Secrets on Cedar Key (17 page)

W
hen I arrived at Hartsfield Airport, I got on the tram and made my way to the international terminal, where I found a lounge with a quiet booth and ordered a glass of cabernet. After the waitress brought it, I let out a sigh and thought back to Worth and our parting kiss. That kiss definitely indicated more than just friendship, which made me question whether I wanted
more
than just friendship with him. For a brief moment I felt a twinge of guilt concerning Andrew, but then I remembered my mother's story and the guilt she had carried for years. And I knew that if I was honest with myself, then yes—I was pretty sure that moving beyond friendship with Worth was something that I definitely wanted. I felt a smile cross my lips and reached up to touch the spot where his lips had recently been. Letting out another sigh, I took a sip of wine before removing my knitting from my bag to pass the time before going to the gate.

I arrived there about an hour before boarding and found a secluded seat to place the call to Worth. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” he said. “I guess you'll be boarding shortly?”

“I will, and I think my excitement level is notching up.”

I heard his laughter come across the line. “Good. By the way, I just spoke with Madame Leroux, and she'll be waiting for you tomorrow to give you the key to the apartment. She said the weather is overcast and a bit chilly, in the forties, so be sure you're wearing your blazer when you leave the RER. You'll be getting a taxi from there, right? It's only about a thirteen-minute walk, but it could be raining and you'll have luggage.”

I smiled at his concern. “Yes. RER, and then a taxi from Port Royal to rue des Lyonnais. And after I get settled into the apartment, I'll go to the Franprix you told me about on rue Broca to stock up on a few food items.”

“Great, and try to stay up at least till six or so to get over jet lag. Then when you wake on Wednesday morning, you'll be on Paris time.”

I nodded and smiled again. “Right. Will do.”

There was a pause, and then he said, “Okay. Have a good flight, and do me a favor?”

“Call you?”

His laughter came across the line again. “Yes. Please call me when you get to the apartment.
Au revoir.
”

I disconnected, shut my cell phone off, and replaced it in my bag.

 

I did luck out, because nobody had booked the aisle seat next to me, which allowed me to stretch out a bit. We had been airborne about twenty minutes, the seat-belt sign had just gone off, and the flight attendants were beginning the beverage service. I ordered a glass of champagne, reclined my seat a little, and really did want to pinch myself. I was on my way to Paris! Not only that, but I had met an extremely nice, handsome man who would be joining me there in a week. When I thought back to all of the heartache, shock, and disappointment of the past year, it was beginning to feel like a fuzzy memory. Like perhaps it had happened to somebody else. But I knew it had not. It was simply that I was allowing myself to go forward, to get on with
my
life. And although I had no idea where I would ultimately end up or what would happen, especially concerning Fiona, I knew that if I followed my heart and did what I felt was right, things would fall into place—precisely as they should.

The flight attendant placed a glass of champagne on the aisle tray before passing me a pillow and blanket. “Thanks,” I said.

“Going to Paris on business or pleasure?” she asked, eyeing the knitting in my lap.

“Oh, pleasure. Pure pleasure.”

She laughed. “I'm a knitter also. That's gorgeous. A sweater?”

I held up the front of the sweater and nodded. “It's from a
Queensland Collection
pattern and done with Pima Lino yarn.”

“Gorgeous colors,” she said, admiring the pink, coral, and turquoise. “You'll have to visit the yarn shops in Paris while you're there.”

“Really? I didn't even think about it.”

“Oh, yes. They're so nice. That's the best part of my layovers in Paris,” she said with a laugh. “I can never resist going there. I'll jot down their names and addresses for you.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

I finished off my champagne with dinner and decided to really splurge, having a cognac with coffee after I was done eating. When the dinner tray was removed, I covered myself with the blanket, adjusted my pillow, and removed my e-book reader from my bag. The cabin lights had been dimmed, creating a glow from the seat-back movie monitors and passenger lights. Rather than watch a movie, I decided to resume reading the cozy mystery by Leann Sweeney I'd started a few days before. I'd never owned a cat, but I always enjoyed reading about them in her novels. I wasn't sure how many pages I had gotten through before the page began blurring and I wasn't able to keep my eyes open. I closed up the e-book, flipped my light off, and snuggled into the pillow, allowing myself to drift off.

 

The next thing I knew the cabin lights were being turned on and I heard the breakfast carts going down the aisle. I glanced at my watch and realized I'd slept for almost three hours. It was midnight, with only about two hours left to the flight. But being six hours later than the States, it was six in the morning in Paris. I flipped up the window shade, and although it was black directly outside my window, ahead in the distance I could see a bright orange and red sky. Dawn was breaking over the city, and I smiled. Not much longer and I'd be there.

I enjoyed my coffee and juice along with a croissant and yogurt. After I finished, I went to the restroom to freshen up a bit before we landed.

The flight attendant returned to my seat and passed me a slip of paper. “Here you go. I think you'll enjoy these yarn shops.”

“Thanks,” I said and slipped the paper in my bag.

“First trip to Paris?”

“Actually, my second. But it's been over thirty years since I was last here.”

She smiled. “Ah, and I bet you'll see very little has changed. That's one of the beauties of Paris. Have a great time.”

As the wide-body began its descent, I leaned my chin in my hand on the armrest and stared out the window. It was completely light now, so I was able to see large patches of green below—obviously the French countryside—and as we dipped lower, I was able to make out farmhouses and then small villages. Before I knew it, the announcement was made to fasten seat belts for our final approach into Charles de Gaulle; a few minutes later I felt a bump, and we were on the runway taxiing to the terminal gate.

First in English and then French, I heard, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Paris.”

I was suddenly overcome with emotion and felt my eyes blurring with tears. Feeling silly, I reached up to dab them and let out a deep breath, and that was when I did actually pinch my arm. Ouch! Yes, I was definitely here. It wasn't a dream.

Once the aircraft was at the gate, noise filled the cabin as people jumped up and began opening overhead bins and removing their carry-ons. Since I had my carry-on bag beside me, I had nothing to remove from the bin. But I stood, stretched, and, remembering Worth's advice, put my blazer on before adjusting my scarf.

In the terminal, I followed the crowds to Immigration, where I eventually made my way to the officer, who looked at my passport, stamped it, and gave me permission to enter the country of France. I now followed more crowds to the baggage area. By this time, I was very grateful that I'd had the good sense to choose comfortable walking shoes. The carousel had not yet begun to move, but I found a good spot where I'd be able to grab my one piece of luggage when it did. Ten minutes later luggage began tumbling out, and I didn't have to wait too long until my gray Samsonite appeared.

I was waved through Customs and emerged to find another huge crowd of people, some waving and smiling, others holding name signs. Almost immediately I saw directions to the RER and walked along, quite happy that I'd invested in the spinner luggage, which was very easy to maneuver beside me.

I found RER B and waited on the platform to board for Port Royal. About fifty minutes later, I got off the train at boulevard Port Royal and got a taxi to the apartment. I was beginning to feel like I was on overload with the sights and sounds of Paris. When we weren't underground on the RER, I craned my neck toward the window, trying to take in the little villages along the route with stone houses, small shops, and streets that meandered away from the tracks. As I waited for a taxi, horns blared, vehicle brakes screeched, and for the first time since leaving, I thought of the quiet of Cedar Key—but I had to admit I wouldn't have traded standing on a Paris street for anything.

The taxi driver made his way down rue des Lyonnais, pulled up in front of a building, jumped out to remove my luggage from the trunk, and gave me a big smile.

“C'est ici,”
he said, gesturing with his hand toward the building.

I understood that he had told me,
It's here,
and felt proud that I was able to grasp his French phrase.

I paid him in euros before saying,
“Merci. Au revoir,”
which earned me another big smile.

I rolled my luggage to the front door, punched in the digicode, and heard the door click for me to open. Stepping inside, I saw an outside entranceway leading to an open courtyard and another building, where I used my key and walked inside. Worth's apartment was up two steps on the left. I placed my luggage outside the door and climbed to the first floor to meet Madame Leroux and get my key.

T
he door opened almost immediately to my knock. Standing before me was a short, stout woman. Her expression was pleasant and conveyed a youthfulness that belied the fact that she was in her late eighties.

She pulled the door wider. “
Bienvenue.
Come in, come in. You must be Marin.”

I returned her smile and nodded, but what drew my attention was the huge mass of fur in her arms. Without depositing what I realized was a mega-cat, she sat in one of the overstuffed chairs and gestured for me to take the one opposite.

“You had a good flight, yes?”

“Very good. Thank you. That's a beautiful cat you have,” I said and instantly knew it was a Maine coon breed and very similar to the one that Chloe's aunt, Maude Stone, had. Lafitte was big, but this feline probably tipped the scales even a few pounds more.

Madame Leroux stroked the cat's head, which immediately set up the sound of a trill or chirp. I remembered that Lafitte didn't meow either, but made this sweet sound, which was one of the traits that a Maine coon was noted for.

“Ah, this is my Jacques. He's now ten years old and my best friend. You like cats?” she questioned.

As if on cue, Jacques jumped from Madame Leroux's lap and into mine. I let out a laugh as I felt the weight on my legs. I had never owned a cat before, but Jacques was quickly convincing me that yes, I did like cats. He rubbed his large, dome-shaped head under my chin, forcing me to stroke his ears, which brought forth another trill. “I do like cats,” I said. “And he's really stunning. A Maine coon breed, right?”

“Yes. My niece is a breeder, like my sister before her. Jacques is my third Maine coon. They're a wonderful breed.”

“They are. A woman in the town where I live has one.” Jacques was gray and white with a large, fluffy tail just like Lafitte, but I remembered Chloe telling me they come in various colors. “His name is Lafitte and he's the same color.”

“Ah, she also has a
bleu?
” she said, using the French pronunciation of the color. “They are quite handsome.”

“Blue? I thought he was gray.”

Madame Leroux laughed. “Yes, they do look like a steel gray, but they have accents of blue when the light hits their fur.”

“Well, Jacques certainly is a handsome boy,” I said, and as if understanding, he now placed his huge paws on my shoulders and cuddled against my chest, causing me to laugh.

“So you are a good friend of Worth's? He is such a nice man. He always helps me with little jobs around the apartment when he comes. I will be happy to see him again next week.”

So will I,
I thought, and said, “Yes, he's doing some remodeling work for my mother's shop, and that's how we met.” I neglected to say that I had a feeling we were becoming more than just friends.

Madame Leroux got up and went to the dining room table as I glanced around the two rooms. They had an old-world feel to them, with the cushy pillows, tasseled lampshades, and heavy mahogany furniture.

She returned with a covered plastic bowl and the key to Worth's apartment. “I have your key,” she confirmed. “And I'm sure you're tired from your travel, so I have made you some soup to nourish you.”

Jacques jumped down, allowing me to stand. “That's so nice of you. Thank you,” I said, and before she passed them to me, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on each of my cheeks.

“I'm sure Worth explained where to shop. Just down the street is a Franprix,
boulangerie, charcuterie,
anything you might need, and on rue Mouffetard is the wonderful outdoor market.”

“Yes, he told me, and after I get unpacked I'll venture out for a little while.”

“I also wanted to tell you, I know that Thursday is . . . what do you call it? Thanksgiving? Your American holiday. I'm going to prepare a roast chicken, and my niece, Annette, will be coming. I'd like you to join us.”

I was quite surprised by her invitation and wondered if Worth had anything to do with it. “That would be very nice. I'd like that. Thank you.”

“Good. Around one o'clock, and if you need anything, just knock on my door. I'm usually here.”

I gave a final pat to Jacques, took the soup bowl and key, and headed downstairs.

I placed the key in the lock, stepped into a small hallway, and saw the kitchen was to my left, adjacent to the living room on the right. Placing the bowl on the counter, I removed my blazer and put it on the back of the stool. Standing in the middle of the living room, I smiled. So this was where Worth spent his Parisian time. French doors lined the wall, looking out to a small, private garden with table and chairs. Worth was right—nothing fancy, but the furnishings looked cozy and comfortable and the two rooms were bright and cheery. I noticed that despite the cloudiness of earlier, the sun was now making an attempt to break through. I walked to the doorway off the living room and saw a good-size bedroom. Retracing my steps back to the entrance hallway, I now saw where the second bedroom was located. It was then that I realized Worth had neglected to tell me which bedroom was to be mine. This one seemed smaller. Since I was the guest, maybe I should claim it.

I heard my cell phone ringing and went back to the living room to remove it from my bag.

“Welcome to Paris,” I heard Worth say as I glanced up to the clock on the kitchen wall and saw that it was close to noon.

I smiled. “Thank you. I just got into the apartment a few minutes ago and I was going to call you.”

“Flight over okay?”

“It was very good. I slept for about three hours. I don't even feel tired. I had no problem getting the RER or taxi, and I just left Madame Leroux's apartment. I can understand why you're so fond of her, by the way. She's very sweet, and that cat of hers is adorable.”

Worth laughed. “Good. I'm glad you arrived safely and yes, I thought you might like Madame Leroux. And Jacques is quite the cat. So what have you got planned for the rest of the day?”

“I'm going to unpack first. Oh, you never told me which bedroom was mine.”

Without hesitating, he said, “The one off the living room. The larger one.”

“No, no. I have a feeling that's your bedroom. I'll take the smaller one. Really. I don't mind.”

“Absolutely not. Please. I want you to have that one. By the way . . . did you check out the kitchen?”

The kitchen? “Not really. Not yet. I'm walking toward it now, though,” I said and then gasped. There on the small round table was a vase filled with gorgeous yellow roses, and beside it was an ice bucket, chilling a bottle of white wine. I bent down to inhale the wonderful fragrance of the flowers. “Oh, Worth. You shouldn't have. But thank you so much. The roses are beautiful. I love them, and I know I'll enjoy that wine later.”

“That's what I wanted—for you to enjoy it. So you're going to get unpacked and then what?”

“Madame Leroux gave me a bowl of homemade soup, so I'm going to go to the
boulangerie
to get a baguette to go with it. And I think I might wander around rue Mouffetard for a while, find a sidewalk café for coffee, pick up some items at the Franprix. And I plan to be in bed by six or so. How's everything with you?”

“Fine. It's only six in the morning here, but I'll be heading over to the yarn shop later to get some more work done.”

“I'm going to call my mother in about an hour. She should be up by then. Oh, Madame Leroux invited me for dinner on Thursday. She said she's preparing a roast chicken, and her niece, Annette, is also coming.”

“I'm sure you'll enjoy their company. Okay, well, I'll let you unpack and get settled in. Enjoy yourself, Marin. I'll talk to you tomorrow. And by the way . . . I already miss you.”

I disconnected the phone with a smile on my face before going into the bedroom to begin unpacking. After I got my clothes hung up in the closet and put away in a few of the empty bureau drawers, I arranged my toiletries in the bathroom before stepping back into the bedroom. I looked at the queen-size bed and realized I'd be sleeping in the bed where Worth normally slept. I let out a burst of laughter and found myself scooting smack into the middle of the mattress, arms wrapped around myself as a huge smile crossed my face.
Life is good,
I thought.
Life is damn good.

After calling my mother, letting her know I'd arrived safely and that all was well, I refilled my Namaste bag with essential items to explore my neighborhood—wallet, French phrase book, and street map. Stepping onto the pavement, I let out a deep breath. Already, I felt like a Parisian heading out on my own.

I walked the short distance to rue Mouffetard, found a table at one of the terrace cafés, and ordered a cup of
café noir
. Normally I added a bit of cream, but in Paris I loved the rich, dark flavor of black coffee.

I allowed myself to soak up the atmosphere. Paris had a strong pulse—unlike that of any other city I'd visited—beating away over many centuries. It was easy to visualize eras inhabited by so many famous people down through the ages. Kings and queens, political activists, poets, artists, writers, and so many more, who all contributed to making Paris the extraordinary city that she was. Surrounded by ancient buildings, cobblestone sidewalks, fountains, and squares, I almost expected to see Hemingway or Gertrude Stein claim the table beside me.
This
was what I loved about Paris;
this
was why I had always longed to return here—all I had to do was
be,
and I was instantly transported back to another time in history, almost making me feel as if time itself had stood still.