Page 51 of The Cyrano Situation
As he walked away, Jules tucked the card into his book. "See? The universe provides. Though I admit this is not how I expected today to unfold when I spotted you two through the window."
"You're being incredibly understanding about all this," Hart said, his expression a mixture of relief and lingering guilt.
Jules shrugged and took a sip of his cappuccino. "Don't get me wrong. I'm… disappointed. Cyril and I had good conversations and chemistry, and I thought we might have something promising." He looked at me directly. "But I'm not interested in being someone's second choice or coming between something that's obviously been developing for a while. How long have you two been dancing around this?"
Hart and I exchanged glances.
"Two years, four months, and approximately seventeen days," I supplied automatically, then caught myself. "That is, we've known each other that long. The other… developments are more recent."
Jules nodded, using his fork to cut a perfect bite of tiramisu. "As I suspected. The way Hart talked about you when he explained the texting arrangement... well, let's just say Roxane might have noticed Christian's feelings for Cyrano if she'd been paying attention."
"I didn't realize myself until recently," Hart admitted. "I thought I was just being a good friend, helping Cyril connect with someone who appreciated him. But every text I helped with, every conversation about what made him special—I finally realized I was really just articulating my own feelings."
My heart performed a statistically improbable somersault in my chest.
"And you, Cyril?" Jules asked. "When did you know?"
I considered the question with the thoroughness it deserved. "I think I've always known on some level, but I dismissed it as statistically unlikely that someone like Hart would be interested in someone like me. The probability seemed... negligible."
"Someone like you?" Hart interjected, frowning. "You mean brilliant, thoughtful, and genuinely kind?"
"I was thinking more 'socially awkward overthinker with an unhealthy attachment to obscure Japanese mysteries,'" I clarified.
Jules laughed. "And here we have the crux of your Cyrano situation. You've been so convinced of your own unworthiness that you couldn't see what was right in front of you." He took another bite of tiramisu. "Though I will say, this is a much happier resolution than the original play."
"No one dies of a sword wound while reciting poetry?" Hart suggested.
"Precisely," Jules agreed. "Though I maintain Rostand's ending has its own tragic beauty."
"The beauty of missed connections and timing never quite aligning," I mused. "Literature is full of such near-misses. We're conditioned to find them more poignant than happy endings."
"Speak for yourself," Hart said, palming the nape of my neck. "I'll take our version over Rostand's any day."
Jules studied us for a moment, then nodded as if confirming something to himself. "You know, in the original play, Cyrano's wit and Christian's beauty are divided between two people. But you two each have both qualities—you're just too busy focusing on what you think you lack to see what you have."
I felt a flush creep up my neck at the unexpected compliment. "That's very generous of you."
"It's observant, not generous," Jules corrected, then glanced over his shoulder to where Ari was serving another table. "Besides, I think I might prefer someone a bit less complicated right now. Someone who leaves his number rather than sending literary-infused texts ghostwritten by his best friend."
"When you put it that way, our situation does sound rather absurd," I acknowledged.
"All the best love stories are, when reduced to their plot points," Jules said. "It's the emotions that make them resonant." He finished his cappuccino and stood up. "And on that note, I think I'll leave you two to your... resolution scene."
"Jules," I said, standing as well, "Again, I truly am sorry for the confusion. You deserved better than being caught in the middle of our... whatever this was."
"Emotional obstinance?" Hart suggested.
"Mutual pining disguised as friendship?" Jules offered.
"Statistical anomaly of affection?" I added.
We all laughed, and the tension that had been humming between us dissipated like morning fog.
"No hard feelings," Jules said, extending his hand. "Though I expect to be invited to the book launch if either of you ever writes this story. It has all the elements of a bestseller."
"Deal," Hart said, shaking his hand. "And thank you."
Jules picked up his book and offered us a small smile before leaning over and kissing me on both cheeks in the French way. "As a professor of literature, I recognize a good story when I'm in one. Besides," he glanced toward the counter where Ari the sexy waiter was watching our exchange with interest, "every good narrative needs a plot twist."
