Spiral Of Bliss: Adore Part 35

Inside, the decor is exactly what I'd imagined-playing-card patterns, whimsical clocks and tables, plus closets filled with birthday party costumes and supplies. A huge, red ribbon loops around the trailer, ending in a bow fastened to the front door.

"I can't believe it." Allie comes up beside me, looking pretty and summer-like in a green flowered dress that complements her red hair. "It's incredible, Liv."

I nod toward Dean, who is approaching from the direction of the stage with Archer and Nicholas. "He's the one who did it all."

I feel her looking at me.

"Do you remember when we were opening the cafe and you weren't into using any of your and Dean's money?" she asks.

"I remember."

"So what changed your mind about letting him buy the trailer?" Allie asks.

I learned a lesson, I think as I watch Dean coming toward me. Professor West is a d.a.m.ned good teacher. And though I often have to fumble my way through things, I have always been an excellent student.

Dean's gaze meets mine, a smile curving his beautiful mouth. A pleasurable s.h.i.+ver runs down my spine.

"I learned that sometimes it's okay to take help when it's offered," I tell Allie. "And to graciously accept a gift someone has been trying hard to give you."

Aside from that, I also wanted to leave Allie and Wonderland with a parting gift that will not only compensate for my past mistakes, but that will set the cafe on an exciting new path. The Traveling Wonderland Cafe proved to be the solution to several problems all at once. I just needed to get out of my own way in order to see that.

"You both ready?" Archer crouches beside the microphone and speaker next to the trailer and fiddles with the controls. "Slice of Pie is on their last song of this set, and they're sending everyone back over here as soon as they're done."

The entire staff of the Wonderland Cafe, all wearing white jackets and purple ap.r.o.ns, gather around the front of the trailer. Parents and children drift over from the stage, and soon a large crowd is standing near the tables.

Archer hands me the microphone. I pa.s.s it to Allie. She blinks at me.

"You're in charge now," I remind her.

"Not for good," she says. "You'll always be my partner, whether you're living in Mirror Lake or Timbuktu."

"Aw." I squeeze her arm. "Come on, then. We'll do this together."

We step in front of the ribbon encircling the trailer and face the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Allie says into the mic. "Boys and girls, thank you so much for coming to celebrate the opening of the brand-new Traveling Wonderland Cafe. With this venture, we plan to deliver peppermint twist cupcakes, lemon parfaits, and plenty of birthday parties all around Mirror Lake and beyond. With my partner Liv"-she pauses to clear her throat-"leaving on new adventures, we will continue to run the cafe with the much-needed help of numerous other people."

She introduces the staff members who will be taking on new duties to help her run the cafe, including Brent, who is stepping up his responsibilities in my absence.

I glance at Dean. He's standing to the side with Nicholas perched on his shoulders, his elbows resting on Dean's head.

"And now," Allie says, reaching for a pair of silver scissors. "Welcome to the opening of the Traveling Wonderland Cafe!"

She moves aside so I can put my hand over hers. Together, we cut the red ribbon. The crowd erupts into applause, music bursts from the speakers, and three employees bring out huge sheet cakes and tiered trays of cupcakes.

A flurry of activity follows as we slice cake for everyone and hand out cupcakes to the children. I see Archer standing beside the trailer, his hands in his pockets and his gaze scanning the crowd. I bring him a slice of cake and a fork.

"Cake?" I ask, holding it out.

"No, thanks," he replies. "I'm waiting for Kelsey."

Though I don't see why that precludes him from eating cake, I shrug and turn away. Dean is standing near the tables, and he and Archer exchange fleeting grins that seem to carry some brotherly secret.

It's about time, I think.

I hand the cake to Dean, who takes it without hesitation. The thought of leaving Archer and Kelsey causes a sad pang in my chest, especially if Dean and Archer are finally starting to find their way to being brothers again. But Kelsey and Archer have a.s.sured me they'll come to visit us in Paris and we'll Skype regularly. Also, as Kelsey reminded me, "You'll come back."

And yes, we will come back. For visits, certainly, and someday to live again. We don't yet know when-it could be years, depending on the job and the contracts-but the promise is like a little star.

I look at the expanse of Wizard's Park, the silver trailer gleaming in the sun, the families gathered around laughing, eating, playing on the playground. In the distance, the railroad depot sits behind a row of trees, waiting for Archer and Mr. Jenkins to bring it back to life.

Allie walks around the tables, pouring fresh lemonade into paper cups, her face bright and happy. Florence and Mr. Jenkins are canoodling at one of the tables, eating cupcakes and drinking tea.

Kelsey comes toward Archer from the parking lot. He holds out his arms, and she walks right into them, her body curving against his like a comma fitting into place.

Nearby, Nicholas lets out a yelp as he runs after a Frisbee Dean has tossed. The red saucer spins in a perfect arc before Nicholas makes a flying leap and manages to catch it in his little fists. His face breaks into a huge grin. Dean gives a cheer and hauls Nicholas onto his shoulders, running around with him in a victory loop. Nicholas laughs and laughs.

I smile, my heart filling with a riotous combination of love and joy. I've learned in life that if you're going to run, you should always run toward something. On the flip side, you should also have a place to run back to, if needed.

Mirror Lake will still be here if or when we return. But beyond that, a two-year-old boy and a certain medieval history professor are my safe haven, the place to which I will always return, my home anywhere in the world.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

OLIVIA.

Three months later The facade of the Louvre spreads like wings around a central plaza leading to the vast expanse of the Tuileries gardens. Hungry birds, unafraid, flutter around seeking bread sc.r.a.ps dropped by people who purchased baguette sandwiches from the snack bars.

Dozens of Parisians and tourists wander around the wide pathways, some lounging in the sun and others walking toward one of the museums. Nicholas runs ahead of me, making a beeline for the large fountain that sits like a lake s.h.i.+mmering in the sun.

I catch up with him, huffing and puffing a little thanks to the extra ten pounds I've gained, and pull a small box out of the tote bag I carry with me everywhere.

"Les bateaux," Nicholas announces in-to my ears, flawless-French before taking two walnut-sh.e.l.l boats out of the box.

Nicholas's boat is bright red with a little blue flag attached to a toothpick and a tiny stick-figure sailor. My boat is glittery pink with a striped sail and a heart painted on the inside of the sh.e.l.l.

"Here's the starting line," I say, pointing to the edge of the fountain.

We set our boats in the water and together chant in commanding voices, " vos marques."

"Prets!" I call. "Partez!"

We release the boats and watch as the light breeze pushes them along the water. When we first raced walnut boats in this fountain, we designated "over there" as the finish line, so we follow the boats around the water for a few minutes, each of us cheering our crew on. We mutually agree that Nicholas's boat wins this particular regatta before we take a few more boats from the box and set them racing.

After the races are finished-Nicholas: 8, Mom: 1-we visit the playground and stop for an ice cream. Our afternoon is one of the ways Nicholas and I have spent the past few months in Paris. We've visited many parks, often finding the best ones packed with French toddlers and their mothers or nannies, and had many snacks.

Dean and I have timed visits to museums to coincide with Nicholas's naps, and several times we've been able to stroll through the Louvre or the Orsay, pus.h.i.+ng our sleeping son in his stroller.

One of Dean's colleagues has a daughter, Marie-Laure, studying literature at the Sorbonne, and she has become our de facto nanny when I have French lessons or errands to run.

It's not perfect, of course. The number of cars and people make me nervous when Nicholas is walking, but it's c.u.mbersome to navigate his stroller. He's pitched fits in public-once loud enough to get us politely removed from a cafe-and I'm still too self-conscious to approach any of the women at the playgrounds to try and make friends.

Interestingly, through my French lessons, I've made friends with a German woman, a Canadian woman, and an American couple who invited Dean and me over for dinner one night. And Dean's colleagues at the World Heritage Center have been exceedingly helpful and solicitous as we navigate our new world.

Nicholas and I take the bus back to the Latin Quarter, where our apartment sits in a nineteenth-century building. We stop at the boulanger, where we buy our bread and croissants daily from Mme Ca.s.sin, and greet the grocer who is stocking the fruit bins in front of his shop.

We walk up four flights of stairs to our apartment, a two-bedroom place about the size of the b.u.t.terfly House's kitchen and sunroom. It's bright and airy, with a wrought-iron balcony that overlooks the narrow avenue. It reminds me of our little apartment on Avalon Street.

I settle Nicholas in his room with some books and stuffed animals, leaving the door partly open so I can hear him if he calls. No need for a baby monitor here.

While he naps, I get dinner prepped-in a blossoming haze of ambition I've taken to trying recipes from the cookbooks of Jacques Pepin, Julia Child, and Paul Bocuse, albeit with varying degrees of success.

In my most recent Skype call with Allie, she again suggested I take cla.s.ses at Le Cordon Bleu, and while I laughed the idea off initially, I contacted the school the next day asking about cla.s.ses. In other words, I haven't ruled it out, even mentioning the idea on my blog Liv in a Parisian Wonderland, which elicited dozens of excited and encouraging comments from my mom friends and fans.

Tonight's dinner menu is ham with remoulade sauce, cuc.u.mber salad, and for dessert, plum sherbet and cinnamon-lemon cake. Nicholas wakes just as I put the ham in the oven, and close to six, a key turns in the lock of the front door. Nicholas bolts upright from lounging on the sofa.

"Daddy!" He rushes toward the foyer.

I follow, happy as always at the sight of Dean, so handsome in his tailored suit and five o'clock shadow, his tie loose around his neck. A warm glow lights in his eyes as he picks Nicholas up for a hug. He listens with interest to Nicholas's excited babbling about the walnut-sh.e.l.l regatta before Nicholas squirms to get down.

Dean sets our son on the floor and approaches me, pulling me into the strong circle of his embrace. He spreads one hand across my rounded belly and bends to press his mouth against mine.

"Hey, beauty," he says.

"Hi, professor." I tighten my arms around his waist, feeling a delicious glow of happiness and contentment. "Welcome home."

EPILOGUE.

Dear North, Cobblestone streets, tree-lined boulevards, the Eiffel Tower parting the clouds like curtains. Bustling metro stations, colorful street markets, the endless flow of the Seine. Fresh baguettes. Paintings glowing like jewels, marble statues captured in time, the sandcastle facade of Notre Dame, the silky sweetness of vanilla mascarpone cream enrobed in white chocolate.

Expansive gardens, glittering shop windows, booksellers and street performers. Drinking coffee at a Latin Quarter cafe with my husband. Watching our son chase birds. Finding a new place.

A girl this time. Her name is Isabella. She has just enough hair to wear a little red ribbon.

Our adventure continues.

Love, Liv.

Without darkness, there can be no light.

Dean promised to slay monsters for Liv.

Then he encounters a monster he can't destroy. A monster he can't even face.

ALWAYS.

Book 5 of the Spiral of Bliss Series.

Coming Soon!.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Nina Lane writes hot, s.e.xy romances and spicy erotica. Originally from California, she holds a PhD in Art History and an MA in Library and Information Studies, which means she loves both research and organization. She also enjoys traveling and thinks St. Petersburg, Russia is a city everyone should visit at least once. Although Nina would go back to college for another degree because she's that much of a bookworm and a perpetual student, she now lives the happy life of a full-time writer.

Find out more about Nina and her other books at the following links!.

Official website:.

www.ninalane.com.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.

"Fall seven times, get up eight," Liv and Allie say. What they don't add is that sometimes you need a friend to help you get up-and to my everlasting grat.i.tude, Victoria Colotta of VMC Art & Design has proven the epitome of both friends.h.i.+p and professionalism by stepping up when the chips were down.

Thank you, Victoria, for your truly endless patience (especially in the face of "Can we just try..."), amazing talent and knowledge, and for staying so unwaveringly in my corner. I couldn't have done it without you-and that's not a cliche.

Thank you, Karen Dale Harris, for your insights, perceptive critique, and your belief in Liv and Dean's story. I love how we can talk about the whole Mirror Lake gang like they're our circle of friends.

Jessa Slade, I'm in such awe of your ideas, problem-solving abilities, and knowledge of character arcs that I would happily give you my last chocolate religieuse and then run out to get you some more. Thank you so much.

Cathy Yardley, your continued guidance and profound understanding of story structure has improved my writing in more ways than I can count. I'd like to think I could write a book without you, but I'm very glad I don't have to.

Kelly Harms Wimmer, thank you for shaping and improving Liv and Dean's story from the beginning in ways I couldn't manage on my own.

Tara Gonzalez of InkSlinger PR-wow! Thank you so much for your indomitable efforts in getting the Spiral of Bliss series out into the world again. I'm so grateful for your time and help.