We all said our goodbyes in the parking lot. “Good to see you, Christian. I mean Colt,” Hannah said as she hugged Colt goodbye, then gave me another wink.
“I didn’t know you knew how to drive a car,” I teased him as we climbed into his rental. He’d taken the liberty of securing himself a brand new luxury SUV as he stayed a couple days in Redwood Bay. I was sure my mother would call the EPA on him if she saw it.
“I am usually driven around cities,” he agreed, good-naturedly taking my sass. “But, yes, I was taught how to drive a car in my youth. So I could relate to the little people.”
“Give you something to talk about with the staff?” I asked.
“Oh, no, you never talk to the staff,” he corrected me.
Smiling, I gazed out the window as he drove us home. I knew we still had no clue how we were going to do this whole thing, supposedly merge our two wildly different worlds and actually date each other. But whatever we did, I knew humor would play a great part in building that bridge. As long as we could laugh about our differences as we figured things out together, I had a feeling we were going to be all right.
“So, as your brother pointed out, I am a rich guy,” he said as we neared my apartment.
“I’m sorry about that.” I brought my hand to my forehead. Subtlety was not a family trait.
“No, it’s fine.” He brushed aside my apology. “It’s true. And it is going to take a while to build your new bakery.”
“How long, do you think?”
“Well, there are all kinds of delays with these projects. Believe me, I’ve seen everything. Even the small ones hit roadblocks with permits and subcontractors not pulling their weight.”
“This doesn’t sound like the usual Colt.” I turned to him. “Usually you’re so full of the can-do spirit.”
“I’m just talking from experience. They tell you six months, it’ll take a year.”
“A year!” I couldn’t imagine it taking that long. I wasn’t planning on asking them to build the Taj Mahal.
“Which might not be so bad,” he continued. “Because there’s other things we could do.” He pulled up in front of my apartment. We both stayed sitting in the car.
“Like what?” I asked. I could tell he had something on his mind. And he looked strangely nervous to talk to me about it.
“I remember, back when we first met, you told me about something you’d always wanted to do.” His hand at the back of his neck, he looked down as if considering his words. Then he looked up into my eyes. “In Paris?”
I held my breath. What was he saying?
“You wanted to study at Le Cordon Bleu,” he reminded me. As if I needed any reminder of the dream I’d harbored since I was 18 years old and got my first job in a bakery. I still looked at him, wide-eyed, too excited and shocked to manage saying anything.
“So…” He looked down again, clearing his throat. “I thought, maybe you and I could, you know, move to Paris.”
“I’d thought about Nebraska,” I blurted out, remembering what I’d been thinking on that flight back from visiting him in New York. I’d thought we’d do well with finding a middle ground, a neutral playing field.
“Nebraska?” He nodded, looking at me, confused, but trying to give it proper consideration.
“Paris is better!” I quickly amended my statement. “But I can’t. It’s so expensive.”
“Caroline, covering the cost of this diploma program is the least I can do after demolishing your store and putting you out of business for months.”
“Colt, I—” I stammered, my heart pounding. “I can’t just enroll. You have to apply. It’s very competitive.”
He didn’t even say anything to that. He just gave me that look, the one that said, “Oh, so you think that’s going to be a problem, do you?” There had been times when I’d found that look arrogant. Now, though? It seemed kind of awesome.
“What, are you on the board of Le Cordon Bleu or something?” I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Not exactly.”
“Are you?”
“No, but I’m sure I know someone who is. Give me a few minutes on the phone and I’ll find someone who knows someone who’ll be more than happy to get you into that program. Caroline, I’ve got an apartment in Paris. It’s on the Seine—”
“Shut up!” I covered my face in my hands.
“Are you OK?” He reached a hand out to my shoulder.
“No, good shut up!” I corrected him. “I mean, this is so…this is—”
“So, you’ll say yes?”
“To living out my lifelong dream?” I was in his lap in seconds flat, kissing him my yes because words were not quite up to the task.
“I know you’ll want to be involved with the plans for the bakery—” he started.
“Fuck it!” I cried out, hands up in the air. “We’re going to Paris!!!!”
CHAPTER 23
Colt
Paris looked good on Caroline. A true work of art deserved a frame of equal beauty, and the city of lights complimented her at every turn. And she delighted in every inch of it.
“Did you see that!” she whispered urgently. It wasn’t the first time she’d said it to me. We’d been there three weeks and I thought I’d heard her exclaim that with delight on almost a daily basis.
“What?” I looked around and saw a variety of sights worth exclaiming over. The menu on the restaurant to our right, offering a feast fit for a king. A thin woman passing on our left who looked like she might be a celebrity, her large sunglasses and giant hat only serving to call more attention to her hidden identity.
“The old man on the bike!” She pointed to a retreating figure, what looked like a little old guy all in black riding away on an old-fashioned bicycle. “He had a baguette in his front basket!” She squeezed my arm in delight.
“That is cool,” I agreed. One of the many charms of Paris was the way its inhabitants took time to appreciate the finer things. Like buying a fresh baguette, and taking your time as you did it, peddling off with it slowly on your bike. In New York, the daily pace was set to a sprint. In Paris, things didn’t exactly pass at a backwater crawl, but Parisians definitely knew how to prioritize the things that mattered.
Like Caroline. I smiled to mys
elf, remembering how back on the island I’d made a mental note-to-self. When I got back to reality, I’d told myself I needed to remember to block off time for the tasks that really required my full attention. CB, I could note it on my calendar. Caroline’s Breasts.
In Paris, I’d been devoting lots of time to doing that particular task. I ran an international company, so it really wasn’t too much of an imposition to base myself out of Europe for a while. It made getting over to Asia faster, for one, and we had plenty of ventures growing rapidly there.
I had a great new COO in place, Tim, the young kid out of HBS who’d served as my assistant for the past couple years. He was only a couple years younger than me, actually, but I got a kick out of calling him kid. He called me old man. It was all good.
People thought I was a little crazy taking a chance on a young, untested guy without years of experience under his belt. But, then, people had said the same thing about me when I’d taken over after my father. I liked Tim’s vision, his unflagging energy and his openness to new ideas. He got it, without my having to explain how quickly our world was changing all the time now, and how nimble we had to be as investors to take advantage. I had full confidence in my staffing decision.
And it gave me some room to take my foot off the gas pedal. Slightly. I now realized when I’d had Leonard at my side, I’d never had a moment’s rest. I’d never trusted him and therefore always had to keep an eye on what he was doing. Plus, I’d done too much marching to the beat of his drum, following his advice. I wouldn’t have even gone to Redwood Bay to check in on that environmental protest had it not been for his suggestion.
He’d been wrong about the protest being a big enough problem that it merited my time. But that was one mistake for which I would be eternally grateful.
“What time is your next class today?” I asked Caroline as we strolled, arm in arm, post lunch back to our apartment.
“Three o’clock. So we’re in no rush.”
“My favorite answer,” I responded, patting her hand. “Did you invite Olivia over for dinner tomorrow?” She’d become friendly with another woman in her class, a fellow baker, obviously, who’d traveled from the UK to attend the world-famous cooking school.