Blame It on Paris. Jennifer Greene

copies of credit cards, a copy of my birth certificate. I’ve never traveled outside the country before. It didn’t occur to me that I’d need to do more than that.”

      “Normally, you wouldn’t. So the first thing you want to do is call your mom, get her to fax that information here. By then we should have the police report. That’s the stuff we need to take to the consulate, get the process going to get you an immediate temporary passport.”

      She frowned. “Temporary?”

      “Well, if you want a regular passport, it’ll take a while. The bureaucracy here is no faster than it is in the United States. But you can fly home right away with a temporary, no waiting or hassle.”

      “And that would be great,” she said slowly, “but I don’t want to go home immediately. Will, it wasn’t my fault this happened. And I didn’t come here on a whim. I’ve waited a long time for a chance to make this trip.”

      “Okay…well…” For a long moment, he studied her, as if suddenly realizing she hadn’t come here to Paris just to do the tourist thing. “The way you’d attack a new permanent passport takes basically the same steps. Get the ID records, then the police report, then go to the consulate. If I remember right, a regular replacement passport’ll cost you around eighty-five, ninety bucks. But I’d be amazed if the paperwork went through for that in less than two weeks, and it could take longer.”

      “But as long as I could get money wired here, replacement credit cards and all that, there’s no reason I couldn’t stay?”

      “I’m no expert, Kelly, but my understanding is that, yes, you’d be fine as long as you stayed in France. It’d probably be pretty dicey to leave the country without an active passport in your hand.”

      “That’s okay. This is the only place I wanted to come to.” When she swallowed the last sip of tea, she realized that the adrenaline had quit pumping; the shakes had disappeared. Talking to Will, being with Will, she’d forgotten the mugger. Yet, when she met his eyes, her heart rate still seemed determined to heat to an edgy simmer. “You know a lot about this,” she said.

      “Not a lot. But I lost a passport once. And I’ve been living in Paris for the last four years, so naturally I’ve learned a few survival tricks.” He shot her to Will a wry grin. “You can take it to the bank—from replacing credit cards to getting money wired to getting the cop report and the application, you’re going to learn a whole bunch of French swearwords over the next couple days.”

      She chuckled, but she thought it was about time to stop gazing into those sexy blue eyes and move her butt. For Pete’s sake, right now she didn’t have a brush or deodorant or even the means to buy herself lunch.

      Will had been a hero, but he certainly owed her nothing. He’d already gone the long mile to help her out. “Okay,” she said brightly. “If you’d just let me use your phone…”

      He gave her a look she didn’t understand. Then he steered her into the room with the balconies and the high tin ceilings, handed her a phone and left.

      She appreciated the privacy. But twenty minutes later, she was pretty close to curling up in a ball under a couch. Any couch.

      Will showed up in the doorway. “Not doing too great?”

      She sighed. “I couldn’t seem to make a direct connection, so I had to use an operator. She didn’t speak much English. Or want to.”

      “Yeah. You’re in France.”

      “Got past that. But my mom wasn’t home. I tried her landline, her cell. Twice. Left messages. Twice.”

      “Okay.” He scratched his chin. “I thought you said you had a fiancé.”

      She straightened. “I do.”

      He looked at her. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, why a sudden silence fell between them, but whatever wheels were turning in that interesting brain of his, he suddenly seemed to come to a decision. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

      FOUR HOURS LATER, Will still wasn’t sure what he was doing. She wasn’t his problem, he kept telling himself. And once she brought up the fiancé, he’d normally have backed off faster than lightning.

      It had taken him a long time to cultivate an irresponsible, don’t-give-a-damn, love-’em-and-move-on kind of lifestyle. Poaching was a bad idea. Not because it was right or wrong but because it was inviting trouble.

      Only this was different. Really. The thing was, Kelly kept bringing up this so-called fiancé, but the infamous fiancé wasn’t the one she wanted to call for help, wasn’t the person she’d left records with, wasn’t the person she wanted to ask for money.

      As far as Will could tell, if the fiancé existed, he was in the toad class.

      Maybe that didn’t totally explain how they ended up at Pont d’Alma on the Left Bank, with Will forking over major euros at the ticket counter, but by then the day had been so irretrievably awful that he needed a pick-me-up.

      “A boat ride?” she questioned.

      “Neither one of us has had food all day. You have to be hungry by now.”

      She was intently trying to read the signs. “This is for a riverboat cruise of the Seine?”

      “Yeah. One of the worst tourist traps in the whole city. But we were close.” A complete lie—he’d driven forty minutes out of his way. But she didn’t know that, and who cared, anyway? “It’ll get your mind off the rest of the day. That was quite a scene at the your hotel.”

      The understatement of the year, he thought. When he realized her lodging was in the 20th arrondissement, he almost had a heart attack. Times three.

      “Well, I thought I’d researched places to stay quite intensively on the Internet. This one looked clean in the pictures. And it was the cheapest I found, for sure. And when I looked up the area, it said the place was going through a major renewal, so I just didn’t expect it would be quite so…”

      “Rough.” He put it in spades as he ushered her up the gangplank of the riverboat.

      “It was okay. Mme. Rossarde seemed nice enough last night.” Kelly lifted exhausted eyes. “Not like this afternoon.”

      “In French, we’d call her…un peau de vache.”

      She thought. “The side of a cow?”

      He chuckled. “Well, literally, it means hide of a cow, I guess. Meaning…tough. Unyielding. A bitch,” he clarified. The fiasco at her hotel kept replaying in his mind. He was still on a steam. The damn woman hadn’t wanted to give Kelly her clothes or anything else unless Kelly came through with a week’s worth of rent. This, after being told Kelly’s passport and money had been stolen.

      Will had intervened. Kelly had a major conniption about his paying all that rent for her, but she obviously had to have her stuff. And whether or not she realized how bad the neighborhood was, he did. The other boarders looked like they were fresh out of jail or rehab. By contrast, Kelly looked milk-and-honey fresh. Leaving her there would be like leaving a kitten in a jungle.

      So now all her gear was in the back of his car, safe enough, but she’d just gotten more agitated as the day wore on.

      “I have to call my mom again. I have to reach her. And then I promise, I’ll return all the money I borrowed from you immediately.”

      “This may be killing you, Kelly, but it’s not killing me. And I know you’ll return the loan. Quit having a stroke.”

      “But I don’t borrow money. From strangers. From anyone.”

      “Think of it from my perspective. If I were in a bind in a foreign country, I’d like to think someone would step up and help me.”

      “But not like this. You’ve given up the whole day. Your work. Your place. And you’re still stuck with me.”