Page 50 of The Cyrano Situation
"Actually," Jules said, sliding into the empty chair at our table without invitation, "I think I understand better than you might expect."
My brain struggled to process this non-catastrophic response. I'd been prepared for outrage, betrayal, possibly a dramatic exit accompanied by the slamming of doors. He was French, after all. The calm, measured tone threw my anxiety-primed nervous system into confusion.
"You do?" Hart asked, his voice pitched slightly higher than normal. His hand found mine under the table, and I clung to it like a shipwreck survivor to driftwood.
Jules set his book down and leaned forward. "When I found out that Hart was helping you with our text conversations, I was a bit confused at first. Then I started thinking about it—I'm a literature professor, after all. The pieces started falling into place."
"Pieces?" I managed, my throat dry.
"Cyrano de Bergerac," Jules said with a knowing smile. "One of my favorite plays. A handsome man serving as the mouthpiece for another's affections, only in this case—" he gestured between Hart and me, "—I suspect the Cyrano and Christian fell for each other instead."
Hart's grip on my hand tightened. I felt my face flush with heat.
"I'm not wrong, am I?" Jules asked.
Before either of us could answer, a waiter appeared at our table. He was tall, with an undercut and a sleeve of tattoos visible beneath his rolled-up shirt. His nametag read "Ari."
"Can I get you anything?" he asked Jules, his gaze lingering a beat too long to be merely professional. "We have some excellent pastries today."
"I'll have a cappuccino," Jules said, offering a smile that contained a hint of interest. "And... surprise me with something sweet."
"I excel at sweet surprises," the waiter replied with a wink before turning to Hart and me. "And for you two? More coffee? Or perhaps a celebratory dessert? The chocolate croissants are freshly baked."
"Two chocolate croissants would be perfect," Hart said, recovering his signature charm. "Thank you."
As the waiter walked away, Jules turned back to us with a raised eyebrow. "Handsome, isn't he? Perhaps the universe is offering me a consolation prize?" His tone was light, but I detected a hint of genuine wistfulness beneath it.
"Jules, I'm so sorry," I began, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I never meant to mislead you. The texts were genuinely from me. They were my thoughts and feelings. Hart just helped me express them better. I was so afraid of saying the wrong thing, of being... well, me."
"Too analytical? Too verbose? Too fond of obscure literary references?" Jules suggested.
"Exactly."
"Cyril," Jules said gently, "those were the qualities I found most interesting about you."
I blinked, processing this information like a computer attempting to run incompatible software.
"Really?"
"Really. Though I have to admit, some of those texts were suspiciously smooth. Particularly that one about the moonlight and the promise of tomorrow's dawn."
Hart had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "That might have been a bit much."
"It was beautiful," Jules acknowledged, "but it didn't sound like the same person who spent fifteen minutes at the facultymixer explaining the statistical improbabilities inRomeo and Juliet."
I winced at the memory. "Not my finest moment."
"I found it charming," Jules said, then glanced between us. "But clearly not as charming as Hart found it."
Hart's thumb traced circles on my palm under the table. "Cyril doesn't realize how fascinating he is. His mind works like no one else's."
The waiter returned with Jules's cappuccino and a lavish slice of tiramisu, along with our croissants. He set Jules's order down with particular care.
"One cappuccino and our signature tiramisu—layers of complexity with a kick at the end. Rather like good conversation." He placed a small card beside the saucer. "And my number, in case you want to discuss... literature... or something, sometime."
Jules picked up the card with a surprised smile. "Well, that was direct."
"Life's too short for subtext," Ari replied. "I get off at seven."
