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The following morning, the sun peeked through the thin curtains of their hotel room, casting a golden glow on Holly’s hair. Deborah watched her momentarily, feeling a warm flutter in her chest. They had planned to visit a quaint café that Deborah had read about, nestled in the heart of Paris. For a moment she wished they could stay in France together forever and leave the all the forthcoming drama behind.
As they wandered through the narrow streets near Saint-Sulpice Church, the aroma of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee wafted through the air. Deborah felt an overwhelming sense of belonging. It was as if this moment was exactly where she was meant to be. They found the café—a small, charming place with ivy creeping up the walls and just a few tables outside. They took a seat, and soon, a miserable-looking waiter approached them.
“Bonjour, mesdames. What do you want?” he asked while forcing a smile through his teeth.
Deborah ordered a cappuccino, while Holly opted for a croissant and an espresso. As they waited for their order, they chatted about their plans for the day. The café was bustling with activity, yet it felt like they were in their own little world, wrapped in each other’s presence.
“I can’t wait! There is so much to do and so much to see! How do Parisians ever get any work done? There’s no way I could stay cooped up in an office all day if I lived somewhere as beautiful as this,” exclaimed Holly in a bright voice.
“I’m guessing the waiter must live in the suburbs, right? He’s certainly not full of the joys of Paris, is he? Have you ever seen such a grump? That’s the difference, right? We’re all fake grinsand compliments in L.A. because half the population lives off tips. They’re unionized over here. That waiter couldn’t care less whether we’re here or not.”
“Or whether we have to wait 15 minutes for our order. Jeez, I bet he wouldn’t even help if one of us dropped down dead. What a creep.”
“Let’s not let him ruin our day.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud crash inside the café. Deborah turned to see the red-faced and flustered waiter lying under a dropped tray of dishes. The café fell silent for a moment, then erupted into laughter and sympathetic claps. The waiter gave an embarrassed bow before quickly retreating to the kitchen. Deborah couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling second-hand embarrassment and relief that she wasn’t in his shoes.
“That poor guy,” Deborah said, laughing. “I hope he’s okay.”
“Screw that dude,” Holly answered. “Where’s my espresso!”
A waitress brought their drinks out just a couple of minutes later, and as Deborah took a sip of her cappuccino, she felt the creamy foam tickle her lips. The coffee’s rich flavor was perfect, andshe sighed contentedly. They spent the next hour at the café, enjoying the food, the atmosphere, and each other’s company. Deborah felt like she was on a cloud, her happiness bubbling from within like champagne.
Later, after a quick lunch at an indoor farmer’s market, they decided to visit the famous Shakespeare and Company bookstore. As a lover of literature, Deborah had always dreamed of coming here. The moment they walked in, she was enveloped by the smell of old books and the quiet hum of whispers and rustling pages. Holly immediately headed for the poetry section while Deborah browsed through the shelves of classic novels. She picked up a worn copy ofPride and Prejudiceand flipped through its yellowed pages, feeling a sense of nostalgia.
“This place is magical. I read this in high school. I’m a huge fan,” she whispered to Holly, who was now beside her with a stack of poetry books in her arms.
“It really is,” Holly replied. “I could spend hours here. I want these—all of them.”
Deborah couldn’t stop laughing. “We can stay as long as you like, and you can read what youwant, but we can’t get more than a couple of books in our luggage.”
As they continued to explore the bookstore, they stumbled upon a small reading nook in the corner. It was cozy, with a couple of armchairs and a lamp casting a warm glow. They sat down on a velvet sofa, Holly reading aloud from one of her poetry books while Deborah listened, her head resting on Holly’s shoulder. The rhythmic cadence of Holly’s voice was soothing, and Deborah felt herself getting lost in the words.
When they finally left the bookstore, the sun was beginning to set. They walked hand in hand along the Seine. Deborah felt an overwhelming sense of peace. This day had been perfect in every way, and she knew that these memories would stay with her forever.
In that moment, with the city of Paris as their backdrop, Deborah knew that she had found something truly special. Her love for Holly was a beautiful adventure, and she couldn’t wait to see where it would take them next.
10
HOLLY
As Holly looked out from the balcony of their Paris hotel room for the last time, the City of Lights seemed to match the glow she felt within perfectly. The Eiffel Tower stood like a giant guarding the city streets in the distance.
Wow. Is this for real? Do people wake up to this every day? It’s wild.
Holly turned her gaze back to Deborah, who was still peacefully sleeping. Paris had really deepened their feelings for one another, and each moment of their trip was infused with romance and discovery.
The quaint bistros, the curt waiting staff, the stunning art galleries—they had all somehowhelped seal the bond between them with their magic. Paris had a glow about it, day and night. The city had cocooned them, making their lives back in L.A. feel distant and irrelevant. It was in these moments that Holly felt the most connected to Deborah as if their souls were intertwined as one.
But she knew that what had happened between them in Paris—the food, the wine, the extraordinary sex, the conversations, and even the comfortable silences—was only a temporary escape. Catching that flight back to the States meant facing the reality of their lives, where their relationship would no doubt be in the public eye by now. The gossip and speculation had already begun before they’d left, and Holly had noticed a couple of sidelong glances and hushed whispers when she was out and about. Each time, she remembered what it felt like to be in Deborah’s arms, and this helped her resolve to protect their love.
After they’d been back in L.A. for a couple of days, both of which were spent working in Deborah’sbuilding on her internship program, Holly decided to head to the Indigo Lounge. The lounge was a familiar refuge, a place where she could unwind and be herself. This was her mom’s second home, and everyone had always made her feel welcome there. As she entered, the dim lighting and soft jazz music welcomed her. She exchanged greetings with a few acquaintances before making her way to the bathroom. She’d had way too many lattés in an attempt to power through the jet lag that still plagued here and was desperate to pee.
As she closed one of the stall doors, she overheard a conversation that stopped her in her tracks. Ruby, the author that Debs had told her about, was speaking. “I just don’t understand it,” she said. “Debbie is so much older than Holly, right? What was she even thinking? When it comes to that fake mommy/daughter vibe, it gives me the creeps.”
It was then that her stomach really cramped up into knots. She recognized the other voice immediately. It was Nora who responded, “They’re both adults. But the age gap is… noticeable. Everyone’s talking about it. And considering Deborah’s history, I’m worried about Holly. If Holly breaks up with her… Well, it won’t go down well.”
A surge of anger coursed through Holly’s veins. She stepped out of the stall, startling the two women. “Mind your own fucking business,” she snapped. “Deborah and I are really good together. We know each other. We’ve actually got something. Isn’t that what matters?”
