and they exclaimed, “Done!”
“Now let’s eat. We’ve got an early flight to catch, and you need your beauty rest,” Alexa said.
“Excuse me?” Lindsey asked with a smile.
“No offense, Mom. But you’re not as young as you used to be, and you never know who you might meet. It’s Paris! Anything can happen.”
Isn’t that right, Lindsey thought, then wondered once again what had happened to Jack.
Chapter Three
Paris
From ten thousand feet, Lindsey could almost smell the fresh croissants of her favorite bakery near the Sorbonne. Even two decades later, her mouth still watered at the memory. She made a mental note to stop for one when she took Alexa to sign up for classes. She hoped they’d still be around, but then she remembered that the establishments of Paris, unlike the relationships formed there, lasted forever—or so it seemed—and she probably had nothing to worry about.
“Are we there yet?” Alexa asked groggily as she woke and stretched in her seat.
“Twenty minutes,” Lindsey replied. “Are you ready?”
“I will be once I have a coffee. Speaking of, how many have you had? Did you not sleep at all?”
Lindsey had spent the entire eight-hour flight online, researching Trent Greer and his company. To sell or not to sell? That was the question. “I slept,” she said, completely lying.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Hey,” Lindsey said. “Give me a toothbrush, some eyeliner, and a fresh coat of lip gloss, and I’ll be looking just fine in five minutes.”
“You do know it’s ten in the morning here, right? You probably should’ve slept.”
“I’ll be fine,” Lindsey said with a yawn. “I promise.”
She took a deep breath to wake herself. This was Paris, and Alexa didn’t want to spend the whole time in the hotel room. But Lindsey would be fine. At work, she’d been known to pull all-nighters, and she functioned well on little sleep.
Alexa looked out the window as they approached the City of Lights. She squeezed her mom’s hand. “We’re almost there!”
Lindsey smiled. It was good to see Alexa so happy.
The plane began its descent, and twenty minutes later, it landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Soon after, they had their bags and were seated in the back of a Mercedes-Benz taxi headed straight for the city.
Alexa stared out the window, bright-eyed. Lindsey watched the way her face lit up. It reminded her of when Alexa was young. Every time she passed by her painting in their Queens apartment, she’d ask Lindsey about the Sorbonne and Paris. Lindsey would have to regale Alexa with another tale, another memory, a description of the famous sights. Now that they were heading to Paris for Alexa, the tables had turned. Alexa was the one spouting everything she knew about the city. When they were in flight, Alexa had showed Lindsey a notebook full of research. She had a list of the quaint cafés they had to go to, and notes of the best walks to take. Alexa had explained that she’d read article after article and scoured social media to learn the best times to visit the most popular and iconic sights. She had everything planned.
Alexa pointed over her mother’s shoulder. “Mom, look. It’s the Eiffel Tower. We need to go!”
Well, that one was on every visitor’s list. Lindsey smiled. Alexa’s enthusiasm was contagious.
“We’ll go,” Lindsey said as she took in the massive metal structure. It was every bit the same as she’d remembered—spectacular, full of promise, and daunting all at once.
“Have you been to the top?” Alexa asked.
“Only once.” Jack had planned an entire day for them around the tower. First, there was a picnic in the park, then there were cappuccinos from the barista with the white-and-black striped shirt, and finally, at sunset, there was the ride to the top. At the pinnacle of the landmark, they’d shared their first kiss… the gentlest, most skin-tingling kiss she’d ever experienced. Lindsey could still remember the blood-orange color of the sky that night. She’d spent weeks afterward trying to replicate the exact shade for her final painting, but never could get it right. Then the lock had dropped into the Seine, and Lindsey had returned to New York City. The painting remained unfinished.
“I can’t believe you never came back,” Alexa mused. Her gaze was still focused on the world outside her window.
“Well, now I’m back. This time with my girl.” Lindsey grabbed Alexa’s hand and squeezed it tight. The cabdriver merged into the traffic flowing past the Eiffel Tower, and the sight slowly disappeared behind them.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the Hôtel Pierre Du Calvet. It was a small hotel, quaint yet luxurious, located on a side street paved in cobblestones. The exterior was covered in a rich, dark wood with burgundy awnings above the entrance.
“I guess this is us,” Lindsey said as they emerged from the cab, taking it all in.
“It is us. It’s perfect,” Alexa said, and Lindsey agreed. The hotel looked like the kind of place you read about in novels where luminaries of years past met for drinks to discuss grand ideas.
“Of course it’s perfect. Hugo recommended it,” Lindsey said with a smile. Even though she hadn’t yet seen him, she could already feel Hugo’s presence.
“I like him already,” Alexa said as she walked around the car to the hotel. She looked ready to say more when she looked up and found herself face-to-face with the bellhop, a French boy about her own age. She froze.
“Welcome to Paris,” he said with a wink.
“Merci,” Alexa said in her best French accent, then lingered for a second longer.
Lindsey noticed the way Alexa couldn’t stop staring at the Frenchman’s chiseled chin and light brown hair. The expression on her daughter’s face was probably the same one she’d had when she first met Jack. Lindsey sighed. How could this be happening so soon?
Alexa walked toward her with a smile that wouldn’t stop. “I mean, really? Already? We just landed,” Lindsey whispered.
As they entered the hotel, Lindsey watched Alexa turn around to find that the bellhop had not taken his eyes off her. Her grin got even bigger. She gave him one last look, then followed Lindsey inside.
The interior of the hotel was even more charming than the exterior. Ornate wood moldings framed the wallpapered walls. Velvet drapes hung from the windows and gold frames held oil paintings that looked to be well over several hundred years old. Large leather chairs sat across from the front desk, and the small entrance opened into an ivy-laced courtyard in the center of the hotel.
“Bonjour. Bienvenue a’ L’hôtel,” the desk clerk said.
Alexa opened her mouth to respond, but Lindsey beat her to it. In perfect French, she said, “Thank you, what a beautiful
