Christmas In Paris (A Master Chefs Series Standalone Novel) - Plot & Excerpts
Where was she? A small Louis XVI chair upholstered in checkered blue and yellow was pushed up to a small writing desk while a console held a tuft of bright yellow flowers in a short white vase. Above it, a small television set sat on a wood shelf that’d been painted white. The effect of the entire décor was delightful and cheery, bringing a smile to Taryn’s lips despite feeling entirely lost inside. A scent tickled to her nostrils; buttery, flaky… fresh pastry. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she was at a bed and breakfast, but snippets of the events of the previous night came trickling into her mind; the stadium, Henri, a bomb, a second, and then a third. She remembered the relatively calm evacuation of the stadium, and then a strange hand on her arm; an old man who guided her with such determination into an alley only to duck into a tiny door leading to a small, but tidy apartment that smelled of freshly baked goods. Shifting over, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand, but her swollen limbs seemed incapable of holding her weight and she fell back on the soft, cushy mattress. She tried to look past her belly to her legs, but other than ten fat toes, she couldn’t see much of anything.
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