You're the One: a Contemporary Romance Novella Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème) (5 page)

“Neither do I,
believe me.”

“OK, let’s
stay positive and give him the benefit of the doubt. What if the waitress was
an old friend of his, and he’s helping her out with something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t
know . . .filing an insurance claim? Scrapbooking?”

Natalie
cackled. “If he told you that, would you believe him?”

“Hmm . . .”

Natalie
cradled her head in her hands. “You know what’s worse than his two-timing?”

“That he’s
doing it with a woman who’s way hotter than you?”

Natalie
couldn’t stifle her smile. “Marie, dear, with friends like you, who needs
enemies?”

“I made you
laugh, didn’t I?”

Natalie’s face
turned serious. “What’s worse is that he told me last week he didn’t want a
baby because of his career.” She shook her head. “Career, my foot.”

“I don’t get
it. For you, his lying is worse than his cheating?” Marie asked.

Natalie rubbed
her forehead. “It’s hard to explain. Now I know it’s not his job.” Her voice
cracked. “It’s him.”

Marie gave
Natalie’s hand a squeeze. “What do you intend to do?”

“Confront him.
I just don’t have the nerve to do it tonight.”

“Tonight you
regroup and try to get some sleep.” Marie picked up Natalie’s purse and handed
it to her. “Here. Get your phone and text him so he wouldn’t worry.”

“Ha. Maybe he
should.”

“You don’t
want him alerting the police, do you?”

Natalie sent
Fred a short text.

I’m at Marie’s. Will sleep over. N.

“You should
confront the waitress first,” Marie said.

“Whatever
for?”

“She’ll tell
you the truth. She has no reason to lie.”

“I guess
. . .”

“And then
you’ll confront Fred and compare their statements. It’s called
cross-examination.”

Natalie
smiled. She appreciated her friend’s attempt to inject some lightness into the
situation. “I don’t think that’s what a cross-examination is, but I get your
drift.”

She suddenly
felt completely drained.

Marie picked
up the empty cups. “Come on. You’re ready to drop.”

Natalie nodded
and trudged to the bedroom.

If only she
could wake up tomorrow and realize the past week had just been a bad dream.

***

Natalie ended
up staying at Marie’s most of the next day, in too much of a mess to go to
work. She called in sick, did some staring into the wall, a bit of crying, and
a lot of thinking about her bleak future. In the evening, she went home, took a
sleeping pill, and spent the night in a deep dreamless slumber. Which was
exactly what she needed.

The next day,
she got to
La Bohème
a little before
six, determined to confront the waitress and later, Fred. The wig and the
sunglasses were gone—she was done with her little game. She ordered a hot
chocolate and looked around. The blue-haired waitress was nowhere in sight.

“I like your
new hair,” a familiar voice said.

She looked
over and saw Adrien standing by her table, still in his rain jacket. He must
have just walked in.

“Thanks,” she
said.

“It’s lighter
and . . .longer.” He gave her a puzzled look.

“
Coiffeurs
can do the most extraordinary
things to your hair these days. You should try it.”

What was it
about this guy that lightened her mood no matter how low she’d been feeling?

“Um . . .”
His mouth twitched upward. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He looked at
her for a few seconds, shifting from one foot to the other, and went to sit at
the table next to hers. Natalie couldn’t stifle a small sigh of relief. This
wasn’t too bad. They could chat like two people who found themselves next to
each other by accident while she waited for the waitress. Once she spotted her,
she’d excuse herself and ask to talk to the woman in private.

“I didn’t see
you here yesterday,” he said.

She was glad
he hadn’t brought up the evening at Luke’s. “I was wearing my invisibility
cloak.”

“Of course. I
should’ve guessed. Do you wear it often?”

She smirked.
“These days, yes. But I didn’t even own one until last Wednesday.”

“What happened
last Wednesday to make you pay a fortune for an invisibility cloak?”

“I got a cheap
one,” she said. “Counterfeit. I was told it may malfunction at any time. So
don’t be surprised if I materialize out of thin air while you’re happily
picking your nose.”

Adrien gave a
chortle. “I do no such thing. Not even when I’m playing against Fritz.”

“Who’s Fritz
and why are you implying he deserves to watch you pick your nose?”

“Fritz is the
chess program I’ve been using lately. He’s devious.”

“How does it
work in professional chess? Is it your only occupation, or do you have to
moonlight as
Père Noël
at Christmas?”
she asked.

“I have no
need for moonlighting. In chess, you can make a living when your rating is high
enough. Which happens to be my case.”

Natalie detected
a note of pride in his voice. It was kind of sweet. The whole of him was kind
of sweet, actually. Once your eyes adjusted to the color clashes on his
sweater, you noticed his intelligent eyes, his clean jawline, and his kissable
lips.

She swiftly looked
away from his mouth. Did she just call it kissable? She should focus on keeping
an eye on her boyfriend rather than applying inappropriate qualifiers to an
unrelated man’s lips.

“Do you play
chess?” he asked.

“I know the
rules and I’ve played a few times . . .”

“But? . . .”

“But each time
I got a huge headache. My brain must have overheated from all that strategizing
and thinking several moves ahead.” She shrugged.

“A former
world champion, Garry Kasparov, calls chess mental torture. But it’s also great
fun. I think it’s the coolest game ever invented.”

“I envy you.
You get paid to practice your favorite hobby. I wish someone would pay me to
watch romantic comedies.”

His eyebrows
shot up. “You love romantic comedies?”

“Of course I
do.” She feigned surprise. “Don’t you?”

“Uh.” He
scratched his head. “How shall I put it? I haven’t seen many.”

“You must have
seen
Amélie
.”

He shook his
head.

“Really?
Four Weddings and a Funeral? The Princess
Bride?”

He threw his
hands up, looking apologetic.

“OK, what
about the classics—
Roman Holiday?
Pretty Woman? Groundhog Day?”

He gave her a
panicked look and shook his head again.

“Let me get
this straight. You’re telling me you haven’t seen
Pretty Woman
.”

“I’ve heard of
it, though,” he offered.

She rolled her
eyes skyward. “What planet have you been living on?”

“Hmm. I can
see I have an embarrassingly big gap in my general culture. I’m determined to
fill it, though.” He paused for a second. “Will you help me? I haven’t got
anyone to watch a romantic comedy with. Will you guide my uncertain first
steps?”

She was
flummoxed at how much the idea appealed to her. “I’ll give you my top twenty to
get you started.”

His face fell.
“That would be great.”

She needed to
steer the conversation further away from the danger zone. “If I had a tenner
for each romcom I’ve watched, I’d be a millionaire.”

He lifted his
gaze to the ceiling and moved his lips, as if doing mental math. “I doubt it.”

“OK, maybe not
a millionaire, but certainly better off than a teacher.”

“You don’t
like being a teacher?”

His question
gave her pause. “Is that how it came out? No, the only thing I don’t like about
my job is the pittance they pay me. But I love every other aspect of it.”

He raised an
eyebrow. “Including the noisy little ankle-biters with permanently runny
noses?”

“Especially
them.”

“Well, I
suppose there
is
something cute about
them, if one looks beyond the noise and the runny noses.”

“They’re so
small and . . .soft. They don’t have any sharp angles, even at
their elbows and knees. And they ask the most unexpected questions.”

“They most
certainly do. I’ve got two little nieces, and I’m on question-answering duty
every Sunday when I’m in town,
” he said.

“I’m sure they
love their uncle. Isn’t it heartwarming to see how kids are excited about
everything, how they try to figure things out, to make sense of the world?”

He nodded.
“And you enjoy helping them, don’t you?”

“I do.” She
grinned. “In fact, I love it so much I wish I had a chance to do a lot more of
it.”

She bit her
tongue, realizing she’d slipped from entertaining chitchat to a different kind
of conversation—the kind wherein you revealed essential things about
yourself. And if that shock wasn’t enough, Adrien’s expression certainly was.
He smiled softly, his brown eyes filled with warmth and reassurance. It was
like he was telling her he understood how she felt and he was on the same page.
He didn’t think she’d been
testing the
waters
with him, did he?

She picked up
her purse. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

Once inside,
she went to the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and shook her head
vigorously. But the image was still there. God, that look on his face. That
earnest, understanding look that said,
I
hear you.

How did it
happen? How did this evening, which she’d envisioned as a succession of two
showdowns, go so far off script? She tried to figure out what to do next.
According to her watch it was almost seven o’clock. Fred and
his . . .lady friend must have left earlier today, before she
got to the bistro. This meant she had no business hanging around, flirting with
Adrien, telling him about her dreams, giving him wrong ideas—and losing
her high moral ground of a cheated-on girlfriend.

Feeling
thoroughly ashamed, Natalie returned to the front dining room and placed a five
euro note on her table. Adrien gave her a surprised look.

“I need to go
home. It was nice seeing you again.”

She grabbed
her coat and rushed out. As she was about to descend
the
stairs leading to the Metro, she heard Adrien’s voice.

“Natalie,
wait!”

She swirled
around.

He rushed to
her side, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t . . .I wanted
to . . . ” he stammered.

She looked at
him expectantly. He stopped talking, took a step toward her, and took her in
his arms. Before she had time to protest, he kissed her.

The kiss was
so astonishingly sweet, it took her breath away. His lips felt soft and warm
against hers and tasted heavenly. Without thinking, she closed her eyes and
savored the unexpected pleasure of the moment. His hands roamed her back, then
delved into her hair. She felt exquisitely lightheaded. He cradled the back of
her head and deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth, coaxing her
to respond. And she did. How could she not respond to the way he held her, the
way he smelled, the way his tongue caressed hers—it all felt so right, so
impossibly good. It was as if she were being kissed by a sexy romcom hero and
not by an offbeat nerd with unkempt hair. She hadn’t been kissed like that
since her first year with Fred.

Fred!

Natalie broke
the kiss and pulled away from Adrien’s embrace.

“I really need
to go now,” she said and ran down the stairs.

***

She was going
to have her face-offs today, or she’d go nuts.

Last night
Fred had come home when Natalie was already in bed. She pretended to be asleep,
but ended up spending a sleepless night thinking about Adrien and what had
happened yesterday by the Metro entrance. Not only had she allowed him to kiss
her, she had kissed him back—until she remembered who she was. What a
mess! Or was it some stupid, unconscious attempt at retaliation? It was so
wrong on so many levels, but mostly because Adrien didn’t deserve to be used.

This time she
arrived at
La Bohème
at half past
four. Adrien wasn’t there.
Good
. The
blue-haired waitress was.
Excellent.

She sat down
and waited to be noticed. The bistro was half-empty, and the staff were sharing
a meal. There seemed to be a lot of camaraderie among them, judging by their
easy conversation and frequent laughs. As she watched them, she reflected on
how satisfying it was to relate to people without effort, without considering
every possible implication of what you wanted to say. The way she related to
her parents and to Marie. The way she related to Adrien. The way she’d never
been able to relate to Fred. Was it because Fred was a complicated person? Or
was it because
she
was unable to
behave naturally around him, always wary of what was at stake, of how much he
meant to her?