Page 31 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

TWO TICKETS

Hazel

You can’t go wrong with a night in Paris.

Words I’ve lived by ever since I fell in love with this city when I first visited it with my mom. I’ve traveled here with friends a few times over the years, falling a little harder each time. That’s why I set The I Do Redo here.

Naturally, I was excited when Aaron and Cady sent the trip agenda a few weeks ago and Paris was the one stop where we’d disembark from the train and spend a whole day and night.

But now that I’m here, taking a shuttle bus with the group from a late breakfast in Le Marais to our hotel in the Eighth Arrondissement, I don’t feel excited. I feel a strange sort of dread.

As the van rumbles past the Louvre, my stomach lurches, and it’s not from the quick stop at the light as pedestrians from all over the world cross, heading toward the famous museum.

It’s the hotel arrangements. I wish I could hack into the hotel’s computer system and rearrange the rooms.

But there’s nothing I can do. I worry away at my cuticles as the destination looms closer.

Soon, we pull over and clamber out of the shuttle bus.

The maroon-uniformed man swings open the door with Hotel Particulier Eighth calligraphed across the gleaming glass.

It’s a new hotel that opened after the one in the tenth was sold out every night.

“Bonjour,” I say to him, but I’m not feeling at all like Belle.

I’m jealous of her. I want that spring she has in her step as she carries bags of books through her quiet little town.

The spring in my step has gone missing, and I know why.

I just don’t know what to do about it.

As the group fans into the lobby, that feeling of dread intensifies, climbing higher in me. With efficiency, Amy handles the reservations, telling us the hotel arranged to check us in earlier than usual. One by one, she hands out the keys, starting with Axel and me.

“For you,” she says, setting a key card in Axel’s palm, “And one for you,” she says, placing one in mine, beaming with relief.

“Finally. Sorry it took so long. We have everything sorted for the Copenhagen leg of the trip, so you’ll have separate compartments at last as we travel to Denmark.

Jay extended his apologies too and he’s happy to comp you for another train tour another time, he’s said. ”

That jolts me from my momentary funk, her first-name basis relationship with the billionaire. I steal a glance at Axel next to me, wanting to nudge him with my elbow, but all I have to do is lift a brow slightly. He lifts one in return.

“That’s so kind of Mr. Bettencourt,” I say when I snap my gaze back to Amy. I can’t bring myself to call him Jay. Then I smile, gripping the card for emphasis. “And this is great.”

“Much appreciated, Amy,” Axel chimes in.

I’m careful not to smile too much or look at Axel too long. No one needs to whisper or wonder what happened behind closed doors.

But I wish I were sharing a room with him tonight. Mine already feels lonely, and I’m not even in it. I wish I could bump into him as I head to brush my teeth, then bicker over who takes up more of the bed.

I don’t even know what our trip-only ground rules mean anymore. Did they apply to the first few nights only? Do they stop tonight? Why didn’t we think about this hotel situation earlier today? Oh, maybe because we were making out as the sun rose and we had to scramble out of bed in a rush.

Again.

As the door to the elevator opens, I try to sort through my thoughts about last night, this morning, and then all the days to come in New York as we share a brain and a heart over the fate of our characters.

But I’m tongue-tied as the door closes and I hit the button for the sixth floor.

Axel stabs the button for the fifth. The share-a-room part of the trip is over, and I already miss it so much my chest hurts.

When Axel steps off on the fifth floor and says casually, “Have fun today,” I can’t untangle the words to say, Wait! What are you doing? Sneak off with me. Let’s play hooky in Paris before I see Rachel later.

I only manage an awkward, “You too.”

“Brooks will be on a boat tour,” he says confidently. He’s so sure of himself. He seems so sure of what’s going on between us—what it is and what it isn’t.

I’m momentarily confused by his comment, till it dawns on me. He’ll be writing.

Something I should do too.

Maybe I can sort out my annoying emotions through words—they have always seen me through.

But an hour later, my room is too empty. The hotel is too quiet. I can’t concentrate on the story in front of me on the screen.

What is Axel doing in his room?

Ugh. I can’t obsess over him like this. I should talk to friends instead. Grabbing my phone, I click to my texts. I confirm with Rachel where I’m meeting her this afternoon, then click over to my thread with TJ. He’s an early riser, so he might be up.

His gifs from our last exchange still cackle at me. Fitting. I tap out a reply.

Hazel: I adulted so damn well that Axel and I are writing together again. Do I get cheese now?

TJ: Whaaaaat???? Don’t make me get out of bed to call you, girl.

Hazel: Wild, right?

I SparkNotes him on the entire Axel situation, minus the sex. We can talk about the sex another time. Mostly, I don’t want TJ to hear about Lacey rising from the dead from the whisper network. I want him to hear it from me, so I finish with one more text.

Hazel: You were right. I missed him and I missed writing with him.

When we wrote together, I wasn’t in my head all the time, wondering if I was any good, if my story worked, if anyone would like it.

I relished having someone to create with, someone to nurture a story with, then see it into the world.

I liked having a partner in crime. (Well, you know what it’s like from our book!)

TJ and I wrote a rom-com together last year. We had a blast, but that was a one-off, and we haven’t made plans to write together again. I suppose for a mostly solitary, primarily feline-like creature, I crave companionship now and then.

Or more than now and then. Axel was my greatest companion, and we navigated the dark and dangerous waters of art and passion together. I can’t wait to do it again with him.

TJ: I do get it. I get it completely. Second chances are kind of my thing. Well, third chances, so I understand wanting to reconnect with someone you care about.

TJ and his husband met years ago in London, then met again, then finally, after one more time, got it right.

I don’t think Axel and I are headed down that path, but it’s good to know TJ understands all my reasons.

That’s another thing I love about our friendship.

There’s an emotional shorthand we have, perhaps from mining so much emotion on our keyboards all day long.

Hazel: Thanks, friend.

TJ: Go have some fromage. I’m going back to sleep with my third chance.

Hazel: Show-off

I say goodbye and set the phone down, returning to my screen, but all I manage are the words She tastes like plums , and I’m thinking of kisses again, and tastes again, and Axel again.

Is he penning a daring escape on a boat tour?

Or has Brooks met the woman of his dreams?

Does he kiss her passionately on the deck, her hair blowing in the breeze before he has to cover her, saving her from a hitman’s gunfire from across the riverbank?

I shiver, excited at the thought.

But thinking of his story isn’t helping my fictional sommelier and his heroine. I shake off the thoughts of Axel’s book, but five minutes later, I’m staring at white space.

“Fuck it,” I mutter.

I’m in Paris. I have a free afternoon. I want to experience the world, not imagine it. I grab my phone and call him, hoping words come easily this time.

He answers on the first ring. But it’s loud where he is, and he says above the din, “Hey there. Hold on one second.” Then he says to someone else, “Oui. Un billet, s’il vous plait.”

My heart speeds up. I know what he’s doing. But I wait patiently for Axel to finish. When he returns to me, he says, “I don’t normally pick up while I’m talking to someone, but what’s going on?”

He sounds concerned about me, but also hopeful. I’m hopeful too, since he’s not writing about a boat tour. He’s buying a ticket—un billet—to take one.

“Can you get deux billets? If you’re near the hotel, I can be there in twenty minutes.”