A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,114

where you live. Where you both are living at the moment.’

‘The three of us. Do not forget Bo-Bo,’ Jeanne warned. She stepped closer to Keeley then and stage-whispered very poorly. ‘He has cheese in the refrigerator but not very much else. He needs to get groceries.’

‘Dog food, red wine and cheese,’ Ethan added with a shake of the head. ‘My priorities now.’

‘And he doesn’t have a Christmas tree yet. You will get a Christmas tree soon, won’t you?’

‘There is not space for your dog and a Christmas tree in my living room.’

‘Connerie!’

‘Jeanne!’ Ethan shouted.

‘Quoi?’

‘Do I want to know what you two are saying?’ Keeley asked.

‘Non,’ Ethan and Jeanne answered together.

‘Fine,’ Keeley answered with a smile. ‘I look forward to my conversation with Bo-Bo.’

Fifty-Two

Ethan’s apartment, Opera District, Paris

The car pulled to the kerb on the narrowest of streets that seemed only really large enough for two bicycles to pass. Townhouses rose upwards from the pavement, iron Juliet balconies aglow with festive fairy lights, the sound of jazz a whisper in the night air. Milo, the driver, had opened her door and Keeley stood in the street regarding the place Ethan lived. It suited him. It was everything she thought it would be. Individual and soulful, just like him. She hurriedly fastened up her coat then, before ducking her head back into the rear of the vehicle.

‘Do you need any help?’ she whispered.

‘No,’ Ethan replied. ‘It is OK.’

Milo opened the door on Ethan’s side of the vehicle and Ethan stepped out onto the road, before diving back in and gently pulling a sleeping Jeanne into his arms. ‘Thank you, Milo. I will call you when Keeley wishes to go back to her hotel.’

‘D’accord.’ Milo touched his hat and got back into the car.

‘She’s fast asleep,’ Keeley said, walking next to Ethan has he headed towards an archway built into crumbling brickwork. Just to the right was that bakery on the corner he had told her about, a dim light coming from inside that suggested someone was already at work to make the next morning’s baguettes. It was so charming. It wasn’t anything like the hustle and bustle around the Eiffel Tower. It was traditional yet also a little quirky, with brightly painted front doors, some with tiny hedge-edged front gardens creeping onto the pavement with room only for one small table and a chair. Keeley followed Ethan under the archway and into an inner courtyard not visible from the street. There were old-fashioned streetlamps, an area fenced off in the centre with wrought iron benches and more lights hanging from trees growing among the slimline homes. It looked like a walled garden solely for its residents.

‘Keeley,’ Ethan whispered. ‘Could you… help me? The key to my apartment is… in my pocket.’

‘Oh, sorry, yes,’ Keeley said. ‘Where? Should I…’

‘The left side,’ Ethan said, turning a little to aid her search. ‘Or maybe the right. I do not remember.’ He flushed a little and it was cute. ‘Je suis désolé. Sorry.’

Keeley slipped her hand inside the pocket of his coat, needing to stand close to get her fingers in to the very bottom. She was conscious of his proximity and could only imagine what he smelled of. She tried to inhale and inject some vigour to her dulled senses like she had when they had overlooked the Seine. Masculinity. Mystery. Adventure. Although she wasn’t sure it was possible to actually smell any of those words her brain had dealt up. She swallowed and made herself focus on the task in hand. There was nothing in his left-hand pocket.

‘Sorry,’ she breathed. ‘There’s nothing there.’ She moved around the still sleeping Jeanne, and dug into his other pocket. This time she produced a set of keys. ‘Which one?’ she asked. ‘I’ll open the door.’

‘The brass one,’ he whispered.

It was a nice front door, the paint a faded green and peeling off in places, but in complete keeping with the rest of the courtyard of doors and the old, scuffed brickwork. She slotted the key into the lock and turned, stepping back as the door opened and she let Ethan with Jeanne in first. Keeley followed, moving in behind Ethan, taking in the bare brick walls and aged wooden boards beneath her boots. A black iron spiral staircase led upwards and Ethan seemed to have to rearrange Jeanne slightly to avoid knocking any parts of her against the curve of the stairs.

There were photos on the bare bricks – black and white prints of city scenes and