Lost in Paris Elizabeth Thompson (romantic story to read .TXT) 📖

to tell if his silence stems from shyness or judgment.

“Have you seen Marla?” I ask my roommate. A jazzy rendition of “Let It Snow” starts to play over the outdoor speakers.

“I saw her earlier.” Cressida looks around the patio and teeters a little. Danny pulls her against him. I turn to go.

“Oh, Hannah, by the way, Zed is here. Let’s go find him.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “No hurry.”

“I’ll be right back, love,” she says to Danny. “I have someone I want Hannah to meet. Be a doll and refresh my drink?”

She dangles her champagne glass between two perfectly manicured fingers. Danny takes it, leans in, and whispers something in her ear. Cressida laughs, and Danny kisses her.

He’d have to be a fool not to want Cressida. She’s smart, funny, rich, and gorgeous. She’s the kind of woman who doesn’t need a man in her life, which means nearly every man she meets falls in love with her.

Cressida is lost in the kiss, giving me a chance to slip away and avoid the awkward introduction to Zed, who’s probably equally unenthusiastic about meeting me. I turn around to make my getaway.

And who do I run into—literally, like, in a breast-to-chest collision?

It’s Brooding Darcy from Sally Lunn’s house in Bath. Or his identical twin.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say. My palms are pressed flat against his pecs and his arm is steadying my waist. “I need to watch where I’m going.”

Then he scowls at me, and I know it’s him because I’m struck by the same thunderbolt that hit me when I first saw him sitting at Sally Lunn’s. I feel myself coming undone again. The same way I felt earlier today.

“It’s nice to run into you again. Any more problems with your tour patron?”

And there’s that lovely accent.

The scowl wrinkles his forehead and I wonder if that’s his normal expression. The male version of resting bitch face.

“No, you must’ve scared him off. But you left before I could get your name.”

“Zed, there you are.” Cressida has come up for air and Danny is nowhere to be found. “Hannah, this is Zed. The guy I wanted you to meet.”

This is Zed?

Cressida’s gaze dips and I realize his arm is still around my waist. In that instant, he pulls away and we both reclaim our personal space.

“I see you two are already… acquainted. You didn’t need me. You found each other.”

She claps her hands like a child who has gotten a pony for her birthday. “I knew you’d hit it off. Zed, ask Hannah. I have a knack for matchmaking.”

I laugh out loud thinking about her three disastrous attempts at fixing me up before. But now is not the time to bring that up.

“This is the strangest thing,” I say. “Zed, is it?”

He nods. “Actually, it’s Aiden Zedrick. Some call me Zed for short.”

“Aiden was in Bath earlier today at the Sally Lunn House, where I took my tour group for tea. He helped me with a… a situation.”

“Aye, it was nothing, really.” He shifts from one foot to another, looking uncomfortable being the center of attention.

“I thought it was something,” I say. “Thanks again.”

“It wasn’t a problem.”

His scowl gives way to bemusement, and my stomach flips.

“You two are adorable,” Cressida gushes. “I knew you’d be perfect for each other.”

Danny appears behind her with two flutes of champagne.

“Danny, look,” she says, leaning into him. “It’s Zed and Hannah. Aren’t they cute together?”

He doesn’t answer, just hands me the other champagne and sweeps Cressida away.

“How do you know Cressida?” I ask Aiden, whom I refuse to call Zed.

“I don’t know her very well. I met her through Jemma. I live just down the street. A couple of weeks ago she and Cressida came into my restaurant for dinner.”

“You own a restaurant?”

He shrugs sheepishly.

“Not exactly. I’m the executive chef at Lemon and Lavender.”

I sip my champagne.

“If you’re the executive chef, how did you manage to get New Year’s Eve off? Isn’t it one of the busiest nights of the year?”

“The restaurant is closed from Christmas Eve through New Year’s Day. We reopen January second.”

“Were you playing tourist in Bath on your time off?”

“No. I was working. I was on a reconnaissance mission. The owner wants to start offering high tea on Sundays. I made a list of places to check out and Sally Lunn was one of them.”

“So you’re not really on vacation, then?”

“Eating is not exactly hard work. Especially when someone else cooks.”

It’s amazingly easy to talk to Aiden. The night passes in a flash and before I know it, the crowd at the party is raucously counting down the end of the year. The music changes to a rockabilly version of “Auld Lang Syne.” Those who aren’t kissing are blowing noisemakers and yelling “Happy New Year!”

Someone launches a confetti cannon and bits of metallic and rainbow-colored paper float down around us.

Aiden brushes a piece off my forehead, leans in, and kisses me.

It’s more than a friendly peck, but it’s not exactly the prelude to a hookup. Still, as his lips brush mine, I wonder how a casual New Year’s kiss can be so intoxicating. I’m suddenly aware of my hands on his back, of the solid, muscled flesh under his shirt. I want to know him better so I can have more.

But I can’t have more right now.

The timing is all wrong.

“Come to the restaurant sometime,” he says. “I’ll treat you to dinner.”

My stomach flips. This sounds promising.

“That would be lovely.”

I want to see him again. I want to kiss him again.

“Why don’t you, Jem, and Cressida come in tomorrow night? It’s officially January first. I’m meaning January second. When we reopen.”

“I wish I could, but my mother is in town.”

“Bring her.”

Hell no.

“It’s nice of you to offer, but she and I might be going out of town in the next couple of days.”

“Where are you going?”

“Paris.”

“Sounds like fun.”

I shrug. “It’s actually a business trip.” Sort of.

As we talk, I realize his scowl and his dark features are the only resemblance he bears