yes, that could lead to some awkward questions. “Just pretend it’s for pull ups,” I suggest.

“Hmm,” he considers, handing me Buddy’s note, and walking to stand beneath the pole. Turning to face me, he jumps and holds onto it, then slowly he pulls himself up and then lets himself down.

I watch on, impressed, as he repeats the process. Logan laughs at the lustful look on my face.

“This I’m allowed to do?” he questions me. “But I’m not allowed to lift you up, even though you’re probably fifty pounds lighter?”

Where’s your consistency, I scold myself. “Stop,” I tell him, my stern voice back. He smiles upon hearing it again, and lets go of the pole, dropping to the ground. “Sorry,” I say. “From now on, no heavy lifting of any sort, no matter how much it turns me on.”

“Turns you on?” his smile grows. “Really?” He walks towards me, tucking his shirt back into his suit pants.

“Really,” I confirm. “Here, let me help you with that,” I offer, as he comes to a stop before me. I squeeze my hand between his shirt and his belted trousers; it’s a tight fit. When I’m done I rest my hands on his tummy, feeling his muscles. Dammit, why did I have to touch him? To feel his firm abs? Now I want him!

It’s tempting to forgo my first hour at work in favour of spending it with Logan. While yesterday was incredible, and while I love going through this normal morning routine with him, I haven’t touched him intimately since Saturday night. That’s no time at all, my mind tells me, and yet for us, it feels like a long time.

Internally, I roll my eyes at myself. You’ve got to go to work, Gem, I sigh.

Logan smiles at me, no doubt having the same argument in his own mind. “Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand.

“Yes. None of this dillydallying nonsense,” I agree.

He looks at me in amusement, but nods. “Otherwise we’ll be here all day,” he muses, littering my mind with pleasurable images of the pair of us in his man’s den.

I shake my head, refocussing myself. I’ve got a full day of work ahead of me, and it won’t do at all to have such images permanently plaguing me. “We must behave properly,” I blurt out as we step into the lift. The doors close and in an instant Logan has me pressed against the elevator wall.

“I’d prefer to misbehave,” he says.

* * *

Aside from our brief and brilliant experience in the elevator, I do manage to conduct my morning in a very professional manner. I sign on two new clients, as well as completing three existing projects. I am on a roll, I celebrate, though, come lunchtime, I’m exhausted and flop back in my desk chair, downing my stale coffee, which I almost spit out when I spot Amélie and another woman walking in from reception. They’re talking quietly amongst themselves, so my ogling fortunately goes unnoticed. That’s Madeleine Lily, my mind screams – she’s my landscape design idol! Clearly she’s a new client here, and I immediately lament that she’s not one of mine. Though I doubt I’d get much work done for her, as I’d be constantly picking her brain about all things landscaping.

I watch them walk away, towards Amélie’s office, and consider creating an obscure reason to visit Amélie right now, before deciding that that would be taking my girl-crush to an awkward place. No, Gem, don’t be weird.

Instead I decide to get some fresh air and pick up something to eat from the cafe down the street. My purse in hand, I’m almost at the doors to reception when my work station phone starts ringing. To answer or not to answer?

Making a snap decision, I hurry back and pick it up just in time. “Gemima Samuels, how may I help you?”

“Hey, Gemima, it’s Buddy.”

“Hi, Buddy,” I smile. “Have you spoken to Logan yet?” I wonder.

“No,” he laughs. “I’m guessing y’all found my present?”

“We did,” I admit. “It was…” I think of the right word.

“Awesome?” Buddy helps me. “Spectacular? Better than mirrors?”

“Disappointing,” I settle for.

“What?” he exclaims, and I laugh. “Why?” he asks.

“Because there was nothing there, only the promise of something…”

“Well, just you wait! Save your feedback for afterwards.”

“OK,” I agree. Then, unable to help myself, I ask him, “Are you healing well?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “Not gonna lie, I’m a little sore, but my man-doctor tells me I’ll be fine.”

“I’m happy for you,” I tell him.

“Thanks. Hey, uh, I’ve been trying to call Loges but I can’t get through. I guess he’s busy dealing with the fallout from the fight,” he says, as if I know what he’s talking about.

I blanch. “Fallout from what fight?” I ask, concerned.

“Uh…the fight with your ex,” he says. “News of their run-in on Thursday night has spread like wildfire over the weekend.”

I face-palm myself. Shit! “What exactly is the news?” I ask tentatively. Before he can tell me, I tell him, “There isn’t much to report.”

“Logan Leary losing his cool is a lot to report in our industry, Gemima. Everyone thinks he’s such a levelheaded guy…”

“He is!” I wail. Fuck, I think. This is all Jerry’s fault!

“He’s not in any trouble,” Buddy tells me. “I think people are just surprised, and curious. So, uh, what actually happened? If I know your side of events, then I can start spreading those…”

I roll my eyes. Do I really want to contribute to the gossip rags? Yes, yes, I do! “Jerry called me a whore, among other things, so Logan punched him. Once. But Jerry was fine,” I lie. “If he’s saying otherwise—” I begin, heat rising within me. That fucking prick!

“He’s not,” Buddy assures me. “Word got out that they were in a scrap, and to be perfectly honest I think most of the guys in our industry are a little jealous not to be the one to throw the punch. Your ex isn’t very well liked.”

“I know,” I mutter. “So, you’re sure Logan’s not going to lose any jobs over this?”

“Nah,” he sounds relaxed. “He can handle the damage control. He’s very charming when he wants to be.”

I can’t help but smile at his words. “Yes, I know,” I say again. I relax, calming the sudden, indignant flames within me.

“I’m actually kinda hoping that this will reboot his old nickname,” Buddy chuckles.

“Which is?” I ask curiously.

“The Wolf,” he says.

I snort into the phone. “You’re joking,” I assume.

“No, Ma’am. When he was a young American man in Paris the elders in our industry nicknamed him. He was a fierce competitor to them.”

I’m not entirely sure whether he’s messing with me or not, I’ll have to run that name past Logan to know for sure. “Uh, OK,” I say ambiguously, before changing the subject. “So, anyway, what can I do for you this afternoon?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, actually, it’s not a work related call. I’m just having lunch and cruising Tinder, as you do—”

“What’s Tinder?” I ask.

“It’s a dating app,” he tells me. “Wait, you don’t know Tinder?” He seems genuinely surprised.

“No,” I tell him.

“Then, why are you on here?” he asks.

Huh? “What do you mean?”

“So, I’m scrolling through pictures of girls, hitting the yes or no button, and suddenly your mug pops up…”

Oh? “Where’d they get my picture from?” I wonder.

“From you,” he says, as if I’m being obtuse. “Because you must have an account with them. That’s why I’m calling. I thought maybe you’d forgotten to delete it since you and Loges started together,” he explains.

“I don’t have an account with them,” I say. Clearly. “I’ve never heard of it before. But, if it’s some sort of dating site, then it is possible that Amber created something behind my back.” Hmm, surely she would have reveled in putting me on a dating site, I think. But, then, who?

“Amber? The mirrors girl?” he asks.

“Yup.”

“I think I’d like to meet her.”

“She’s happily married,” I tell him for the second time.

“That hasn’t stopped me before,” he admits.

“So I’ve heard.” The words are out of my mouth before I can hold them in. Fuck!

There’s a small silence before he starts laughing, “Yeah, I figured Logan would tell you sooner or later.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise him. “And I’ll call Amber now and get her to delete the profile or whatever it is,” I add.

“Cool,” he says.

Then, my big mouth getting the better of me again, I ask, “Do you always trawl for women during your lunch breaks, Buddy?”

“What else is a guy to do with a free hour?” he quips.

“What about your friend that you tested the swing with on Friday night?”

“I can’t see her again,” he says immediately, “not after the pain she caused my johnson.”

I laugh out loud. “Fair enough.”

“We were celebrating after I won a big job,” he tells me, and I remember Logan showing me Buddy’s picture in the newspaper. “Logan’s been so distracted with wooing you lately, that I poached it out from under him.”

My laughter dies. Oh, no! “Really?” I ask.

Buddy laughs, and again I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Don’t worry,” he tells me, “he’s got a few pennies stashed away.” He then clears his throat loudly. “No. No. No,” he says, no doubt flicking through his Tinder options.

“You better get back to it, then.”

“Sure thing. Say hi to Amélie for me, won’t you?” He presses his luck.

“Absolutely not,” I grin.

“Understandable,” he says, and I can practically hear that he’s grinning too. “I’m gonna try and call Logan again now. Want me to pass any messages along?”

“Yes, please,” I smile. “Tell him that I’ve never enjoyed an elevator ride more.”

“Urgh!” Buddy scoffs, making me laugh again. “Alright, I guess I’ll see you at the party on Saturday?”

“Yes, I’ll see you then. And thanks for alerting me to this Tinder thing,” I say earnestly.

“No problem. I just had to make sure you weren’t two-timing my best friend,” he reveals. “It’s my duty as his wingman.”

I smile into my phone – that’s not the explanation he gave earlier. “Of course, I understand. See you soon, Bud.”

“Bye,” he says, and we hang up.

“Pardon, Gemima?” Layla calls immediately from the reception doorway.

My head darts up. “Oui?”

“Quelqu’un est ici pour vous voir,” she informs me. Someone is here to see you.

“Can you send them through?”

“Excusez-moi, mais non. Ce n’est pas une cliente,” she explains. Excuse me, but no. They’re not a client.

“Oh, uh, OK,” I say, grabbing my purse and hurrying over to her. Beyond the double doors I find Amber impatiently tapping her foot against the floor, waiting for me.

“Gem!” she lights up when she sees me. “Can you do lunch?” she immediately asks.

I beam at her and nod vehemently. Then I stand between Layla and Amber smiling from one to the other and wondering if they’ve figured out who the another one is. It becomes quickly obvious that they’ve no idea that their partners are brothers.

“This is Layla,” I say pointedly to Amber.

“Hey,” Amber says lazily, clearly not registering the name.

“Layla,” I mouth at her again.

Amber looks at me like I’m losing my mind. “So?” she mouths back.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Layla says politely. The kind of polite that she reserves for clients or visitors.

I avoid the temptation to roll my eyes at them. Finally, I look at Layla and blurt out, “Amber is Patrick’s sister-in-law.” Then to Amber I say, “Layla is Patrick’s girlfriend.”

They both go “Oh!” and instantly become warmer towards one another. After a couple of minutes of chatting back and forth, during which they swap numbers (for potential double dates) Amber and I leave, arm in arm.

“I know where we can go,” I say, thinking of Cafe Genévrier, and setting a fast pace for it. There’s something there that I’m eager to see.

Buddy’s call fresh in my mind, I then quiz Amber about the Tinder profile, and as I expected, she claims her innocence.

“It was probably your mom,” she suggests.

“My mom? Do you think?” I wonder.

“Mine created one for me when I was single and miserable,” she explains.

“I wasn’t miserable, exactly. Though I wasn’t as happy as I am now,” I concede.

Smiling, Amber asks, “How is Logan Leary?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I smile back at her, though I’m reminded once more of my conversation with Buddy and what he revealed about Logan dealing with the fallout of his run-in with Jerry. Upon telling Amber this, we both irrevocably decide that it’s all Jerry’s fault, and we spend the rest of our journey trash-talking him.

Walking into the open square, I’m overcome with excitement when Cafe Genévrier comes into view. Despite the brilliant time I had in the south of France, I can’t help but feel glad to be home. This weekend is one of only a dozen times that I’ve left Paris since moving here and though a change of scene is nice, healthy even, I missed this city. The sounds, the sights, the smells. The endless flow of people, no matter where you are or what time it is. It’s good to be home, I think.

Standing in front of the Please wait to be seated sign, which I’m sure wasn’t there when I met Logan here for lunch a few weeks ago, unless of course I was too preoccupied with him to see it, I finally ask Amber, “To what do I owe this invitation?”

She looks at me in surprise. “Gem, can’t a well-meaning girl ask her best friend out for lunch without there being an ulterior motive?” she exclaims.

“A well-meaning girl, yes. But, you?” I grin.

She’s never showed up at my work before in all the years that we’ve been best friends. From that alone I know something’s going on. She tries her best to look innocent. It’s a look I know very well and it makes me laugh.