CHARLOTTE HAD LEFT A NOTE saying that she’d be spending a few hours with Lucien that afternoon, so Ruby was alone in the apartment. As she waited for night to fall, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl, changing into a cotton dress she hadn’t worn in more than a year and rummaging through a small box of odds and ends until she found a stubby red lipstick that she’d put away after Marcel had died.

Daylight had vanished by five-thirty, and there was a soft knock at the door. Ruby opened it to find Thomas standing there, his cheeks pink from the evening chill. For a moment, they just stared at each other, and then his arms were around her, and his mouth was on hers. Ruby pulled him into the apartment and fumbled with the lock, and then she found herself pressed against the door, her whole body on fire.

“I’ve missed you, Ruby,” he murmured, drawing back to gaze into her eyes.

“I’ve missed you too.”

“I thought of you every time I flew over France.”

“But why? I’m just a woman who helped you long ago. Aren’t I?”

He kissed her again. “You’re the person I think of each time I take off. You’re my good luck charm. I’ve spent the last two years not knowing if you were dead or alive. Standing here in front of you now feels like a miracle.”

“I think of you all the time too, Thomas.” She wanted to lead him to her bedroom, to feel his body against hers the way she’d hardly dared imagine, but Charlotte would be home soon. Besides, Thomas had been walking for days and was covered in grime; surely he’d want to feel like himself again. “Why don’t you freshen up? I’ve drawn you a bath and laid out a fresh set of clothes for you.”

“Your husband’s?”

“No, I don’t have any of his things anymore. I keep spare clothes on hand now in case pilots are sent my way.”

His smile faltered, and he took a small step back. “So there have been others you’ve helped? Others like me?”

“Thomas,” she said softly, holding his gaze, “there is no one like you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

November 1943

While Thomas bathed, Ruby paced the apartment. She couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of his body, the way his mouth had lingered on hers.

When he emerged thirty minutes later, freshly shaven and dressed in gray slacks and a white shirt, he looked like a different person. His dark hair was still damp and curled at the ends, framing his chiseled face perfectly.

“You’re staring,” he said softly, smiling at her.

She looked away, embarrassed. “I was just thinking that it must feel nice to be clean after your long journey.”

“Oh, is that all you were thinking?” His tone was light, teasing.

“I might also have been thinking that you are even more handsome than I remember.”

His smile widened. “So you have been thinking of me.”

“All the time.” She took a deep breath. “We had a pilot here in January who said he knew you. Jon Payne. He was captured in Urrugne soon after.”

“I heard about Urrugne. Poor Payne. He was here?”

“I—I couldn’t believe how relieved I felt when he told me you were still alive, Thomas. I had no way of knowing, although I had the strangest feeling that I would have sensed it if you were gone.”

He took a few steps closer to her until they were standing just inches apart. He grazed her cheek with his thumb, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. “And you’ve continued to work on the escape line, Ruby?”

“Until the arrests in Urrugne. We’ve been inactive since the winter. I’m very sorry, Thomas; I don’t have any way to get you out of France right now.”

“I know.”

“And you still came to me?”

“I had to.”

They stared at each other for a moment. “I—I suppose you could try to venture out on your own, since you’ve made it out of France before. Or—” She paused and glanced up at him before returning her gaze to the floor. “Or you could stay here until we can find you a safe way out.”

“But won’t I be putting you in danger?”

She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “Any risk would be worth it, just to have you here.”

“You mean that?”

“But perhaps it’s foolish of me to suggest—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He pulled her into his arms, covering her mouth with his. When their lips met, she had the sudden, strange sensation that she was floating. He folded her in closer, and she could feel his body pressing against hers as his tongue softly parted her lips. She let out a small, unintentional moan, and he started to back away, but she grabbed his collar and drew him closer. She didn’t want this to stop. Ever.

But then there was the sound of the front door opening and closing, and they both pulled away, startled.

“Thomas?” Charlotte was framed in the doorway, her mouth hanging open as she stared at them. Lucien was behind her, his eyebrows arched in surprise.

“Um, yes, hello, Charlotte,” Thomas said, taking a step back from Ruby. “Lovely to see you again.”

“What are you doing here?” Charlotte asked.

“Don’t you think we’d better go inside before someone sees us?” Lucien hurried her into the living room and shut the door. “Hello,” he said to Thomas. “I’m Lucien, Charlotte’s friend. And you, it appears, are Ruby’s friend.”

“Yes, ah,” Thomas said in French, clearly still struggling to regain his composure. “Nice to meet you. I’m Thomas.”

“The Thomas?” Lucien asked. “The pilot?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow at Ruby and smiled. “Indeed.”

Lucien grinned. “Well then! Welcome back.”

OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL WEEKS, life changed for everyone inside the apartment on the rue de Lasteyrie. Ruby was happier than she’d ever been. She was in love, and she couldn’t bear the thought that she’d have to let Thomas go once again. But she knew that Lucien was making inquiries about escape routes, and that as soon as they found one, Thomas would be on his way. Each day together could be the last.

They’d fallen into a routine; in the mornings, Charlotte, Ruby, and Thomas would drink their weak grain coffee and eat small slices of stale bread together, and then Ruby would head out with ration cards, and Charlotte would leave with Lucien. She was officially his assistant now; she came home with ink-stained hands late each afternoon having spent the day forging papers for Jews in hiding and people who were part of the Resistance.

When Ruby returned from standing in hours-long ration lines each day, she’d knock three times on the sliding wall in her bedroom. Thomas would unfold himself from the closet, stretch his hands over his head as he climbed out, and smile that dimpled, crooked smile that always made Ruby’s heart melt. “What’s for dinner?” he would ask, winking at her, and she’d answer with something ridiculous, such as “Chateaubriand and caviar, of course.”

They’d spend the next hour or two holding hands and talking until Charlotte arrived home. Ruby couldn’t ask Thomas enough questions; she wanted to know everything about him. She delighted in answering his endless questions about her life too. She told him about her parents, what it had been like to grow up in Southern California, what New York was like in the springtime. He knew now that she hated mushrooms and loved baked pears, that she preferred big band music to jazz, that her favorite movie was Camille, and that she sometimes had nightmares about falling from the edge of a cliff into a black abyss. He, in turn, talked of his childhood in London, the games he used to play with his schoolmates, and the way he missed his mother every day. He told her what it felt like to be 14,000 feet in the air in the tiny cockpit of a Spitfire, how frightened he’d felt the first time he stalled in midair, how he sometimes felt racked with guilt over the German lives he’d taken.

Sometimes, they didn’t talk at all; they would sit on the couch and then his lips would be on hers, and they’d kiss until Charlotte came home. It never went further than that, though. Ruby had learned to be careful with her heart, and even though she knew she was already deeply in love with him, she worried what would happen once he was gone. Now wasn’t the time to be foolhardy about anything. His life was in her hands, as was Charlotte’s, and she couldn’t do anything to put either of them in jeopardy. She loved them both too much.

But everything changed on the fourth Thursday in November. At home in the States, it was Thanksgiving, and Ruby felt dejected all day thinking of her parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered around the dinner table without her, holding hands and probably praying for her. Did they believe she was dead? Now that the United States was involved in the war, were the American papers filled with news of what was happening here? Could they imagine what her life had become? On a holiday like this, she couldn’t help but feel terribly homesick.