Page 27 of Afraid to Hope

Natasha stopped and faced him; her round gray eyes full of happiness. She clapped her hands together like a small child. “We’re here. Follow me,” she said and turned right once more. His eyes followed to where her hand indicated. To their left, tucked into a narrower alley, was a restaurant. “Welcome to Café Rouge.”

They walked another fifteen yards and entered through the open door, Bane trailing Natasha, assailed by scents of food cooking in the varying mixtures of spices, baked bread, and cigarette smoke. It was late morning. Tables were available both inside the rustic interior and in the outside garden through the back.

“I see patio seating,” he said. “I don’t enjoy smoke with my meal.”

“Neither do I.”

“This place is full of Europeans,” Bane observed, signaling for a table outside.

“Yes, and locals too,” she said as they made their way to the patio behind the host. Her voice grew animated after they were seated and given menus. “Mémé and Pépé brought my family here when we visited. They said it was a nice blend of their pasts and present, being French but living in Morocco. I could eat freely with my left hand and not offend anyone. I believe that’s another reason we came here.”

The sun was warm and bright. Bane pulled a chair out for her. Natasha sat and slipped off her shawl; the warmth of the rays caressed her polished brown shoulders. “This feels”—her mouth curved into a dreamy smile as her eyes tracked her finger drawing invisible curlicues on the tablecloth—“wonderful.” She glanced at her menu and made her decision immediately. “I appreciate you being open to shopping and eating inHabous.” She pulled her sunglasses from her tote and slipped them on, then continued tracing curlicues absently with her finger.

Bane settled into his chair, watching quietly through his shades as Natasha seemed to struggle with emotions and memories. Even though she appeared to be looking at him, she was elsewhere, having drifted off into the past. Bane waved a hand in front of her face. She didn’t acknowledge it.

He leaned forward and covered her hand tenderly with his, stilling its motion. “Nat? Where are you?”

She started and her smile was overly bright. “Sorry. Daydreaming.”

“Care to share?”

She cocked her head and pursed the full glossed lips Bane ached to explore. “Uh, no. Thanks. Do you know what you want?”

Bane leaned in even closer and lowered his voice. A slow smile spread over his face. “I certainly do.”

Natasha’s hand fluttered to her throat. Her tongue darted out and touched her lips, and she rolled that damn lower lip and bit down on it.

“Are you aware of what you are doing?” He groaned, easing back and adjusting his pants. “You’re going to be the death of me. I—”

“Good day,” the waitress said, placing a pile of grilled peppers, bread, and two small plates on the table. “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” they both responded.

She waved over a young girl who filled their glasses. “Are you ready to order, sir? Ma’am?”

Bane picked up his menu, then lifted his eyebrows at Natasha and signaled with a nod.

“I’d like therfissaplease.”

“Make that two.” Bane added, “Can you also bring us some kebabs, olives, and an artichoke salad? Thank you.”

“Only one salad?

“Yes. My wife enjoys sharing with me.” Bane steepled his fingers and enjoyed the scene in front of him. Natasha had pushed some of the peppers onto her plate with the bread and taken a large bite. The juices ran down her chin when her mouth opened in surprise. “Need help?”

Embarrassed, Natasha dabbed at her mouth and chin frantically, finally swallowing her bite. “Does everything have to be innuendo with you?” she challenged, but her voice was light.

“Whatever do you mean? I only mentioned that you like to share. Where’s the innuendo in that? I’m merely being conversational.”

“Such a big word,” she said, taking a drink.

“I’m a big man, babe.”

Natasha choked on her tea.

Bane rose from his chair and came around to pat her on the back. “Wrong pipe, huh?” He handed Natasha her glass of water. “Drink. It will settle the spasms.” He rubbed Natasha’s back until he felt her relax. “All this back-and-forth. It’s kinda stupid. I feel like I’m in a fuckin’ washing machine. Agitated. Spinning. Or waiting for the next cycle. Can we just cut to the chase?”

“What does that mean, cut to the chase?”

---