Nights In Black Lace by Noelle Mack

the wrought iron balustrade. She dashed out the front door and looked frantically through the rain for a taxi.
    There were none. Just the usual insane Paris rush-hour traffic. The streets were clogged with cars, weaving in and out, and cutting each other off. The driving rain meant everyone’s windows stayed rolled up, which muffled the curses.
    She would have to walk until she could hail one. She unfurled the umbrella and started off, dodging right and left to get past people. Little by little, despite her haste, she relaxed.
    There was something about a rainy night in a big city that she loved. Neon reflections on dark, slick streets, open umbrellas like giant dots of color against the gray—she slowed down to take it in. She would get a taxi eventually, Bryan would wait, she should not be so frantic— Mon Dieu, my shoes are soaked, she thought.
    After several more blocks, her luck changed and she spotted a taxi. It pulled over. She got in, sliding her furled umbrella at her feet, and gave the driver directions.
    Odette felt suddenly exhilarated. Her feet were cold and wet, but Paris in the rain was beautiful as ever, and she was going to meet her new lover—
    Paris in the rain …it could be a perfect name for her next collection.
    She had been considering a new type of gray silk, pleated so finely that it shimmered. The manufacturer had made variations on that theme, deeper hues shot through with flashes of silver.
    Like lights reflecting on wet streets at night, if one were looking out a café window, protected from the storm…with a man one loved. She smiled a little wistfully.
    Paris in the rain? You can’t slap a concept like that on fancy panties. On umbrellas, maybe. Not underwear. In her head, she could hear the grumpy voice of her sales analyst, a man who hated new ideas.
    Zut. He might be right. Odette sighed and leaned back against the seat, grateful that the taxi driver wasn’t the talkative kind.
    She leaned forward and tapped on the divider. “Here it is. Thank you.” She handed him the fare and a generous tip, then clambered out, forgetting the umbrella on the floor.
    At the entrance to Chez Prune, Odette caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and made an effort to pull herself together, patting her damp hair back. The long day at work and her lack of makeup showed. She certainly looked like a junior worker in a fashion house.
    It didn’t matter. Prune customers were arty types, usually disheveled and prone to announcing that they didn’t give a damn about money, before they hit up their pals for a loan.
    She looked for Bryan as she entered, not seeing him at first. Ah—there he was. His back was to her. He was wearing a heavy sweater and a different jacket was slung over the back of his chair. Of course—he must have gone back to his hotel to change.
    He was alone. She was glad that no one had struck up a conversation with him—meaning no one female.
    Odette knew she had no right to be jealous, but she was anyway. She came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.
    â€œHello,” she said. “Have you been waiting long?”
    He got up and kissed her on the cheek. “No, not long. Mad dash through the rain for you, I guess.” He touched a straggling lock of her damp hair with an odd tenderness that touched her even more.
    â€œFor a little while. Then I got lucky. But guess what—”
    The waiter came over, and asked what they wanted to drink.
    â€œCalvados for me,” she said.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Bryan asked.
    â€œApple brandy. It warms you up very nicely.”
    â€œI’ll have that then.”
    â€œTwo calvados,” she told the waiter, who gave them a blasé nod and went away.
    â€œSo how was your day?” Bryan asked.
    â€œOh, much the same,” Odette said quickly. She could not imagine how she was going to tell him the truth. But looking into his eyes, she knew she had