Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) by Celia Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page A

him, experience the sensation
of molding my body to his. I wanted to walk up to him and kiss him. Instead, I
took a deep breath and led the way to the wreckage that was my living room.
    ***
    While I
swept the floors, he began removing the drop cloths from the furniture. We
created a seating area first. For fun, I threw a paint-splattered drop cloth on
the floor in the middle of the living room, and then we placed a large rustic
wooden coffee table on top of it. On either side, we placed my two white
leather couches with glass cubes for end tables.
    Stepping back, we surveyed the
space. He asked, “Where do you find these pieces? Very creative idea. I like
it.”
    I admitted my passion for
repurposing furniture. “Well, the cubes came from an old nightclub that was being
gutted in Montmartre. The coffee table I bought when I was in Provence. Someone
was having an estate sale. I like treasure hunting. My couches, I bought those
at France Canapé Marais, with my first paycheck.”
    “Eclectic! It is very much you. Fantastique! ”
He squeezed my shoulder and gave me warm smile.
    “I think those blobs over there
are lamps. Would you mind pulling out a few while I try to hide this mess?” I
pointed at a stack of paint cans.
    “Of course.”
    I began building a buffet area
with some wood planks and saw horses. I tucked the paint cans underneath and
threw another clean drop cloth over the top.
    “Are you expecting guests?”
    I nodded. “Old friends from
college will be in town next week. A chance to catch up.”
    “Perhaps you will invite the hired
help another time?” His interest in returning made my heart flip.
    Grinning, I answered,
“Absolutely.” I began tugging tarps off the dining room table.
    He rushed over. “Let me help.”
    A lump in my throat suddenly
appeared. I felt emotionally overwhelmed by the fact that I wanted him here,
that I wanted to, carefully, open myself to something beyond work and
relationships. I swallowed hard, pushing the lump down.
    Together, we lifted the wrought
iron table base and centered it under the hideously ugly ceiling lamp. He
looked at the circular tabletop I’d built out of refinished floor boards and
raised an eyebrow. “Clever.”
    Not really. But I enjoyed the compliment. When we slid the six chairs
around it, as much as could be done was done.
    Three hours had passed, and my
stomach had repeatedly rumbled. “May I buy you dinner?” I asked, breathless
from exertion and his proximity.
    He took in our dusty clothes.
“Like this?”
    “I can be ready in an hour. How
about you?”
    He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be
back at 7:00.”

Hôtel du Nord
    I waited for him outside the
entrance of my building. After a day spent inside, shoving furniture around, I
needed fresh air. When he saw me, he smiled.
    “You look beautiful. Where would you like to go?” he said
while kissing me on both cheeks.
    I stifled the urge to kiss his lips. “Actually, I have a
request.”
    “Oui?”
    “Could we go somewhere nice but normal? With friends in from
out of town, I’m going to be up to my eyeballs in fancy restaurants next week.”
    When he grinned at me, his eyes gleamed with delight.
“Kathleen, you intrigue me. I think I have the perfect suggestion. The Hôtel du
Nord.”
    “I haven’t been there, but I did see the Marcel Carnés film.
What kind of food do they have?”
    “Nice but normal,” he quipped.
    Already laughing at his quick retort, I laughed harder when
my stomach roared. “My stomach approves.”
    With a grin, he offered me his arm, which I took and then
said, “Now we only have to hope the rest of you does.”
    We strolled the cobbled walkway between the chestnut trees
and the water’s edge, finally crossing a bridge to Quai de Jemmapes. It was a
short walk to the Hôtel, which had a simple façade washed by the shadows of
trees in the setting sun. When we stepped inside, I admired the hand-painted
tiles and vintage art on the walls.
    “What do you