When Love Blooms in Paris: A sweet, escapist, springtime in Paris romance. (Chateau de Belliveau Book 3) by Helen Row Toews

Author:Helen Row Toews [Toews, Helen Row]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

They retraced their steps back up Rue des Saules, the way they’d come not long before. Except when they came to the busier street, they turned to the right, rather than going back to the Artists’ Square. The crowds thinned a little as they continued to wind their way down the hill, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

It was getting late, and the light began to change to the glow of late afternoon as the sun slipped behind the apartment buildings they passed. Gabrielle glanced at her phone; almost six o’clock. Soon they would have to think about heading home or eating out. She wasn’t sure which would be best. The longer she was with this man, the more she liked him. Despite how wonderful he appeared, that felt both exciting and scary.

Branches, covered with sprays of white flowers gushed over a wrought iron fence atop a rock wall beside them as they came to an intersection. She pointed out their next move. Several more turns along the narrow cobblestone lane and they came to Place Émile Goudeau, another square shaded entirely by huge oak trees just beginning to turn green.

“Picasso lived here,” Annette said suddenly, ending the silence.

“What? On a park bench?” Andrew looked at her in exaggerated surprise. “Are you saying the man was homeless?”

“No silly,” she teased and then giggled, the uncomfortable tension was broken. “Là-bas, over there.” She pointed. “The building with the green front that says Le Bateau Lavoir. It means, the laundry boat. Do you see it? Picasso rented a studio ‘ere in 1904.”

“I see it. You certainly know a lot about the art world.” Andrew viewed her with interest.

“I should,” Annette said with a sniff. “It will be my life’s work.” She stepped away from the pair and strolled toward the only exit from the square, down a flight of stairs at the center of a railing on the far side.

“Annette is an artist ‘erself,” Gabrielle explained, unlinking her arm from Andrew’s brawny one. It felt awkward without Annette on the other side. “She ‘as been accepted to a prestigious school called Beaux-Arts de Paris. We are very proud of ‘er.”

“That’s amazing. I’ve never known an artist before,” he said, sounding impressed.

Annette whirled around from where she stood at the railing. “Alors! And I ‘ave never known a man such as yourself, who scales buildings to rescue the dog of an old man.”

Andrew blushed. “I just react,” he said, lifting his hands in a gesture of resignation. “It’s the way I’m built. If I can help, that’s what I do.”

“I did not mean to embarrass you,” Annette said, hurrying over to place a hand on his arm. “You are a remarkable man, and I am glad we ‘ave meet. Are all men from Canada like you?”

He chuckled. “Guess I can’t answer for them. My father raised me and my brother to put others first.”

With that the subject was closed. What could one add when faced with such gallantry? He was the polar opposite to Lyam and Gabrielle couldn’t quite wrap her head around it.

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