locked the door, “and more.”
“But I wanted to see your artwork.” She tried to look past him. “Can’t I take a peek first?”
He stepped in her way. “No.”
“Why not?” she asked, standing up to him.
“Because I said no. I’m taking you to dinner.”
“To dinner.” None of this made sense. She shook her head. “You don’t even know my name.”
“Then tell me.”
She was tempted not to, not when he was going to have that sort of attitude. But she wanted to see his art, so she didn’t want to antagonize him. “Viola Summerhill.”
“Viola Summerhill, I’m hungry, and I want to eat.” He grabbed a coat from a peg next to the door. “Either you’ll come to dinner with me or continue to freeze on the doorstep.”
“Dinner,” she decided quickly.
“Let’s go.” He started walking down the street.
She hurried after him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride. He said nothing the whole time, and it was all she could do to keep up, so she didn’t make conversation.
They walked along the Seine, past Notre Dame, to a little restaurant just beyond it. Le Tournebièvre , she read on the sign.
“Finn,” a tall young man called out. He kissed Phineas’s cheeks and launched into a rapid burst of French.
Viola understood a word every now and then. She glanced at this relaxed, friendly Finn she hadn’t met, completely different than aloof and surly Phineas Buchanan. This Finn replied smoothly in fluent French and sounded even sexier than he did in English, if that were possible.
She liked this Finn a lot.
The young man reached for her arms and kissed her cheeks. He said something to her.
She shook her head and looked at Finn. “I don’t understand.”
“Louis is telling you that you should come back without me.” Finn gave the young man, who grinned wickedly, a small push out of the way before walking her to a table. “Sit.”
Feeling oddly charmed, she sat down and murmured “Merci” when Louis handed her a menu. He didn’t give one to Finn.
“Order the pasta,” her companion said. “And the steak frites.”
“Don’t tell me what to order.” But it did sound good, even if she couldn’t possibly eat it all.
Louis came and there was rapid exchange of words after she ordered. When he left, she turned to Finn to ask him about his art and what he did, but another man came and began a conversation with Finn as he poured them wine. It sounded very serious, although Vi suspected that most conversation in French would.
The next thing she knew, Louis came back with several plates, all of which he set in front of her. She looked at it all helplessly. “This is too much,” she said softly, so Louis wouldn’t be offended.
“You’re too skinny,” he said as he cut into his own steak. “Eat it all.”
She remembered the offhand comment Charles made about her shape a few months before they’d broken up. “My ex-husband always thought I was a bit doughy.”
“Then he was an arse, and you did well to get rid of him.”
“I didn’t,” she said softly. “He got rid of me, technically.”
“And my previous statement about him being an arse is confirmed.” Finn glared at her. “Eat.”
She did, and it was scrumptious. She closed her eyes, savoring the steak and the salty, crisp fries. It was the best food she’d had in longer than she remembered.
Probably because she was free. And excited about life. And in Paris. Chloe would love this. She sighed and sat back, rubbing her full stomach.
Finn nodded at her plate. “I thought it was too much food.”
“I may explode.” She sipped the last of her wine. Even the wine tasted delicious.
“Dessert?” he asked with an eyebrow raised.
“Of course.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, and she felt warm all over.
He ordered a tarte tatin , sharing it with her. Charles had never eaten dessert, and he discouraged her from having any.
She was going to stop thinking about Charles as of right now.
“But I wanted to see your artwork.” She tried to look past him. “Can’t I take a peek first?”
He stepped in her way. “No.”
“Why not?” she asked, standing up to him.
“Because I said no. I’m taking you to dinner.”
“To dinner.” None of this made sense. She shook her head. “You don’t even know my name.”
“Then tell me.”
She was tempted not to, not when he was going to have that sort of attitude. But she wanted to see his art, so she didn’t want to antagonize him. “Viola Summerhill.”
“Viola Summerhill, I’m hungry, and I want to eat.” He grabbed a coat from a peg next to the door. “Either you’ll come to dinner with me or continue to freeze on the doorstep.”
“Dinner,” she decided quickly.
“Let’s go.” He started walking down the street.
She hurried after him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride. He said nothing the whole time, and it was all she could do to keep up, so she didn’t make conversation.
They walked along the Seine, past Notre Dame, to a little restaurant just beyond it. Le Tournebièvre , she read on the sign.
“Finn,” a tall young man called out. He kissed Phineas’s cheeks and launched into a rapid burst of French.
Viola understood a word every now and then. She glanced at this relaxed, friendly Finn she hadn’t met, completely different than aloof and surly Phineas Buchanan. This Finn replied smoothly in fluent French and sounded even sexier than he did in English, if that were possible.
She liked this Finn a lot.
The young man reached for her arms and kissed her cheeks. He said something to her.
She shook her head and looked at Finn. “I don’t understand.”
“Louis is telling you that you should come back without me.” Finn gave the young man, who grinned wickedly, a small push out of the way before walking her to a table. “Sit.”
Feeling oddly charmed, she sat down and murmured “Merci” when Louis handed her a menu. He didn’t give one to Finn.
“Order the pasta,” her companion said. “And the steak frites.”
“Don’t tell me what to order.” But it did sound good, even if she couldn’t possibly eat it all.
Louis came and there was rapid exchange of words after she ordered. When he left, she turned to Finn to ask him about his art and what he did, but another man came and began a conversation with Finn as he poured them wine. It sounded very serious, although Vi suspected that most conversation in French would.
The next thing she knew, Louis came back with several plates, all of which he set in front of her. She looked at it all helplessly. “This is too much,” she said softly, so Louis wouldn’t be offended.
“You’re too skinny,” he said as he cut into his own steak. “Eat it all.”
She remembered the offhand comment Charles made about her shape a few months before they’d broken up. “My ex-husband always thought I was a bit doughy.”
“Then he was an arse, and you did well to get rid of him.”
“I didn’t,” she said softly. “He got rid of me, technically.”
“And my previous statement about him being an arse is confirmed.” Finn glared at her. “Eat.”
She did, and it was scrumptious. She closed her eyes, savoring the steak and the salty, crisp fries. It was the best food she’d had in longer than she remembered.
Probably because she was free. And excited about life. And in Paris. Chloe would love this. She sighed and sat back, rubbing her full stomach.
Finn nodded at her plate. “I thought it was too much food.”
“I may explode.” She sipped the last of her wine. Even the wine tasted delicious.
“Dessert?” he asked with an eyebrow raised.
“Of course.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, and she felt warm all over.
He ordered a tarte tatin , sharing it with her. Charles had never eaten dessert, and he discouraged her from having any.
She was going to stop thinking about Charles as of right now.
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