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Eiffel Tower. It all comes flooding back.
"Look—Mom, Dad. I need a few minutes to sort things out with work, can you wait for me outside?"
"Of course. Though I am feeling a bit hungry. I think it must be dinner time back home. Maybe we could just grab a bite?"
"Oh no," I tell them. "You don't want to grab a bite here. This isn't really a 'grab a bite' kind of place. But I'll take you to one nearby. Just wait outside, okay?"
"Sure, dear."
"Right out that door?"
"Yep! Be right there, love you!" Leave it to me to muddle up the dates. Now to run interference with the boss. "Camille—"
"I know what you're going to say," she says before I've even had a chance to begin. "And you may have the rest of the day off."
"I'm going to need a few days off… You see, my parents have never left America before, and it's a miracle they made their way here at all."
I glance outside and Laura waves. They didn't make their way here alone at all. That explains it.
"Oh, Natalie. That is not possible." She grabs hold of my arm and leads me to the side of the restaurant. "We have so many things going on, now with this new event. How can you consider taking time off during a period such as this?"
"Camille.” I control my emotions. “Do you have any idea how I've just spent my last two weeks at the Dubois Estates? It was not exactly a walk in the park, and frankly, I think Olivier owes me, so if you want to check with him first, that's fine by me, but I'm going to go walk around with my parents and I'll be back again on Friday."
I turn around, but then my senses come crashing down and I turn back, clasping my hands in front of me and holding them in front of my chest. "Please, Camille."
"Yes, yes," she says. "I have had the pleasure of meeting Grandmama Dubois on a couple of occasions. It's a miracle that after nearly two weeks you're left standing at all. Go, have fun with your parents. They are clearly eager to see you."
She gestures with her head towards the window where Mom and Dad are so close that they're leaving breath marks against the glass. On seeing me make eye contact, they begin waving wildly.
Good old Mom and Dad. They're so not French.
CHAPTER 31
Olivier
I sign on the dotted line with a flourish, the Dubois name glowing from the page. So much riding on this single piece of paper and all it represents. The man across the table from me pulls the contract and adds his signature.
"You uphold your side of the deal," he says to me. "This has to be an event all the public can enjoy. Make that happen and this could be a great moment for both the Tower and the Bouchon Noir."
A few days ago I never would have guessed I'd be signing to take over the summit level of the Eiffel Tower in exchange for a dish that will carry the Tower's name into culinary history.Being a monument owned by the City of Paris, no private event can take place… unless it creates an experience for all the city.
And that is my next challenge.
We shake hands from the very deck where this Saturday's event will take place.
"Take your time," he says. "Enjoy the views. But I must meet with the crew before we open to the public. A pleasure doing business with you," he says as he shakes my hand firmly.
I can afford one minute to take in the sight of the city before heading back to ground level and the madness that is the coming few days. Christophe is already hard at work on designing a dish that will carry the Eiffel Tower's name. The restaurant is my next stop to taste-test. But I feel like I need to take a breath, a brief pause.
From here, the city is a work of art. Trees and gardens are in bloom, and the sun shines down in yellow rays through the occasional cloud. The Champs de Mars, Sacré Coeur, the Arc de Triomphe, theChamps-Élysées, the Orangerie, and the river Seine that dances its way through it all. As much as the country house is home, Paris is home as well.
But both feel incomplete without Natalie's bubbling laughter.
The country house is too quiet. And without Natalie at my side, the city is too chaotic. Thoughts of her follow me as I wind through the narrow streets, heading back to the Bouchon Noir. It is another incredible Paris spring day, and the few clouds in the sky give no hint of rain.
I remember that time, watching Natalie sprinting through the downpour. And the time when she arrived at the restaurant, soaking wet, not yet knowing who I was, after our exchange the day before. The look in her eyes of recognition. The second she’d realized it was me who had been obnoxious about the coffee.
To be fair, her coffee was terrible. But that wasn't the point.
