Page 72 of One Good Puck
“Red okay?”
She smiles and nods.
“You’re so knowledgeable about art,” I say after ordering wine and a starter.
She shrugs. “I’d know more if art school had worked out.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but can I ask why you didn’t end up going?”
“I got pregnant with Emma,” she says.
“Oh. I…” I catch myself. I was going to say sorry, but that would come off like it’s a bad thing that she had her daughter, and that’s not what I mean.
She offers a small smile. “It’s okay. Artschool would have been amazing, but having Emma was even more amazing. And I love my job as a kindergarten teacher. I wouldn’t trade the life I have with my daughter for the world. And because of your thoughtful gift, I’m able to spend more time painting and drawing.”
“I’m really happy to hear that.”
The server brings us a bottle of Bordeaux. A few minutes later, he drops off the steak tartar we ordered along with the wine.
“I’m so glad you’re not bothered by raw steak,” Abby says. “All of my friends think it’s gross whenever we go out to dinner together and I order this.”
I shake my head. “They don’t know what they’re missing.”
I watch as Abby spoons the small chunks of beef onto a toasted slice of baguette. When she takes a bite, she closes her eyes and moans.
“Okay, that’s hands-down the best steak tartare I’ve ever had.”
“Good, right? It’s the best steak tartare I’ve had outside of France.”
I serve her another helping of the tartare, then myself. The richness of the beef combined with the tang of the shallots and capers is heaven.
“You’ve been to France?” Abby asks, excitement in her tone.
“Yeah. It was a long time ago, though.” I say, my chest tightening at the memory.
“Epic boys’ trip with your hockey buddies, I’m guessing?” she teases.
“No, uh, it was my honeymoon.”
“Oh…” her smile drops. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something sad.”
I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. “You didn’t. I’m the one who brought it up. And it’s really fine. I just…” I pause and take a sip of wine. “I just didn’t want to be the guy who ruins the mood by mentioning the honeymoon I took with my late wife.”
A soft smile appears on Abby’s beautiful face. “You’re not ruining anything. I think it’s so romantic that you took her to France for your honeymoon. And it means a lot that you feel comfortable enough with me to talk about her.”
I can tell by her tone and the look in her eyes that she’s being sincere.
“You’re my favorite person to talk to, Abby. ”
A soft smile pulls at her lush mouth.
“France is my dream vacation,” she says.
“Oh, yeah?”
She nods as she sips her wine. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. See the Eiffel Tower. Have a café au lait at a coffee shop. Eat a freshly baked baguette. Go to the Louvre.” She chuckles softly. “I’m such a cliche, aren’t I?”
“I’m the guy who took his wife to Paris for our honeymoon. I’m a cliche too.”
