A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,68
get away from the desperate loss felt by pretty much everyone except him, it seemed, Ethan had overlooked details that were going to determine his future here. And, if something had happened to shake his foundations within the company, it might mean he couldn’t be at the centre of making sure Ferne’s hotels didn’t become an anonymous part of a bigger corporation. Who else was going to stand up for Ferne if he didn’t?
The door of the hotel revolved and there Keeley was coming out onto the street. This woman who gave him goose bumps simply by being in his orbit. His skin was already reacting underneath the long-sleeved tight-fitting sports top he was wearing. He had gone for joggers instead of shorts as there was frost on the ground and the air was just as cold. She was wearing leggings, trainers and a sweatshirt bearing a picture of a dartboard and, with her hair tied back from her face, she still looked adorable.
‘Bonjour,’ he greeted.
‘Good morning,’ she answered. ‘I’m sorry I’m a bit late. I—’
‘Not at all,’ Ethan said. ‘I… like your sweater.’
‘Oh,’ she said, looking down at it. ‘Yes, well, I didn’t bring any running stuff with me so…’ She laughed a little. ‘It’s my dad’s. He’s part of a darts team back in England.’
‘Ah,’ Ethan replied. ‘In France we prefer to play petanque.’
‘My dad’s never been good with sports involving balls,’ she replied. ‘He once played cricket in the back garden with one of our neighbours and ended up breaking three windows with the one shot. Not a greenhouse. Don’t ask. It involved a budgie.’
He couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Could we start running now?’ she asked him, pulling the hem of the sweater down a little and starting to shiver.
‘You are cold?’ Ethan said.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘It’s just, if we don’t start running now I might go off the idea and suggest coffee and a croissant instead.’
He could give in. He could easily swap the frozen streets of the capital for the cosy warmth and early-morning ambience of a coffee shop. But he needed the exercise, the blood pumping around his body to ready himself for whatever the day held. Plus, he really wanted to show her a little more of Paris. His Paris.
‘OK,’ he answered. ‘We will go.’ He started to jog, checking over his shoulder to see if she was following.
*
Keeley’s ribs were already hurting a little. She had inspected her bruises from the Pepe fall again when she’d got dressed this morning and they were still that initial wondering-what-colour-they were-going-to-grow-up-to-be-blue, lined up alongside the still-red scars from her operation and her ordeal. The running motion was definitely not helping. Not that she was going to let that show on her face. She was also not going to show the fact that street running was very different to running on a treadmill and her knees were partially jarring over every piece of solid pavement.
‘This is the best time to run,’ Ethan told her. ‘No one much around.’
They had passed along by the Seine, a cold mist settling over the water and they were now heading off the tourist beaten track from what Keeley could tell. The Christmas decorations on the buildings had changed a little from garish bright lights and sparkle to more gently traditional and home-made. Garlands of ivy and fir, painted wooden effigies, silver stars that looked well-used. All much swankier than Grandma Joan’s stash of Woolworths’ finest, as much as she was fond of them.
Ethan’s words were coming out level and even. Like the effort of running was having zero effect. Meanwhile, Keeley’s heart felt like it was the prominent bassline in a dance track. ‘Yes,’ she squeaked. She cleared her throat.
‘You are OK?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Yep.’ She wasn’t. This was such a bad idea. She never looked attractive during or after exercise. Why would she agree to this?
‘We can slow down a little if…’
‘No… I’m fine.’ She let out a raspy cough then hastily sucked in vital air. She wasn’t someone who gave in easily. Her still being here was the ultimate testament to that.
‘This is Passy,’ Ethan informed, keeping pace beside her. ‘Personally, I think it is one of the most overlooked areas of Paris.’
‘Is it an area for… rich people?’ Keeley replied. ‘It looks… affluent.’
‘Un peu,’ he answered. ‘But that is not why I like it.’ He turned his head to look at her. ‘Come this way.’ He sped up just a little so he was dictating the direction.