Book Release Day: Derailed is now available!

Happy book birthday to Derailed, my latest book under my Anne Wentworth pen name! I'm not going to lie, I have a tendency of falling in love with my male characters, and Yves is one of my favorites. This book is also a love letter to France, one of my favorite places in the world, and every time I read it I close my eyes and imagine all the beautiful things I saw there and all the fabulous food I ate. My hope is that when readers delve into the pages of this book they'll experience their own corner of France, wherever they are.

In honor of the release, I thought I'd share one last chapter of Derailed with you. If you like what you read, you can pick up a copy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Kobo, and you can add it to your shelves on Goodreads. Want to see some of the sights that inspired the book? Check out my Pinterest Derailed Inspiration Board, where you can see photos taken by yours truly and by my awesome hubby during our Normandy adventure.

Missed the previous installments? You can find them here: cover reveal and book description, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9.

Chapter 10

“It was a beautiful party, wasn’t it?” Julia asked the next morning, a dreamy smile on her face. There was a faraway look in her pale blue eyes that made her seem even more like a forest sprite than she normally did. She ran her hands over her stomach, her expression making it plain that she was lost in her own imagination.

“It was,” Lou agreed, glancing at Blaine to see him goggling at his wife like a lovestruck teenager. He seemed only half-conscious, and his messy hair was a wonder. Lou hid her smile behind her coffee cup. The two of them were so adorable together it was a bit nauseating, but she kept that petty thought to herself.

Covering her mouth, Lou let out a jaw-cracking yawn. She had thought American receptions were wild parties, but they couldn’t hold a candle to the rollicking celebration she’d attended the previous night. It hadn’t begun to die down until almost three o’clock in the morning, and Lou had been tempted to sleep right through breakfast, but she didn’t want to waste a moment of her trip. Even so, she was beginning to question the wisdom of her decision. Keeping her eyes open was proving an almost insurmountable challenge, and she suspected she looked like a twitchy creep due to all the blinking she had to do to keep the bleariness at bay.

She thought of how Melinda had looked as she and Benoit had hopped into their car, waving to everyone before driving away. Melinda’s face had glowed with love and pure joy, the light of the outdoor torches catching the fire in her auburn hair and making her eyes luminous. She’d worn a cream-colored, lacy A-line gown that was gorgeous on her, accentuating her soft curves. Benoit had been absolutely smitten with his bride, his dark eyes warm and shining as he took her hand and led her to their car.

Over the past three years, Lou had watched her best friend change in heartening ways. Melinda was still the same person she had always been, but she was becoming comfortable in her own skin. Where she’d once hidden behind baggy clothing and derided her own appearance at every opportunity, she had grown to accept her figure, and it made her all the lovelier. It hadn’t escaped Lou’s notice that Melinda had long believed herself physically inferior to Lou, and she was glad to know this was no longer the case. Lou knew she had been lucky to hit the cosmic genetic lottery, but in her eyes Melinda had always been just as beautiful, and Melinda’s new confidence in herself made her more eye-catching than ever.

“She’s happy,” Blaine said, jolting Lou out of her reverie. She let out a muffled gasp, wondering if she’d actually dozed off over her breakfast. “It’s good to see her so happy.” He sounded as satisfied as Lou felt. When he and Melinda had worked together he’d often been her sounding board, and he was every bit as aware of just how miserable Melinda used to be as Lou was.

“She deserves every happiness she gets,” Lou said, stifling another yawn.

“So do you,” Blaine said, turning his gaze to Lou and raising an eyebrow that told her he wasn’t at all unaware of how mixed up she’d been since she’d arrived in France.

“Thanks, Blaine. I think I understand now why Melinda has put up with you for all these years.”

“Put up with me,” he scoffed. “It’s been her privilege to be in my presence. We’re talking about me here. I am irresistible.”

“Julia, how did he ever convince you to marry him?” Lou asked in mock exasperation.

“Well, he does make me laugh.”

“Yeah, he’s good for that, isn’t he?”

Blaine sniffed, turning his nose up at them. “If you’re not careful, I’ll leave the two of you here and head off to Paris with that handsome French friend of Ben’s. We’d be two single men on the prowl in Paris. You can’t begin to fathom the damage we could do.” He yelped as Julia whacked his arm.

“Yves is single?” Lou asked, the words slipping out before she could think about them.

“Yes indeed.” Blaine gave her a sly look.

“No. Stop right there. It just surprises me, that’s all. Before you go all off on a tangent, let’s not forget that he’s French and lives in London while I’m American and live in Michigan.”

“That’s so like you, to fixate on his flaws.”

Lou rolled her eyes and blew out an impatient breath. “Keep this up, I’ll ship you off to Paris on your own. You’re skinny enough for me to stuff into a moderately-sized box if I fold you up. The postage wouldn’t cost more than a few euros, I’m sure.”

“How dare you insult my manly physique.” Lifting his arm, Blaine attempted to flex his tiny bicep, and all three of them laughed.

“It’s a very manly physique,” Julia said, petting his arm, her lips twitching.

“See what she does? It’s called humoring me, and she’s excellent at it,” Blaine said happily.

“We all are, Blaine. We all are,” Lou told him. “Don’t you have a rental car to return before we catch our train? I’d suggest we get moving.”

“Yeah, we’d better,” Julia said. She made a move to get up from her chair and Blaine hurried to help her, making her smile. “I’m fine, Blaine.”

“You sure? We were up so late last night, I’m worried you didn’t get enough sleep. You need to let me know if you get tired,” he said, his forehead creased in concern.

“Relax, sweetie. We’ll be sitting on a train for hours. I think I can handle it. I’ll sleep if I need to.” Her voice was full of affection.

“I’ll go grab my suitcase and meet you guys by the check-in desk,” Lou said.

Eschewing the tiny elevator, she took the stairs up to her room. Her bags were packed and waiting. All she needed to do was grab them and head back down, but she lingered in her room for a minute, throwing the windows wide open and leaning on the sill as she gazed out over the small town. She would miss this place, she thought. She hadn’t felt any real urge to go to Europe before, and she found she was glad that Melinda’s reception had provided her with the impetus. Here it seemed like anything was possible. She felt like she could breathe, think.

Closing her eyes, she drew air deep into her lungs, taking in the scent of the lavender, which she knew would be impossible to describe. She had bought some sachets and handmade soaps so that she could bring something of the scent home with her, but she knew that it wouldn’t be long before the memory was all she had left. The thought made her a little sad, but it also made her realize how lucky she was to have this moment, this chance to experience something outside of herself, to get out of her own head a little. She didn’t know if it was her job or her nature, but she’d spent so much of her life fixated on the microscopic that she was starting to think she’d missed the fact that there was a big world outside her door.

How much have I given up?

It surprised her to realize how little desire she had to return home. It wasn’t that she wanted to stay in France, it was more that she was loath to lose what the trip represented.

Stasis. It’s like I’m in stasis.

It might not have been wise for her to flee from her problems rather than face them, and they’d still be there for her to deal with when she returned, but the trip had provided her with a welcome reprieve. Far from home she could stop thinking about Louisa Carmichael’s responsibilities, at least for a little while. In a way it was like Louisa Carmichael didn’t even exist. In France there was no Wayne State University, no failed career in the biomedical research department. No one knew her; hell, they didn’t even speak the same language she spoke. They didn’t know that her career was a spectacular failure, didn’t know that she’d lost her head and poured gasoline all over her bridges before burning them. She was just a blank to the people here, just another ordinary American, looked at and then dismissed. The thought was comforting.

With a great deal of reluctance she closed the shutters and hefted her bags, heading to the lobby. As her feet carried her down the stairs she felt like the magnetic pull of the earth was tugging her back toward home, back toward all the things she didn’t want to face. The trip wasn’t over yet, she reminded herself. She still had a few days left to spend in Paris, and she intended to make the most of them.

Sneak Peek: Chapter 9 of Derailed

Release day is almost here! Derailed will be available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble on October 9, 2013. If you own a Kobo, the book is available for pre-order now! And don't forget to add it to your to-read shelf on Goodreads.

Missed the previous installments? You can find them here: cover reveal and book description, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8.

Chapter 9

Laughter and music drifted on the mild, perfumed air, and Uncle Georges’s house was magical in the twilight. It was a beautiful, perfect reception. Melinda and Benoit were so blissed out Lou was surprised they were still conscious. Home seemed a million miles away, as if Lou were in another world where her problems didn’t exist. Everything was like a dream, the champagne crisper, the food far more delicious.

Never before had she seen such food. The way everything had been laid out was like a painting, an edible work of art. Some of it Lou wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. In her opinion fish should most decidedly not still have its head on when it was about to be consumed, and snails were something no human being was ever meant to ingest. But the cheese was unreal, the bread so amazing Lou would have been content to eat nothing but bread for the rest of her trip. She’d had no idea it was possible to love carbs with such an all-consuming passion, and she thought with a pang of how much she’d miss French bread and pastry when she was back in Michigan.

“Are you enjoying the evening?” Yves asked, joining her as she stood admiring the lavender fields.

“I am. And you?”

“Very much so. I’d say the party is a smashing success.” He smiled as he looked at Melinda and Benoit.

“It is.” Lou followed Yves’s gaze, smiling as she watched her friend and her new husband feeding each other some of the decadent cake the local pastry shop had delivered.

“Are you spending more time in Provence?”

“Just tonight. Tomorrow morning I’m heading to Paris with Blaine and Julia.”

“I’m going to Paris as well, to visit my mother.”

“Didn’t Ben say his mother and yours grew up together? Has she lived in Paris long?”

“She moved there when I went to university. I grew up in Normandy.”

“That sounds so glamorous,” Lou said, sipping her champagne. “Paris, Normandy, now you work in London…”

“I suppose it’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? None of that strikes me as particularly glamorous, unlike your living in Michigan.” He took a drink of his champagne as well, watching her over the rim of the glass.

“Please,” Lou said, making a face at him. “You probably only know where Michigan is because Ben’s a native.”

“Perhaps, but you can’t dispute what I said about perspective. Take what you see around here. This all strikes me as rather commonplace, while I know you think it’s strange. When I’m in America, things there seem strange to me.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said, giving it some consideration. “You want to know one surefire way of giving away the fact that you’re European?”

“Do tell.”

“You say ‘America’. I’ve never heard an American refer to their homeland like that. We say ‘the U.S.’ or ‘the United States’.”

A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “I do believe you’re right. That is an interesting insight. In return, I’ll tell you something Europeans use to spot American tourists.”

“Oh, this ought to be good.”

“It’s the white trainers. Americans always wear them when they come to Europe.”

“Trainers?”

“You know, the shoes,” he said, pointing at his feet.

“Trainers! Is that what people in jolly old London call them?” she teased, laughing.

“Yes, because that’s what they are,” he said, leveling a condescending expression on her. She was familiar enough with him to know he was teasing too.

“We call them tennis shoes in Michigan.”

“Are they called something else in other parts of America?” He sounded surprised.

“See, that’s the problem with you Euros, you think all Americans fit into a certain box. The U.S. is huge. There are a lot of differences in accents and in the words we use, depending on where in the country you are. I won’t even get into regional cultural differences.”

“I’ve only visited America a few times,” he said. “I suppose I do still have a lot to learn.”

“Yeah, well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly an expert on France.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said in a tone of utter sincerity.

“I cannot get over it, the way you do that. It’s just so weird. How can you tell when someone is serious or when they’re just kidding?”

“Practice.”

“Have you lived in London for a long time?”

“Ten years now. I went to university in England and started working in London directly after graduation.”

“One of these days I’d like to see London. Hobnob with the queen, drink some tea, eat some scones, and all that.”

He shook his head. “How long are you staying in Paris?”

“Just a few days, then I head back.”

“A few days! Do you call that a holiday?”

“Um, yes. I’m spending a week in France. What would you call that?”

“I hardly know.” It was obvious he was perplexed.

“Well, I get two weeks of vacation time each year, not counting American holidays, so that’s half my vacation gone.”

“Two weeks a year! Is that all? I have six weeks each year, plus bank holidays.”

“What the hell are bank holidays?”

“More time spent away from work.” He grinned.

“Damn. So that’s why everyone here seems laid back. Are you staying in France for six weeks?”

“No, no. I’m to spend a week in Paris. I was thinking of going back to Normandy to visit some friends as well.”

“Pardon me for envying the hell out of you. The sad part is, even though I get two weeks a year, I don’t usually use all of my days.”

“You Americans are all mad,” he said, and this time Lou was pretty sure he wasn’t being dry, but that he meant what he said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Sorry, that was rather rude. But how do you find the time to enjoy life if all you do is work?”

“Work is life for most of us.”

“Sounds unpleasant.”

“It depends on what you do,” Lou said. Suddenly, she was depressed. Work hadn’t been unpleasant for her, not by a long shot. However, now that she was unemployed, she couldn’t help but think of all the things she could have been doing had she not been working so much.

“Look at me, ruining your evening. No wonder you were so convinced I was a prat. I seem determined to prove to you that I am, don’t I?”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, trying to shake the feeling off. She forced herself to smile. “I love the word ‘prat’. I’m not sure if it’s the accent or what, but British slang seems so much cooler than American slang.”

“Must be because it’s so glamorous.”

“Now I know you’re mocking me.”

“You are a fast learner. I don’t suppose I could persuade you to dance, could I?”

The word ‘yes’ leapt to the tip of her tongue, but there was another part of her that felt nervous and sweaty at the idea. She decided to split the difference. “It’s possible you could.”

“Brilliant.” When he smiled at her like that, she couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought he was such a horrible person.

Taking her hand, Yves led her out to the dance floor. A slow song was playing, something in French, and Lou’s sense of unreality increased as Yves pulled her to him and they began dancing. She had no idea if he was as nervous as she was, but whatever the reason, it took them a moment to get into the rhythm, and his toes had to be as sore as hers, given that she’d had no trouble proving herself his equal in the foot trouncing department.

My mother would be so disappointed. Lou was overcome by a sudden memory of the hours upon hours of dance lessons through which she’d suffered as a kid. Dance was something that hadn’t interested her, but her mother had been determined to have a little ballerina in a pink tutu, so Lou had not been given the choice. From the age of three until the age of eleven she had half-assed her way through her dance classes, resenting her mother with every step she took. Before each class they would engage in a loud battle of the wills, until her father finally stepped in and announced that he had no further intention of paying for her lessons, putting an end to Lou’s dubious stint as a dancer. She had been grateful for his interference, even though she knew it had been done not in support of her, but because he was tired of listening to his wife and daughter scream at one another.

“I’m an appalling dancer,” Yves confessed, looking embarrassed.

“I’m not a ballroom champion myself. At any rate, you get points for courage. Most guys I know stay as far away from the dance floor as possible.”

“Not Dem.” He bobbed his head toward Dem, who seemed to be on a mission to qualify as the Webster’s definition of ‘dancing fool’.

“Dem’s a fun guy.”

“Are you two close?”

“No, we haven’t seen much of each other since Melinda and Ben moved.” She didn’t know how to interpret the look that crossed his face. The song ended, and his hand tightened on hers for a brief instant.

“I hope the injuries you sustained weren’t too grievous.”

Lou smiled. “I think I’ll survive.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but someone called to him in French, and Yves turned and gestured. Returning his gaze to Lou, the corners of his mouth curved down in regret. “I’m being called away. If you’d like to have coffee while you’re in Paris, you can call my mobile.”

“Sure,” Lou said, without having the least intention of calling him. As much as she was enjoying their conversation, she didn’t see the point. Soon he’d be back in London and she’d be back in the U.S., trying to deal with the mess that was now her life. Still, it was easier to agree than it was to tell him no. Tugging her phone from her purse, she opened her contacts, tapped on the keyboard, and handed the phone to him so he could add his number.

“’French Dude’?” he asked in a comic imitation of an American accent.

“I chose it just for you,” she said, her voice sugar-sweet.

“Americans,” he muttered. He typed the number in and handed the phone back to her.

“Americans,” she agreed.

“Enjoy the rest of your stay in France. It’s been nice meeting you.”

“It was nice to meet you too.” She meant that. It would be fun to think about in the years to come. Hell, she might even run into him again someday, when he came to visit Benoit and Melinda. She stuck her hand out and he took it, giving her the brief shake that she’d seen French people exchanging.

“And now we’ll say goodbye the French way. Repeat after me: au revoir.”

“Au revoir,” she repeated in what she thought was a passable imitation. He astonished her by leaning forward and doing the French cheek kissy thing. The delicious scent of his cologne enveloped her. His cheek was warm and ever so lightly stubbled as it touched hers, and her eyes fluttered closed for the briefest of seconds. His teeth flashed as he smiled at her, then he turned and was gone.

Sneak Peek: Chapter 8 of Derailed

Derailed is available for request on NetGalley, and I was originally planning on releasing it October 9, but I'm now thinking about moving up the release date, so stay tuned. If you own a Kobo, the book is available for pre-order now! And don't forget to add it to your to-read shelf on Goodreads.

Missed the previous installments? You can find them here: cover reveal and book description, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7.

Chapter 8

The weather was beautiful the next day: sun and clear blue skies without a cloud in sight. Given that Melinda had been stressing about their decision to hold the party outdoors, Lou knew this would be a big relief for her friend, freeing Melinda up to fret about something else. Thinking about it made Lou smile and filled her with affection for the woman she had known ever since she had just left diapers behind.

“Can you believe Melinda’s married? How weird is that?” Blaine asked as he, Lou, and Julia ate breakfast.

“It is kind of weird, isn’t it?” Lou asked. Despite that Lou had been there for the ceremony, she hadn’t really thought of Melinda as being married, not like she had when Blaine and Julia had gotten married. His wedding had been strange, provoking an uncomfortably adult sensation in her. Watching him exchange vows with Julia had proved to her that her friends were moving on to a new stage in their lives, that they were advancing. Lou had believed herself to be advancing too, until everything she had worked for had gone up in smoke.

Don’t think about that right now, she commanded herself.

“It’s not that I’m surprised that she’s married. She’s an awesome person, always has been. It’s just weird to think that we’re, like, grownups now, isn’t it?”

“Some of us more so than others.”

Julia smiled. “That’s why Blaine will be such a great dad. He’s still a kid at heart.”

“You don’t deserve her, you know,” Lou told him.

“Oh, I know it. Trust me.” Blaine slipped his arm around his wife and they exchanged an adoring gaze.

“Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to help set up?” Julia asked.

“I’m sure. Have a quiet morning, enjoy some time to yourselves. You’ll be stuck with me in Paris soon enough,” Lou said.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us to Switzerland? The offer still stands,” Blaine said.

“You should. It would be a lot of fun,” Julia said.

“Thanks, but no,” Lou said, smiling at them. “I’m going to head back to Michigan like I planned. I’ll need to start looking for another job.”

“Feel free to change your mind. We’d love to have you with us,” Blaine said.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She appreciated the offer but had no intention of joining them. It was their last chance to take a vacation alone before the baby came, and Lou didn’t want to infringe. She’d only booked a week in France because it was all the time she’d been comfortable taking off from work, not that it mattered anymore.

“You ready, babe?” Blaine asked Julia.

“I am.”

“We’ll see you this afternoon,” he told Lou.

“See you guys then. Have fun.”

Lingering at the table, Lou sipped her coffee and thumbed through the Paris guidebook she’d brought with her. Benoit had to pick something up in town, so he’d stop at the inn to pick Lou up and take her back to his uncle’s place with him, but he wouldn’t arrive for another twenty minutes or so. It felt good to sit and enjoy her coffee, savor the rest of her pastry. Lou couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t been in a big hurry.

Once the coffee was gone, Lou headed outside to wait for Benoit in the square. Lifting her face to the sun, she closed her eyes and basked in its warmth, trying to wipe her mind blank.

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” a voice asked, and Lou’s eyes popped open.

“Yves? What are you doing here?”

“I told Benoit I’d pick the food up for him, leave him to run interference between his family and Melinda’s.”

“Oh God,” Lou groaned. “Are things that bad?”

“Just a few too many cooks in the kitchen, I’m afraid.”

“Why, exactly, are we going to go back there?” He let out another of his rich laughs, and Lou found herself smiling.

“You know, I’m glad you and I have come to a better understanding,” he said as Lou rose and followed him to the butcher.

“I am too,” she said, meaning it. He had turned out to be a much nicer guy than she’d given him credit for being, even if she did sometimes have to stop for a minute and consider the things he said. He wasn’t as easy to be around as her friends, but she now understood what Benoit and Melinda saw in him.

“What, do you expect me to carry this?” he asked Lou when the butcher put the order on the counter and she gave him an expectant look. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed one of the packages and thrust it at him.

“Yep, I sure do. But I will take that one.” She pointed to the smallest package.

“If I’d known I’d have to act as your servant, I might have thought twice about offering to pick everything up.”

“I’m going to guess you’re using your dry British humor right now.”

“Excellent guess. Full marks for you. You are a rather quick learner, aren’t you?” Before she could take the package she’d said she would carry, he plucked it from the counter and added it to the stack in his arms, ignoring her protest. Exchanging goodbyes with the butcher, he led her out of the shop.

“I am. I even know French now. Je voudrais un café.”

“Well done. Now that you know how to order the most important of all provisions, you’re ready to conquer France on your own. Shall I put these in the car while you pick up the bread from the bakery?”

“Not on your life. I have no idea how to tell that woman what I want, and she looks kind of terrifying,” Lou said, cupping her hand around her mouth so no one else would hear.

Yves raised an eyebrow. “So much for American boldness.”

Lou helped him load the meat into the car, then they picked up the bakery order, heading back to Uncle Georges’s house at last. The countryside flashed by in an alarming purple blur, and Lou clung to her door handle.

“Remind me to never again get in the car when you’re driving,” she gasped as he jerked the wheel to the left, flying past a tiny tin can of a car meandering along the narrow road. Clamping her hands over her eyes and peering between her fingers, Lou said a quick prayer, sure they would die, but Yves somehow got them back to their own side of the road a fraction of a second before they collided with a car going the other way.

“Nonsense. I’m a perfectly proficient driver.”

She moved her hands back to the door handle, looking up in time to see the smile on his face and the twinkle in his eye. “Arrogant French bastard,” she muttered under her breath.

“I’ve always wanted to hear an American woman say that to me.”

Turning her head to stare out her window helped settle her queasy stomach a bit. It also concealed her smile.

Uncle Georges’s house was a hive of activity. A huge delivery truck blocked almost all of the road. Unruffled, Yves maneuvered the car around it, coming within a hair’s breadth of mowing through the lavender field belonging to Uncle Georges’s neighbor. Lou shook her head in disbelief at the other farmer’s cheerful smile and the jaunty wave he gave Yves.

“This country is weird.”

“Says the woman who comes from a land where people willingly eat things like deep fried chocolate bars.”

“What’s the word you kept saying to me? Touché?”

“That’s the one.” He made no effort to conceal his own smile.

“I’m so glad you’re here! Come with me,” Melinda said the second Lou stepped out of the car. She seized her friend by the hand and hurried her off toward the back of the house, leaving Yves to wrangle the food on his own. Lou glanced over her shoulder and shot him an apologetic look, but he just smiled and opened the trunk.

Melinda kept Lou busy for the rest of the day. When they were finally finished, Benoit dropped Lou off at the inn so she could shower and change before the party.

As hard as Melinda had worked her, Lou was glad she was able to be there for her friend. Bitterness left a metallic taste in her mouth as she thought of how she’d had to rush to Chicago and back for Melinda’s ceremony, unable to stay longer than overnight because of her precious work project. At the time she had been sure the sacrifice was worth it; after all, she was still able to witness Melinda exchanging vows with Benoit. She’d even attended the surprise party Melinda and Benoit’s Chicago friends had thrown that evening. Because she had to drive back to Michigan the next day, she’d only had a couple of drinks, but even those hadn’t eased her up. She hadn’t been in the moment, had been too focused on what she needed to do next for her project, leaving her distracted. All that effort, all that time. All of it for nothing.

Well, no more. She was done with that. Lou’s career had meant the world to her, but it had also taken things from her, moments she would never get back. If nothing else she now had the opportunity to do everything all over again, to do it better. She vowed that she would learn to compartmentalize, that she wouldn’t allow work to overshadow everything else in her life. From now on she would be in the moment. She was in France, about to go to her best friend’s reception, and she wanted to focus on celebrating.

The thought cheered her so much that she felt a sort of indulgent affection for her French bathroom, even as she once again struggled to wash her hair without soaking the room. She took great care drying her hair, getting dressed, and applying her makeup. It was time to wash away the old Lou and to become a new Lou, she decided. Things would work out for her. She had worked too hard for them not to work out in the end.

Sneak Peek: Chapter 7 of Derailed

Derailed is now available for request on NetGalley! To celebrate, I thought I'd give you all a glimpse at the next chapter of the book. Release date is coming up soon. If you're an Amazon or Barnes & Noble shopper, you'll be able to get your hands on a copy October 9th. But if you're a Kobo user, the book is available for pre-order now! And don't forget to add it to your to-read shelf on Goodreads.

Missed the previous installments? You can find them here: cover reveal and book description, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6.

Chapter 7

“What do you think of it?” Melinda asked, nodding at Lou’s cocktail as Lou set it down.

“It’s good,” Lou said. “No wonder you’ve taken to it.”

Melinda nodded, a smile of satisfaction on her face. “One of the things I like most about France is that the restaurants here are unique—well, except for the invading American franchises, that is. Yves, as a representative of the French, I’m scolding you for eating at such places. How could you?”

“I humbly apologize,” Yves replied, bowing his head.

“There’s something to be said for fast food burgers,” Lou protested, feeling defensive.

“That they’re atrocious for your health and taste like an old gym sock?” Yves asked.

“Yes, well, it’s American, therefore it must be bad,” Lou said, her grip on her glass tightening.

“Damn. I didn’t mean to start a culture war,” Melinda said, holding her hands up. Her eyes flicked uneasily from Yves to Lou and back again.

“Sorry,” Lou sighed. “I think I’m still a little jet lagged.”

“And I seem destined to offend whenever I open my mouth,” Yves said, sounding nonplussed.

Looking down at her drink, Lou wondered why she was so quick to jump all over him. Much of what had come out of his mouth made him sound rather like an asshole, but he had apologized. Maybe he had a serious case of open-mouth-insert-foot syndrome. He was Benoit’s friend, and Melinda seemed to like him, so the guy couldn’t be all bad. Was it possible she was spoiling for a fight because she was in such knots over what had happened at work? What if her altercation with Dwight had unleashed her inner bitch and she was now determined to take it out on every guy she came across, outside of the choice circle of Benoit, Dem, and Blaine? If she kept this up, maybe she’d start taking it out on them too.

“I’m just kind of touchy right now,” Lou said, flicking a glance at Yves out of the corner of her eye.

“We probably should have told you that we have a tendency to do this,” Melinda said. “Benoit and I like to play cultural chicken with Yves. It’s sort of a thing.”

“You know what, let’s forget about it. Let’s wipe the slate clean and start over, what do you think?” Lou asked. Yves smiled and Lou’s heart did a weird stutter. She found herself staring into her cocktail again, as if it might help her divine the true nature of her feelings.

“Sounds good to me,” Melinda said, and Lou heard the relief in her friend’s voice. “I’ve had my fair share of polite disputes.”

Guilt rushed through Lou. So much for doing her part to make Melinda’s reception smooth and easy. “I’ll give you this, burgers have nothing on those pastries filled with chocolate bars,” she told Yves, anxious to set Melinda at ease.

“They are a favorite of children everywhere in France,” he said. A flush crept over her face, and she opened her mouth to protest, but then she noticed the gleam in his eye and settled on making a sour face.

“If there’s one thing you Brits and pseudo Brits need to learn, it’s how to use a sarcastic tone of voice,” Lou informed him.

“Maybe you could teach me?” His face was deadpan, and she had no idea how to take his words.

“Stop harassing Lou,” Melinda laughed, giving his shoulder a light shove.

A slight smile playing about his lips, Yves lowered his voice in a conspiratorial manner. “I like pain au chocolat too.”

Relaxing for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Lou took another sip of her drink and let her gaze idle around the square. She couldn’t get over how different everything was, as if she’d stepped back in time and yet was still in the same century. It struck her as odd that everyone else walked around as if they didn’t notice. How could they live with all the ancient buildings, the seventeenth century statue in their square, and not remark on it?

And how can they stand sitting in the bathtub all the time?

Still, she had to hand it to what she’d seen so far of European bathtubs: they were deep, far deeper than the ridiculous tub in her own apartment, which didn’t seem suitable for bathing anyone who wasn’t a child.

“What are you thinking about?” Melinda asked her.

“It’s unbelievable,” Lou said.

“What is?”

“This, all of it.” Waving her hand around, Lou gestured to the square, the statue, and the cafe. “Everything’s so old.”

“I know. It’s as if we’re all stuck in the past here,” Yves said. He seemed to be testing her, and Lou frowned at him.

“Has it occurred to you that I wouldn’t accidentally misinterpret your words if you’d stop deliberately misinterpreting mine, Mr. Dry?”

He smiled. “Touché again. That’s two in a row, which is a rare occurrence.”

Turning her head in an effort to conceal her smile, Lou looked back at the square. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. When I go to Chicago to visit you and Ben, Min, it’s different but the same, if that makes any sense.”

“I know what you mean,” Melinda said. She surveyed the square with a smile of contentment. “Back in the U.S., things can be kind of generic. The buildings might vary a little, there may be an unfamiliar restaurant or two, but you can always count on there being certain things, like Starbucks on every corner.”

“I regret to inform you that we have Starbucks here as well,” Yves told them.

“What? How is that possible? It’s not like it’s tough to get a great cup of coffee here,” Melinda said.

“It’s true; I saw one at Charles de Gaulle,” Lou said.

“I don’t mind American chains here,” Yves said, his face contemplative. “Contrary to what I may have led you to believe, Lou, I don’t think of all things American as being bad. But I have traveled in America, and it is a bit dismaying how homogeneous it can be.”

The way he said homogeneous struck Lou as adorable. God, what a stereotypical American woman, turning into a puddle of goo at a sexy accent.

“Isn’t that one of the bad side effects of globalization?” Lou asked. “Doesn’t it make you worry that every place will end up looking the same after a while?”

“Discussing philosophy while having a drink at a cafe? For a moment there, you almost sounded French,” Yves said, giving her a sort of half smile.

Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy. “Let’s say I wanted to go incognito, make my way through Europe without looking like a total American tourist. What would I need to do?”

“It would help if you spoke French.” He fixed an inquiring look on her and she shook her head. Melinda cracked up.

“You don’t even want to hear her attempt it,” Melinda said.

“I resent that,” Lou said, scowling at her friend.

“Seriously, you don’t.”

“It can’t be all that bad,” Yves said.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Flicking Melinda off, Lou turned her attention to Yves. “Teach me to say something in French.”

“All right then. Let’s start with something basic. If you want to order a coffee, you say ‘je voudrais un café’.”

Repeating after him, Lou tried to pronounce the words the way he had, but Melinda’s snicker told her she’d been less than successful.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Yves said, fighting back a smile. Lou made a face at him. “Honestly, it wasn’t. French can be difficult. The sounds are very different from English. The j in ‘je’ sounds more like a zed—sorry, z.” He demonstrated for her, and Lou repeated the word a few times.

“Well done,” Yves complimented when she managed a passable version, making Lou beam. “Now, let’s try the whole phrase again.”

“Je voudrais un café,” Lou said, stumbling over the words less than she had before.

“Better, but your pronunciation of ‘un’ is off. It’s nasal.” As he demonstrated for her, Lou worked hard to resist the urge to laugh, and he pulled a face. “I can see it in your eyes: you want to make a jest about it being nasal. Go on then.”

“No need for that now,” Lou said, tittering and waving her hand, causing him to smile at her again. “Un,” she repeated, her heart beating faster.

Several minutes of practice ensued before Melinda and Yves both agreed that Lou didn’t sound half bad.

“Now you’re taking away the one advantage I had over her,” Melinda said, smiling. “Whenever she went all scientist on me I could tease her about her terrible accent. What can I lord over her now?”

“That’s right, Melinda told me you were a scientist,” Yves said, gazing at Lou with new interest. “What’s your specialty?” He pronounced the word spess-e-al-ity, and Lou’s stomach dipped, as if she’d driven down a giant hill.

“Biomedical research.” The words stuck in her throat, tasting like ash. Melinda bit her lip, her face stricken.

“Is that so? What sort of research are you doing? I’ve been working on an immunological study for the past six months.”

“You’re a scientist too?” Lou asked, surprised.

“Guilty,” Yves said with a broad smile. Lou’s stomach started churning. The last thing she wanted was to discuss work, and it was obvious Yves was about to launch into another line of inquiry, so she knew she’d better do something fast.

“Do you mind if we talk about it later? It bores Melinda to tears, and I’m on vacation anyway, so I don’t want to think about work right now.”

“Oh, of course.” Looking taken aback, Yves sipped his drink. “Any other topics we can discuss without stirring up too much controversy?”

“Tell me more about this town.”

Obliging her, Yves talked about the town’s history, and Lou was surprised to find it was more interesting than she’d expected. She knew next to nothing about European history, and she asked Yves a lot of questions. The tension eased, and the three of them were soon caught up in an engrossing discussion.

“We need to get going or we’ll be late for dinner,” Melinda said a while later, checking her watch, and Lou was shocked to realize it disappointed her to have to cut their conversation short. Yves not only knew a lot, he had a flair for sharing interesting anecdotes.

“We can continue the discussion at dinner, if you like,” he said.

“That would be great,” Lou said.

He smiled and flagged down their server, giving Lou a moment to collect herself. Her heart was tripping along in her chest, and there was a slight tremor in her fingers. As promised Yves paid the bill despite their protests, and the three of them set off on foot for the restaurant, which was just down the street.

“Perhaps French men aren’t so bad after all,” Yves murmured, his voice pitched so low only Lou heard. She gave him her most disapproving frown, even though she agreed with him.