Remembering Everly (Lost & Found #2) (13 page)

Before my memories had begun to resurface, it had been as if I were starting anew. A completely new model. A new prototype of August. The ancient model of myself preferred chocolate ice cream and loved cream in his coffee. The new me preferred vanilla and my coffee straight from the pot.

Now that the flashbacks had begun, it was like a melding of two lives. I was no longer a new version of myself, just a different version.

August 2.0.

I found myself liking things I hadn’t six months ago, simply because I remembered them from the past. Various memories that had surfaced told me I had once had an overwhelming desire for power and wealth—much like Trent. This had been the crack in the perfect life Everly and I had once shared. As my payouts had become bigger and bigger, my need and drive for money had taken off. It became an addiction. At first, I’d done it all for her—wanting to give her everything under the sun, but then I’d lost sight of reality—of everything, really. Life became about money, just like Everly had said.

Those had been hard memories to relive—to see myself so altered, so driven by materialism. It was one addiction I hoped stayed forever in the past.

I didn’t know how long this thing Trent had going could last. How long could he go on fooling everyone before the floor fell out beneath him and the precious empire he’d built was exposed for what it really was?

One dirty corruption after another. And unless I came up with some sort of brilliant plan—fast—all of us in that office were going down with him.

Coming up with the cash to buy my way out by swindling Magnolia and her family was growing on my conscience more and more with each passing day.

I’d become attached. Not just to Magnolia, but to her family as well.

If I stuck to my guns, went all in and worked Mr. Yorke like a pro, squeezing every dime I owed out of him, I could hand it straight over to Trent as I watched his smug face fall to the floor.

With my debt paid, I wouldn’t have any reason to keep my current position. I could sell my partnership back over to Trent, assuming he’d allow it. If not, I’d just walk away.

I’d be free.

And Everly? I don’t know, but I felt like there was something there that hadn’t been there before.

Possibility.

But this all hinged on my ability to screw over one person I cared for to gain another.

Was I willing to do that? Could I? And if Everly ever discovered the depths I’d gone through to get her back—destroying other people’s lives and breaking hearts—would she look at me in the same way?

My only other option was to do nothing. I couldn’t hurt Magnolia and I wouldn’t betray what little trust Everly still had in me.

I would find a way to get out of Trent’s grasp, but one thing was for sure.

It wouldn’t involve hurting others.

S
arah’s magic cure for jet lag was crap.

I woke up the next morning—if you wanted to call it that—feeling like I’d been hit by a Mack truck.

Everything hurt. I felt at least ninety years old, maybe older.

“I’m dying,” I groaned into my pillow, stretching my tired limbs one at a time.

“Rise and shine!” Sarah nearly sang, pouncing on to the bed we’d shared the night before. It was actually two beds, but when I’d called to adjust the hotel reservation from one bed to two, it was explained to me in broken English that we’d have euro beds. I’d just thanked them and laughed, saying no problem.

What the hell was a euro bed?

At the time I didn’t care. My wedding had been canceled, my ex-fiancé had just handed me an all-expense trip to Paris, and I was just trying to make sure Sarah and I had beds to sleep in.

We’d soon learned upon our arrival in Paris exactly what euro beds were. It was like a twin, only two were shoved together to make a queen, or maybe a full? I don’t know—it was small. It was basically one bed that had a large divot down the middle.

It was a good thing I loved Sarah so much, because that little bed divider meant nothing to her. She was a bed hog and took more than her fair share of the euro beds, regardless of the rather large divider.

“Why are you so damn perky at this ungodly hour?” I whined into the soft fluffiness of my pillow, hoping that if I buried myself in deeply enough, she’d go away.

“It’s not an ungodly hour—it’s nearly ten in the morning!”

My eyes opened in surprise, but all I saw was the black fabric of my pillow shoved against my face. Rising up onto my elbows, I squinted and looked about with disdain.

“Ten in the morning? How is that possible? It feels like…”

“The middle of the night?” she guessed.

“Well, yes, actually.”

“Jet lag, babe. Here, have some coffee. It will make everything better.”

“Well, shit—why didn’t you just start with that? Everything would have gone a lot smoother,” I told her, grabbing the cup of espresso from her hand. I nearly stuck my entire head into the small cup, inhaling the nutty aroma. It was intense and dark, and my mouth was nearly watering as I wrapped my lips around it.

Within minutes, I was already beginning to feel the buzz and things were looking much brighter.

Caffeine was magical.

“So what are we going to do today?” I asked, pointing to the giant packet of information from Ryan.

When Ryan had handed it over, a twinge of embarrassment seemed to pass over his face. At first I’d tried to ignore it, knowing things between us were still unsettled, but finally I couldn’t let it go and I’d asked him what was making him so nervous.

“There are things in there I’d planned especially for you—for our honeymoon. If you decide to not do them because you’re with Sarah, or because you think they’re corny or lame…just know I won’t be offended.”

I’d assured him I was fully confident in his abilities to plan a trip. A wedding, however? Well, I wouldn’t trust either one of us with that task.

But as I sat there salivating over my cup of French coffee, I pulled out the packet and nearly lost it before breakfast had even been served.

“What is it?” Sarah asked, rushing over to my side.

I just held up a piece of paper, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Oh, Everly…”

I couldn’t even form words. I just nodded, wiping snot and tears from my face. It was gross, but I was a mess of emotions and I’d been deprived of a normal night’s sleep.

“He really is the best guy,” she said softly.

“I know.” I looked down at the sheet of paper she’d handed back to me, confirming a reservation for two at an exclusive cooking school. He’d scheduled an entire day of cooking lessons for me, with a world-renowned chef.

A day of bliss—just for me.

“Shit! We’d better hurry. We need to be there in an hour!” Sarah announced as we both looked down at the reservation and simultaneously panicked.

“I’ll take first shower, you take second!” she yelled, darting toward the bathroom faster than I could stop her. I mumbled under my breath but knew not to complain too much. When it came to both of us getting ready in the morning, I knew I was the quickest and most efficient. Even though I hated the feeling of wet hair, I was more or less okay with throwing my crimson locks up in a tight bun or top knot if there wasn’t enough time for a blow dry.

Sarah? She’d rather go out naked than let someone see her without perfectly polished hair. With little or no control as to how she had to wear it for work and performances, I believe she liked the ability to wear it any way she pleased when she was on her own time. Loose braids, wild curls or stick straight—she was always doing something different.

I just hoped whatever she chose today was quick.

After ten minutes, I stuck my head in the bathroom and gave her a five-minute warning as I began brushing my teeth. I heard the water turn off as soon as I finished gargling mouthwash.

We danced around each other as we got ready, and in no time I was showered, dressed, and wearing enough makeup to look presentable to the outside world. Knowing I would soon be covered in flour and sugar, I didn’t put too much effort into my appearance.

Sarah, on the other hand, took every precious moment she had, primping, curling and smoothing every surface until the very last second.

“Oh my God! We are just cooking! Can we go now?” I begged, pulling her toward the door of our hotel room.

“Okay, okay…can I just put a little perfume on?” she asked, wincing as she wiggled from my grasp and ran back to the bathroom.

“What for? Isn’t Miles like a million…miles from here?” I giggled at the play on his name.

“Funny. And yes,” she answered. “But I still like to smell good.” She came racing back to the door, smelling like vanilla and some sort of flower. I crinkled my nose, a little overwhelmed by the smell as we grabbed our purses and headed out.

One of the handsome doormen was more than delighted to hail us a taxi and we were just as happy to sit there and watch him do it. I’d never been much of a man-ogler, having spent the entirety of my adult life in committed relationships, and part of me still felt guilty for standing here doing it now.

But this was the whole point of this vacation. Trying new things, discovering the real me. Maybe the real Everly wasn’t meant for long-term relationships and was best suited for something more casual. Perhaps ogling men all day long was exactly what I needed.

Just then I spotted a man walking down the street in a pair of Converse and a button-down shirt, carrying an antique camera, and my heart stopped. His deep laughter was accompanied by a beautiful female’s as she tugged on his arm and they happily fled down an alleyway.

It wasn’t him. Just another ghost.

Even now, he still haunted me. Even without the suit and the fancy clothes.

Would it ever stop?
Did I want it to?

“Come on,” I said, feeling frustrated as a taxi pulled up in front of our hotel. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to be late.”

The cooking school was outside the tourist areas of Paris and took a decent cab ride to get there. I was surprised by how quickly the scenery changed outside our taxi window as we left the pristine shops and historical landmarks behind and drove through the more lived-in areas of the city. It wasn’t that we were entering a ghetto or someplace seedy; our surroundings just felt less grand and opulent. I guessed it would be like if a child stepped behind the scenes at Disney World and those illusions were shattered. Life in Paris wasn’t everything I thought it was, based on my narrow view from my touristy hotel windows. People actually lived here, and not the way I’d envisioned—perched above a high-end retailer with beautiful flower boxes and cute little balconies. There were actual apartment buildings and skyscrapers—busy freeways and graffiti. Suddenly, Paris was just like any other city I’d been to. Loud, boisterous, and compact.

“Starting to rethink your move?” Sarah smirked, nudging my shoulder as we pulled up to the curb of the rather understated building that housed the cooking school.

“Shut up,” I laughed. “It was the red wine talking.”

“I know. Now come on, let’s go make lunch, or rather…you make lunch, and I’ll stand there and look pretty for our sexy chef.”

“How do you know he’s going to be sexy—how do you even know it’s going to be a guy?” I asked with a grin as I waited for her to pay the driver. We had been taking turns on paying for things, figuring it would all even out at the end. It was her turn to ante up for the cab fare.

“I guess I was just hoping our luck with French men would continue.”

Unfortunately for Sarah, her luck ran out the minute we were escorted inside and introduced to our chef for the day—who was most definitely not male.

Chef Corrine was an up-and-coming chef in the cooking world. She was also so damn beautiful, it nearly hurt to look at her. After a brief introduction, I was beginning to have serious regrets about my previous makeup and hair choices, and instantly wanted to run back to the hotel for a few more minutes of primping, just so I could feel like I had a fighting chance standing next to her.

“Dear Lord,” Sarah whispered next to me.

“I know. It’s like staring into the damn sun,” I hissed back. We followed Corrine into the first kitchen, where we would assemble the bulk of our meal. No one should look that good in a chef uniform.

It was explained to us that Chef Corrine would assist us with the side dish and main course and Chef Jacques, one of the owners and a pastry chef to the stars, would step in and help us with dessert.

I was nearly panting with excitement.

We were each given an apron with the school logo and name on the front. They’d even gone the extra step and had each of our names embroidered underneath. That, of course, required several pictures of each of us, pointing and laughing at our names, which would later be posted to social media. It was fantastic. I couldn’t wait to bring home my official apron and wear it to cook my own meals.

Wherever home might end up being.

New thought. Definitely new thought.

Much of the prep work had been done ahead of time to make the process go more quickly, but Corrine did leave some of the more fun aspects of cooking for us to do. Our side dish for the day was a cheesy Italian risotto and my mouth literally watered as she pulled out the various cheeses we were going to use.

Even if Paris had diminished slightly on our ride here, becoming more of a normal city and less of a fairytale, nothing could take away the love affair I had with its cheeses.

Or bread.

Or food in general.

I could probably just eat cheese, bread, and red wine in this country and be perfectly happy for the rest of my life. I’d weigh about eight thousand pounds, but I’d be really happy about it.

Sarah kept her promise and mostly stood there and watched, enjoying the free wine that came with our lesson. I, on the other hand, became completely engrossed in everything Corrine said, feeling like I was in my element for the very first time.

“You’re really very good at this,” Corrine mentioned as we transferred the risotto into a display dish.

“Thank you,” I answered with a faint blush that slowly crept up my cheeks. “I love to cook at home.”

“Have you ever considered attending a school?” she asked in her thick French accent.

I shook my head and then stopped myself. “A few times, but not seriously.”

“You should. I think you would do very well.”

A goofy, lopsided grin appeared on my face as I caught Sarah staring at me from across the counter. She gave me a wink as I continued to work alongside Corrine, feeling the jitters of something big welling up inside me.

The possibility of more.

The rest of the day was nothing short of amazing. From the risotto, we moved on to braised lamb, and then we were taught how to make the French favorites—macaroons. Sarah actually dirtied up her apron for the sweets and helped make the beautiful lemon yellow cookies. Having the handsome older man in the room didn’t hurt, either.

Playing host to many of these private cooking events daily, the cooking school had everything down to a science. Once our cookies were pulled out of the oven, we were seated on a beautiful terrace and everything we’d made throughout our two hour class was served on beautiful plates with root vegetables and sprigs of rosemary.

“Wow, did you do that?” Sarah asked, looking down at the plate.

I shook my head, laughing. “You really weren’t paying attention, were you? No, they made up the plate while we were in the dessert room.”

“They handed me wine. What was a girl to do?” she shrugged.

We dove in, pairing the risotto with the perfectly cooked lamb.

“Dear lord, I’m never going to fit into a tutu again,” Sarah moaned, as one of my own followed hers.

“Guess your understudy will have to take over permanently,” I joked, knowing she was still slightly bitter over the woman taking her part while she was on this impromptu vacation with me.

“Don’t ruin this for me.”

We finished up, nearly licking our plates clean, just as our cookies arrived. Our eyes widened as a special dessert was also presented. The chef had made a chocolate torte in our honor, with a tiny sugar decoration on top.

“Our poor little cookies look very sad next to this,” Sarah laughed.

I joined her, picking up a tiny macaroon and setting it on the plate with the elaborate dessert. “I bet they both taste amazing, though.”

“Only one way to find out!”

We dug in and ended up polishing off the entire basket of cookies as well. Sitting back in our chairs with a final glass of wine, we made jokes about needing to be rolled out of the school in wheelbarrows as they took our plates away.

“Thank you for coming with me,” I finally said as I took my last sip of wine.

“Thank you for asking.”

“I have one favor, though,” I added.

“Anything.”

“Can we stop somewhere on our way back to the hotel? There’s something I really want to get before I go home.”