“Oh, my goodness, yes.C’est parfait,” I respond, flashing her a grateful smile.It’s more than okay.It’s perfect—she’s perfect.
I don’t deserve you.
“You really are one of a kind, Jemma with a J.”Without thought, I grab her dainty hand, weaving my fingers through hers.
Her touch is electrifying.I’ll miss this when she’s gone.The thought of her leaving sends a shockwave through my body.I wish things were different, but we’ll always have this moment.We’ll always have Paris.
Her eyes sparkle with delight when we enter the market.I watch as her eyes bounce from one wooden chalet to another.
“It’s like half-carnival, half-market?”she says, her gaze lingering on the towering Ferris wheel.“I see why this was your mother’s favorite tradition.It’s absolutely amazing.”
“It really is the gem of Paris this time of year, but it can be a bit overwhelming, so let me take it from here,” I offer, guiding Jemma toward a stall draped in garland.
I know this surprise is meant for me, but the need to take charge wells up within me.I want to ensure Jemma experiences everything this magical Christmas market has to offer.She’s slowly finding her joy again, and this might just be the frosting on the cookie that makes it happen.
When we approach the stall, a friendly vendor asks, “How many?”
I flash him two fingers.
He ladles steaming red liquid from a copper cauldron into two tall cups and sprinkles a dash of nutmeg on top before exchanging them for a few euros.
Jemma shimmies next to me, rubbing her arm into mine.“Brrr,” she murmurs.
“This will warm you up.”I pass a cup to her, holding back the urge to wrap her in my arms.“No Christmas market can be enjoyed without first having a cup of vin chaud, hot mulled wine.”
Jemma cups the drink in her hand, bringing it to her nose to inhale the fragrant blend of spices.Her face lights up before she takes a sip, and a smile breaks across her glossy lips.“Wow, c’est incroyable.”
I flash her a satisfied smile.“Okay, now we’re free to enjoy the rest of the market.”I laugh.
With our warm cups in our hands, we begin to explore, weaving in and out of chalets, checking out each vendor.I know I said it before, but I love watching Jemma experience Paris.Each new sight sparks a light within her.I wish I could have spent time with her this past week, but I had other responsibilities that needed my attention.
“Be right back.You wait here,” Jemma commands, dashing into an overflowing stall of handcrafted ornaments.
I do as I’m told.I watch as she thoughtfully plucks an item from a display, a pleased look settling across her face.
A few moments later, she returns.“For your tree.”She grins, tucking a small package into her purse.
“Do I get to see it?”I question.
She shakes her head as her front teeth teasingly nibble on her bottom lip, slightly torturing me.“It’s a surprise.”
My eyes are busy trailing the outline of her mouth when she grabs my wrist and pulls me down the corridor.“Can we get one of those next?”Her gaze is now pointing directly at a ham raclette sandwich.
“Sure.”I chuckle.
“Will you let me walk and eat it at the same time?”she says with a bit of sass as she dances around me.“Please, s’il te plaît,” she taunts.
Gosh, she’s cute.
“You’re something else, Jemma.”Another laugh escapes me.“This is one place I’ll allow it.”I wag my finger at her.
We already share inside jokes.Boy, am I screwed.I’ve let this go way too far.
I’m following Jemma, but before we can make it to the hut where the large wheel of melted cheese awaits, ready to be lavishly scooped onto sandwiches, Jemma comes to an abrupt halt.
She twirls around, her eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.“Oh, Luca.Regarde, c’est le Père Noël.Pouvons-nous prendre une photo?”Jemma bursts out in perfect French, a proud smile lighting up her beautiful features.
With a weary shake of my head, I surrender to Jemma.Seeing her this excited for a holiday she’s written off and coming at me in perfect French, sends my heart into a flutter for more than one reason.
