Page 47 of Lovetown, USA

Lane

“Are you serious?”

Britt nods furiously. “Are you excited?”

“I’m about to pee all around your office like a puppy. Hell yeah, I’m excited!”

We share a laugh and mile-wide smiles as it sinks in that I’m going to Paris on assignment. Britt explained it as a Black American Girl in Paris piece. Apparently, they loved my Lovetown story so much, they figured they’d reward me and keep the interest in my love life going.

I don’t even care.

I’m headed to the City of Lights!

Britt beams with me as the thrill of possibility courses through me. The opportunity of it all, exploring another part of the world on my company’s dime.

Three days later, after a turbulent ass flight that made me pray for forgiveness, I’m standing in the cool Paris morning air. The concierge at my hotel greets me with a polite smile. We talk briefly before he escorts me to my room.

It’s pretty small, and obviously very old, but it’s adorably quaint and cozy.

I take a three-hour nap and wake up somewhat refreshed. I’m here for a month, so there’s plenty of time to sleep. I wanna see the city.

I freshen up in the tiny bathroom, then head back down. Marc waves me down again and hands me a brochure.

“For the metro, for you to get around.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Are you headed out to eat?”

“To eat, see the sights. I think I’m just gonna wander today.”

“Very good. But if I may, you must try the patisserie down the street,” he says. “Their petit fours…remarkable. You will not regret it.”

I raise a curious eyebrow. Before I can ask him how in the hell he knows I love petit fours, he says, “Your boss said to treat you like a queen.”

That explains it, I guess. I nod, satisfied, though my curiosity lingers.

I stroll down the cobblestone street, the sunlight glinting off the pale stone buildings, the scent of fresh bread and pastries teasing my nose. It’s gritty here, but it’s a grit I’m not familiar with, so I can’t complain. The vibes are currently vibing.

I stop at Le Petite étoile, figuring this must be the place. I push open the door, and a bell chimes softly. Warm air and the heady scent of sugar and vanilla envelop me.

I sit at a small round table, running my fingers across the green marble. The waiter, a thin blond man with nary a smile to be found, appears. I open my mouth to order, but he interrupts, his voice clipped. “Already taken care of, mademoiselle.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely toward the display case. “For you. Every petit four we carry has been purchased for you.”

My confusion deepens just as the bell sounds again.

I turn to look and it’s him.

Trey.

Time slows. He strides in, my mind fooling me into thinking it’s slow motion. His eyes lock on mine, his every step measured to get to me. My face is calm, but I’m roiling inside. He stops at my table as the waiter walks off, dropping to his knees on the cool tile floor.

“What are you doing?”

He takes my hand. “Begging. I crossed an ocean, baby girl. I don’t know what else to do but to plead with you.” He stares intently. “I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

I snatch my hand away, crossing my arms. “You hurt me,” I say flatly. “For no reason. You literally could have told me, Trey. I might have even understood in the beginning. I know what it’s like to want something so bad, you cross lines to get it. You’re human. I’m human. We all make mistakes.”

He swallows hard, his eyes glistening. “I know. I should’ve been honest. I shouldn’t trusted you. Just…tell me what to do to make this right.”

“You can’t.” I take a deep breath, shaking my head for what I’m about to say. “To be honest, Trey, I forgave you the moment you walked in.”

His mouth falls open in disbelief. “You serious?”

“Yeah.” I finally give him a smile as the tension in my shoulders releases. He pulls me up from my chair and grabs me in a tight hug, his hands cradling my face, mine curled around the back of his neck. Our lips meet, tentative at first, then hungry and urgent.

“I love you,” he murmurs between kisses.

“I love you too,” I whisper, shocked to hear my own words spilling from my mouth.

Our waiter isn’t pleased at all. He’s bored in fact, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy boxing up all those petit fours. But for now, he and the rest of the world disappear, and it’s only us.