Read Online Capturing Paris by Katharine Davis - Free Book Online

heat some soup, or better yet, go out for dinner. She put her coat away and stretched. She wasn’t hungry, and she knew she wouldn’t be for quite some time.
    She kept thinking of Daphne and their afternoon together. It had been fun to share stories about their lives, but there was something a trifle unsettling as well. Spending time with Daphne reminded Annie of being with Lydia, her best friend when she was eleven or twelve. Lydia was always talking Annie into trying new things.
    One summer night Lydia had persuaded Annie to climb out onto the roof of her house to smoke her first cigarette. She had talked Annie into spying on her parents’ raucous parties and stealing sips of unfinished drinks. Annie had thrown up in the rhododendron hedge before she had any idea she was tipsy. She and Lydia had become blood sisters by pricking their fingers with needles taken from Aunt Kate’s sewing basket. Annie both loved and feared their adventures, and she had missed Lydia when her family moved to California a few years later.
    Lydia was the daring one, and Annie never understood why Lydia had paid any attention to her at all. And now, standing here in the calm of her own home, Annie wondered again why Daphne had taken an interest in her. Did she really care about her poetry, or did she merely want to help her client, Valmont?
    Annie put her head in the office doorway. Now off the phone, Wesley remained focused on a document on the computer screen. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said.
    She liked seeing him bent in concentration, the neat firm line of his jaw. She entered the office, Sophie’s old room, and sat on what had been Sophie’s bed. When they’d changed the room to an office for Wesley, she’d moved the bed against the wall and covered it with pillows to make it look more like a daybed. She watched him tapping the keys, scrolling down, and frowning. She couldn’t imagine Daphne’s fingers on a computer keyboard; instead, closing her eyes, she pictured the pale hands buttoning the soft mohair sweater, turning up the collar of her blouse, and unbuttoning the top button for just the right effect. She relaxed into the pillows.
    â€œThat was Charlie on the phone,” he said.
    Annie opened her eyes. “Charlie, who used to be at the firm?”
    â€œYeah. He works for a small British firm now. Over near the Opéra. He asked me to help with a project he’s doing for the U.S. Commerce Department.”
    â€œGreat. See, you are getting more business.” She sat up on her elbows.
    â€œIt’s a small project. Where’ve you been all afternoon? I thought you weren’t going to the office.”
    Annie told him about her afternoon with Daphne, holding back some of the details of the long lunch at the Flore. “It’s amazing. I feel like I’ve known her forever. And she’s taking my poems to a French publisher, Paul Valmont.” Just saying his name made the project sound like a real possibility. “It’s a small press, but well respected.”
    â€œI wouldn’t get your hopes up.” He’d shut down the computer and swiveled his office chair to face her. Despite his somber mood, he looked attractive to her, vulnerable, but in a sexy way, like some of the brooding French poets she’d studied in college.
    â€œI’m not going to get my hopes up,” she said. But she did feel a new kind of energy. A subtle positive force had come over her. She felt a looseness in her limbs and a flush of warmth in her veins. She knew it wasn’t only the wine. “Wesley, I had fun this afternoon. Fun. Something I think you need more of.” She stood up and pulled the velvet bow from her hair, allowing it to fall loosely about her face.
    â€œYeah, right.” He looked away from her. “I have other things to think about besides fun.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t think about work so much.”
    â€œYou