Chapter 15

“You have to wear black again. The contrast with your pale skin and beautiful dark hair yesterday was stunning,” Jillian said, pushing through the revolving glass door into the department store. This would have to be one of the fastest shopping trips in history.

I plunged in after her, narrowly missing the swinging section behind me and barely missing getting my “beautiful dark hair” ripped out. “I don’t know. Black seems a little too formal for this, don’t you think?” Besides, I already had a black dress. I would have worn it again if it weren’t at the dry cleaners. And I wanted to stand out, but I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, either. Tonight needed to be memorable in all the best ways.

Jillian looked around the store with a fierce, catlike determination. “Black is timeless. This could be the most romantic night of your life. I can’t believe you snagged a handsome Frenchman by falling down the stairs.”

I felt my cheeks heat. “That’s not?—”

“Ooh, look at this one.” She scrambled over to a mannequin, examined the skirt, and turned triumphantly toward me. “A mermaid cut would be so flattering on you.”

I examined it with growing alarm. “I have a standing rule. If the neckline plunges to the navel, it’s too low. ”

“Come on. It isn’t that bad. You’re better endowed than this mannequin is, so it’ll fit you better.”

“The slit too,” I continued. “It’s practically to the waist. How do you even sit in that thing?”

“Proudly and without fear,” she said, fumbling through the dresses on the rack and retrieving my size. “Just like a Parisian. Now, where’s the changing room?”

A few minutes later, I stood staring at myself in the mirror. I knew better than to fight Jillian on matters of fashion. She’d mastered the cat eye at age eleven and the beach wave by thirteen. She woke up looking like a model, for heaven’s sake. And the dress did look good. It featured all my curves in a way no gown ever had. It even made my bust look perky and full rather than hidden under layers of cloth.

But I felt uncomfortable and on display. Parisians were supposed to be easygoing. Couldn’t they be easygoing with their formal events too? Like, allow for a sturdy pair of jeans and comfortable sneakers?

Jillian knocked on the door and pushed her way in without waiting. Then she clapped her hands with glee. “Yes! This is the one. Am I good, or am I good?”

I swallowed hard at how the dress pulled around my midsection, grateful for all the walking the past few days. “You don’t think it’s too much? It’s only our first date.”

“Second. He had drinks with you at the restaurant last night, remember?”

“That was an accidental run-in. He didn’t invite me anywhere.”

She gave me a stern look. “Kennedy, we’re leaving in two days. There’s no time for coyness. You need to live this up, sis. Be spontaneous. Let yourself be free to enjoy him tonight.” She winked .

A wave of dizziness swept over me, and I started fumbling at the back for the zipper. “Never mind. I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are. You deserve it.”

“No, I’m not. Even you think I’m . . . I’m looking for it. Which I most certainly am not.”

“Maybe not, but who knows where it could go? You’re in Paris. ”

“Jillian Travell,” I said sternly, turning on her. “I don’t see how far it could go on the first date. Not even in Paris.”

Jillian sighed and took a seat in the corner of the dressing room. “Look, I know I’m a few years younger than you, but let’s face it. You’re a bit lacking in the boyfriend-experience department.”

That stung. “Thanks for that?” There had been a short fling in high school and a monthlong romance a few years ago, but I broke off both before they grew too serious.

She went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’ll put it this way. Some rivers run deep, steady, and slow. They might last thousands of years. The Seine, for example. Those are the ones we write songs about and build cities around. But, Kennedy, not all rivers need to be that way. Some rivers are smaller, quicker, and less predictable. They’re fast and exciting, with rapids that make you feel alive. They may not influence civilizations, but they serve a purpose. Both are worthy, and both should be explored. Trust me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you did so much exploring.”

She threw the hanger at me, and I ducked with a laugh.

Jillian finally stood and wrapped her arms around me. “Look, if Hunter isn’t what you’re looking for, that’s fine. But you won’t find what you are looking for unless you allow yourself to open your eyes.”

Open your eyes.

In an instant, the memory of Hunter’s fingers fumbling at the knot of a blindfold behind my head and his soft voice in my ear returned in full force. So much of that night remained a blur, but this moment, even eight years later, felt crystal clear. What happened next was even sharper, and I found it hard to escape the memory of his hand on mine, his breath filling the night air, his lips slightly parted.

I flung the thought across time and space so it wouldn’t bother me again. Jillian was right. I had every right to experience the romantic side of Paris, just like Hunter. Let him stew with his disapproving glares. Tonight was about me, not him, or Claude, or anyone else.

Jillian ended the hug, pulling away. “I’m so proud of you for finally leaving home. Mom would be proud too. You made it.”

My eyes got a little warm, and I sniffed. It didn’t feel right, us all being here together without her. “I know.”

“It may not be perfect,” Jillian said. “But it’s yours. Now, it’s up to you to enjoy every second.”