Page 76 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

They walked in the beautiful glittery dark, followed by the ghosts of their past.

In a flash she realized it didn’t have to be that way. That this moment, right now with Henry, who was smart and interesting and made her feel alive, could just be about her. And him.

She halted, taking in the pinpoints of light, the river, even the sharp cold. “The past is the past,” she said. “Tonight, though, you and me are in Paris. We are alive.” She looked up at him. “We are attracted to each other. Or at least, I’m attracted to you.”

A very small smile played around the edges of his mouth. “It is definitely mutual. What should we do about that?”

“Maybe you could start by kissing me.”

“I would like that.” He bent down and gathered her face in his hands, and when she lifted her chin, he kissed her. She wanted to keep her eyes open, looking at the expanse of his eyebrows, the ruggedness of his cheek, but his mouth was lusher than she’d expected, and he was very skilled at kissing, and in the end all she wanted to do was sink into him, all the way, giving herself up to the place their bodies joined. He tilted his head, and she opened to him fully, and they kissed deeply, kissed a little wildly, making soft noises. His arms dropped and pulled her closer, and she ran her hands under his coat, wishing she had taken off her gloves. He pressed her lightly against the lamppost, and without breaking the kiss, she pulled off the gloves and let them fall on the ground, worth it when she found the hot skin of his back, the knobs of his spine. Her own coat fell below her hips, but he cupped her bottom, pulled her into his thigh. In the dark of a Paris night, with the damp smell of the river running behind them, they fell into each other, drunk on the moment, on each other. Every cell in her body danced.

“Look at the old people making out!” a boy catcalled in English.

It made Veronica laugh. Henry called out over his shoulder, “You only wish you had this woman, fools.” As one body, they turned toward the subway. Without breaking stride, Henry captured her gloves from the sidewalk and handed them to her.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The metro ride back to the hotel was short, considering how long they’d been gone. The car was crowded, and they had to stand most of the way, holding on for balance. Veronica looked around at the other riders, mostly young and chatting. One party of Americans, maybe in their early twenties, were talking too loudly, but were so full of themselves and life and the fact that they were on the metro together that it was impossible not to love them. One boy had shiny blond hair like Spence once owned, and his girlfriend leaned into him, a little tipsy maybe, her own hair long and shining, healthy with the vibrance of life. It made her melancholy in a way. She’d flung away that magical time by marrying Spence, having babies so young.

Not that she’d trade the kids. But maybe she wanted a do-over where she had them maybe ten years later, so she could have been free to wander the world like these young adults.

She shook her head. She wouldn’t have had the resources at this age. She didn’t actually have them now. That was the thing that social media conveniently overlooked—it took money to be a vagabond.

#LotsOfItActually

What brought her back to the moment was the scent of Henry, sunny and sharp. Every time she caught a whiff, it sent little erotic messages to various bits of her.Touch me touch me touch me.

She looked up, and he was looking down, and the collision of gazes scattered thoughts of nostalgic speculation right out the window. She didn’t look away this time, and to her deep delight and surprise, he bent down to kiss her lightly. A promise. An acknowledgment.

As they came out of the station, her phone started to ding. And ding, and ding. She ignored it for a while, wanting to keep the world out, but finally she had to pause on the platform. “I’m sorry. I have kids. I probably need to see what’s going on.”

“No worries. Let’s sit over there on that bench.”

She nodded. The wind was sharpening now, the knives of it finding a bit of her neck, her thighs where they were only covered by her pants. Henry sat between her and the wind, and she said, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

She opened the message app. Seventeen new messages. As expected, most of them were from Amber, and the news wasn’t good. It ended withLandlady has a policy against anyone with an ankle bracelet.

sorry can’t help

“Shit, shit, shit,” she said aloud, then tsked. “I thought I’d found a roommate, but the landlord won’t let her in because she has an ankle bracelet.” She scowled. “That’s got to be illegal.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“But what am I going to do to stop her at this distance?”

“Report her?”

She took a breath, feeling the pressure of the problem press down on her breastbone. “I’m afraid she’ll evict me.” She stood. “Never mind. This is not your problem. Sorry.”

“We can talk it out if you want.”

“No, I’ll make some calls when we get back to the hotel.” She gave him a regretful look.

He stood. “It’s all good.”

She felt resentful that her old life, with all the messy loose parts, was interfering with a holiday romp, but she couldn’t let Amber down. Or herself, honestly.