“Êtes-vous perdue?”
“Ah, um.” Flustered, I scan my memory of French and come up empty, so I default to asking if he speaks English. “Pardon, je ne parle pas français. Parlez-vous anglais?”
“Oui. Are you lost?”
“No. I’m looking for Sam. I’m a friend and thought he might be here.”
“He’s at Mon Petit on Fridays. You want a lift? I’m headed there now.” Slapping the side of the van door, he smiles.
Quickly, I contemplate the foolishness of getting into a vehicle with a total stranger. He’s a young guy and not particularlybig or muscular, so I figure I could likely take him if necessary, sending thanks to Jonah for my self-defense lessons.
“Sure, thanks.”
As I enter Sam’s other restaurant, Mon Petit Chou, behind the bread guy, laughter fills the air. Mon Petit Chou? Chou means cabbage in French. Sam has a cabbage tattoo. I don’t get it. What’s his deal with cabbage? I must ask him what it means.
Two young women and a man with locs, the same one with Sam when he was in Toronto, are laughing. He stands behind the bar, and his French banter is light and jovial, though incomprehensible to me. All the fun stops the instant he spies me, and his expression sobers.
“What the hell are you doing here?” His words are deep and almost menacing.
“Ah, I’m looking for Sam.” I’m nervous.
“He’s not here,” the women respond in unison. As if telepathic, they cross their arms over their ample chests. The tall guy strides toward me like he’s on a mission and I’m his target.
“Get out,” he orders, pointing his long finger at the door. “No groupies allowed.” Groupie? Do I look like a groupie? I certainlydon’t think so. Turning his wrath on the bread guy, he snarls, “Zee, why did you bring her here?”
What is it with this guy? I have no clue who the hell he is, but he has a hate on for me. What on earth did I ever do to him?
“Désolé,” the bread guy mumbles, giving me the evil eye before hightailing it out of there.
Thinking he’s on to something, I’m about to follow suit and get the hell out of there when Sam’s deep, rumbly voice stops me cold. “Olivia.”
When I turn, he’s standing at the mouth of the hallway, that sexy, easy smile lighting up his whole face. Warmth blooms in my stomach before I can stop it.
In less than five steps, he’s in front of me, his hands finding my waist as he lifts me clean off the ground, twirling me once.
A startled squeak escapes me, my fingers clutching at his shoulders on instinct. He laughs, deep and unrestrained, spinning us until the room blurs. For a split second, the world tilts, but not from the motion. It’s him. Always him.
My stomach dips, and I squeeze my eyes shut as laughter turns to a breathless groan.
“Sam, put me down,” I manage between a laugh and a threat.
He slows, easing me to the floor, his hands still firm around my waist.
“You okay?” That damn grin tugs at his mouth.
I press a palm to his chest, trying to steady myself and not just from the dizziness. “You’re lucky I didn’t have breakfast, or you’d be wearing it.”
He chuckles, unbothered, his thumbs brushing my sides. “Noted. No spinning after meals.”
The air between us hums, familiar and charged. I should step back. I should say something clever to break the tension. Instead, all I can think about is how natural it felt to be in his arms again…and how much I’ve missed it.
“I missed you.” His lips sprinkle feather-light kisses along my jaw.
Then he pulls me tight and buries his face into the crook of my neck. His warm breath tickles my skin while his spicy masculine scent surrounds us.
“Sam,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s meant to sound like a warning, but it comes out breathy and unsure.
The tall, dark man is not amused with our display of familiarity and affection, a scowl firmly entrenched on his face. “Sam, what the hell?”
