“Me? I don’t think so.”
“What d’you mean? You saying there’s no such thing as magic?”
I shake my head and look up into those eyes again and justknowthat there really, really is. And maybe it’s not a holiday thing. Miracles and magic. Probably not. But it is a screeching, last-minute halt on a race I was running alone.
The fact is, this, even if it lasts a few weeks, or, hell, aday, is the kind happiness I’d given up on years ago, in the crushed backseat of a tin can car. I never thought…
“There’s magic, all right. And miracles.” I grin, reach up, and take his face in my hands. “And getting to take your grumpy ass sledding tomorrow, wherever they do that in Paris, is going to be the biggest one yet.”
EPILOGUE
One Year Later…
Colin
When your entire relationship is built on a miracle, the challenge is to keep things interesting in the long term. Especially when the woman you love is a world-traveling adventuress who’s done it all, seen it all, and got the bloody T-shirt to prove it.
At least she was in a past life.
In this life, she’s a local adventuress. A Jane of all trades. The kind of woman you call when you need information. Or help. Or a friend, or advice. Christ, I’ve never seen someone with so many friends. Clients become friends, random contractors become friends, waiters, chefs, taxi drivers. Even the bloody tax woman is now her friend.
And here’s the thing about Jules—she can do, or find, whatever a person needs. Anything and everything, within reason, of course.
“Around the World Concierge service,” she answers the phone, walking beside me. “How many? Did you call the Tour? Montparnasse? Chez Georges? Yeah. I’ve got it. Give me five minutes.” She ends the call and glances at me. “Rooftop dinner. Tonight.” She grins. “A last-minute proposal, before they leave Paris for a year.”
I tut, smiling to myself and grabbing her free hand as we cross the Pont des Arts toward the Left Bank. “Rooftop views are overrated.”
She taps her phone, sending what appear to be twenty-five texts to probably as many different venues. The woman knows her shit.
I stay quiet, happy to walk beside her while she works her magic. Five minutes later, she calls her client back, telling them a text with details is on its way.
“Where’d you put them?”
“Suresnes.” She smiles. “Just outside of Paris. Off the beaten path. They can say no one’s ever heard of the place. The chef’s excited. She loves newlyweds.”
“You found a table with a view on Christmas Eve?”
“Yep.” She rubs her folded fingers on her chest. “I got skills.”
“You’re a genius.” I bend for a quick kiss, nearly stumbling into a passing woman in the process.
“Hé! Attention! Espèce d’idiot!” The woman is clearly lacking in holiday spirit.
“Désolé!” I call with a grin, adding a heartfelt, “Bonnes fêtes, Madame!” for good measure. It’s my way now, spreading cheer to all and sundry.
Jules, laughing, grabs my arm and skips ahead a few steps. “Wait. Where are we going? What are you showing me?” She looks around at the expensive clothing stores and galleries lining the Seine, squinting at the street sign that we turn into. “You know how I feel about surprises.”
“You fucking love them.”
With a theatrical sigh, she lets me scoop her into my side and lead her down one crooked, narrow street and then another until we reach our destination. It’s a small, unobtrusive, but ornate metal door between two shops.
“I know that in the year you’ve been here—”
“Year and three months.”
I grin. “In the fifteen months you’ve been in Paris, you’ve learnt every secret there is. But…” I slide a key into the door, reach in and turn on a light to show a straight, short corridor. The walls are made of stone, the floor is paved. At the end is another door and a lift.
The look she gives me is full of a wicked excitement. “What is this?” she asks, her voice laced with awe.
