As he’d half expected, she took several photographs of the rose window with its beautiful blue and red glass.
‘Is this a Victorian renovation, too?’ he asked.
‘Most of this one’s original thirteenth-century glass. If I were you, I’d tell me to shut up, now,’ she said with a grin, ‘because stained glass was one of the modules in my degree, and Ally says I get really boring about it, always dragging her off to tiny churches to see rare specimens.’ Her smile faded. ‘Said,’ she corrected herself.
He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘You really miss her, don’t you?’
‘Yes. But I’m glad we have Tyler. We’ll see her and Pete in him as he grows up.’
And then he forgot to release her hand. She didn’t make a protest; it was only as they strolled through the streets of the old quarter that he realised he was still holding her hand. And that he was actually happy. Happier than he could remember being for a long, long time.
Maybe he didn’t need to struggle with words, after all. Maybe all he had to do was be.
She insisted on stopping at one of the stalls and buying a baby-sized beret for Tyler. She gave him a sidelong look. ‘I’m tempted to get you one as well.’
‘You expect me to wear a beret?’ he scoffed.
‘Mmm, and you could have a Dali moustache to go with it.’
He shuddered. ‘What next, a stripy jumper and a red scarf?’
She laughed. ‘OK, so a beret is a bit too avant-garde for you—but men can look good in a beret, you know.’
‘I think I’ll pass,’ he said. ‘Though I admit Tyler will look cute.’
As they crossed the bridge she asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Time for lunch,’ he said.
They stopped outside a restaurant in the old quarter right next to the Seine with view of Notre Dame. She looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘I know of this place. Zola, Dumas and de Maupassant all used to come here—it’s hideously expensive, Dylan. It’s Michelin starred.’
And it had a great reputation, which was why he’d booked it. He simply shrugged. ‘They might have monkfish.’
She let the teasing comment pass. ‘I’ve never eaten in a restaurant with a Michelin star.’
‘Good. That means you’ll enjoy this,’ he said.
* * *
Enjoy?
This was way, way out of her experience. Dylan, despite the fact that he wasn’t keen on cooking, clearly liked good food and was used to eating at seriously swish restaurants like this one.
Enjoy.
OK. She’d give it a go. Even if she did feel a bit intimidated.
The maître d’ showed them to a table in a private salon. She’d never been to such an amazing place before; the décor was all gilded wood and hand-painted wallpaper. There was a white damask cloth on the table along with lit white candles and silverware, and gilded Louis XIV chairs. The windows were covered with dark voile curtains, making the room seem even more intimate. And the maître d’ told them that the waiter would be along whenever they rang the bell.
Emmy’s eyes met Dylan’s as they were seated. For a moment, she allowed herself to think what it would be like if this were a proper romantic date. A total sweep-you-off-your-feet date.
He’d held her hand as they’d wandered through the city together; so was this Dylan’s way of taking her on a date without having to ask her? He didn’t like emotional stuff, so she knew he’d shy away from the words; but this definitely felt like more than a thank you. More like the fact that he wanted to be with her. Some time for just the two of them. Together.
Unless she was projecting her own wants on him and seeing what she wanted to see...
When she looked at her menu, she noticed that there were no prices. In her experience, this meant the food was seriously expensive. And it made her antsy.
She coughed. ‘Dylan, there aren’t any prices on my menu.’
He spread his hands. ‘And?’
She bit her lip. ‘I’m used to paying my way.’
‘Not on this occasion. I’m taking you out to lunch to say thank you.’
So not a date, then. She tried not to feel disappointed.
‘Just as you took me out to dinner,’ he reminded her.
‘But when I took you out, it wasn’t somewhere as swish as this.’
He sighed. ‘Emmy, if you’re worrying about the bill, then please don’t. I can afford this. My business is doing just fine—and, thanks to this new contract, it’s going to be doing even better. I couldn’t have got this contract without your help, so please let me say thank you.’
‘Can I at least buy the wine?’ she asked.
‘No. This one is all on me. And, I don’t know about you, but I’ve got to the stage where I fall asleep if I drink at lunchtime, so I was going to suggest champagne by the glass.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘But I might let you buy me a crêpe later.’
A crêpe. Which would only cost a couple of Euros, whereas she was pretty sure the bill here was going to be nearer half a month’s mortgage payment for her. ‘I feel really guilty about this.’
‘Don’t. I’m doing it because I want to treat you. So enjoy it. What would you like for lunch?’
Protesting any more would be churlish. Emmy scanned the menu. ‘It’s all so fantastic, I don’t know what to choose. I’m torn between lobster and asparagus.’
‘We could,’ he said, ‘order both—and share them.’
Now it was starting to feel like a date again. And that made her all quivery inside. ‘Sounds good,’ she said.
She actually enjoyed sharing forkfuls of starter with him. Especially as it gave her an excuse to look at his mouth as much as she liked. And she noticed he was looking at her mouth, too. As if he wanted to kiss away a stray crumb and make her forget the rest of the meal.
Oh, help. She really had to keep a lid on this.
After that, she had crayfish with satay and lime, and he chose lamb.
‘Look at this. It’s beautifully cooked and beautifully presented,’ she said. ‘I can see exactly why they have a Michelin star. This is sublime.’
He chuckled, and she narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘That you’re such a foodie—and, um, in the kitchen...’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah. I’m never going to live that monkfish down. You’ll still tease me about it when we’re ninety.’
Oh, help. Had she really said that? Implied that they were going to be together forever and ever?
‘Yes. I will,’ he said softly, and it suddenly made it hard for her to breathe.
She fell back on teasing. Just to defuse the intensity before she said something really, really clueless. ‘I could point out that this is a bit of a pots and kettles conversation, given that you’re clearly a foodie and you’re about the same as I am in the kitchen.’
He laughed. ‘I admit my monkfish would’ve been just as terrible. But you’re right. This is sublime. Try it.’ He offered her a forkful of lamb.
‘Mmm. And try this.’ She offered him some crayfish.
‘So are you going to tell me that lunch in Paris was the