Page 88 of Enemies to French Kisses
“Oh, I thought you meant you saw it with your eyes.” She grimaces, seemingly at her own choice of words and lifts the menu to cover her face. “Yes, the lamb looks good on the menu. But truffle pasta sounds amazing.”
“It does.” I lean forward. “Shame what they do to the poor truffles.”
“Huh?” She lowers the menu. “What do they do to them? And here I was thinking they were just a plant.”
I can’t keep up the joke. “Fungus, actually. Mushrooms.”
She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “I know that,” she says in a way that doesn’t convince me she did.
Her phone pings.
“In America do you keep your phones on while you go for dates?” It was meant to sound like a playful poke, but even to me it sounded a bit too sharp.
I don’t know how to do this dating thing.
“It’s not outside the realm of possibility,” she replies, unfazed. “Cell phones are an important part of our daily communication. And also, my friends are checking on me to make sure I haven’t been abducted or disrespected.”
“That covers a broad spectrum of possibilities.”
“None of them desirable, monsieur.”
Monsieur. My heart melts, the way it did this morning and the way it did when she was my… my wife.
Why is this so awkward? Why can’t we pick up where we left off?
Given the reputation of French men for being among the world’s great romantics, I feel as romantic as a soggy baguette.
And then my phone rings.
“Mmm-hmmm.” She raises the “I told you so” eyebrow, which at once makes me want to defend myself (“I only get calls when they are very important”) and also makes me want to grab her and hold her and forget this whole fancy dinner to celebrate the Dutch job.
Maybe that’s why this is strange—we are on a date to celebrate work. If there’s anything we hold most close to our hearts in this country, it is separating our work and leisure.
“Are you going to get that?”
My phone continues to ring, and seeing my brother’s name on the screen does not help.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she accuses again and I step away, heading for the front door of the restaurant.
“Et alors?” Alain’s voice booms over the phone.
“I’m busy,mon frère.”
“I heard about the Dutch.Felicitations.”
“I’m out right now, celebrating.”
“With?”
There will be no escaping him if I don’t say. “I’m with Laura.”
“Only the two of you?”
“Just the two of us.”
“This is a good move on the one hand, but bad you are celebrating over work.”
