#poppywright

the smell of cinnamon might still be wafting through the air,  but alex nilsen is no longer quite so deeply immersed in this little baking project of his.   a batch of pumpkin cinnamon rolls forgotten entirely,  even if specks of flour are still dusting his apron and chin.   bright blue eyes nearly popping out of their sockets,  he finds himself gaping dumbly at his girlfriend,  unable to utter a word for a long,  long moment.   clad in a habit that’s anything but ordinary,  she’d most likely leave even the most liberal man speechless.   the outfit can only be described as a provocative play on tradition with its seductive lace accents,  black fabric so tight and short that it barely covers her backside.   “honey,  i —”   how is he supposed to take her to a party hosted by bryce when this is what she’s decided to wear?   a whisk remains frozen mid-air,  alex’s surprise is so profound that it’s a wonder he hasn’t yet dropped the mixing bowl.   well,  this is something straight out of a fever dream.   or a nightmare.   “you do realize that my family is deeply religious,  right?   and my brothers’ children will be there,  too?”

it is a warm day in paris. the streets are alive with laughter. a woman watches from her window seven stories above. if she casts her eyes towards the horizon she can see the eiffel tower. a pang of loneliness shoots through her chest as tchaikovsky fills the apartment. a one way trip to paris wasn't exactly what her father had in mind when he said she should clear her head. she'd been there for three months now. odette knew she was running, but at this point, she didn't care. years had passed since that day, but it never loosened the ache in her heart and the bitterness that had formed there. if anything, it was only exacerbated by nosy journalists who still wanted a story or curious wanderers on the street who asked, "do i know you?" how was she supposed to answer that when she barely knew herself?

a knock at the door tears her from thoughts. odette sighs and pauses the music. she's half tempted not to answer. she knew who it was. and she didn't want to talk to her. a quick google search of poppy wright told odette she was only another journalist who wanted a quick story. nevermind that her writing was good or that she had looked up flights to the different countries poppy wrote about. they were all the same. she turns away from the eiffel tower and the streets below and the beginnings of the sunset. odette crosses the room unnecessarily slow before she pulls the door open. she doesn't bother to smile.

TOM BLYTH with Emily Bader and Emily Henry.