Page 49 of That Weekend in Paris
“I’m good,” he says. I start to let it go, but then he looks back at me and says, “I guess that’s not really true.”
“What, then?”
“The call from Josh. It just reminded me that we have reality to return to, and none of this, what we’ve been doing here, is reality.”
The statement surprises me. I guess it hadn’t occurred to me that he cared one way or the other. “I wish we could stay.”
“Me, too.”
“We’re both scheduled to leave tomorrow,” I say.
“We are,” he agrees. “You know, I’ve been working on the new album I’m contracted for, and honestly, before this trip, nothing was coming to me. I had kind of reached the point where I thought I would just need to tell my label that I’ve got nothing and let them do with that whatever they wanted to. But after we wrote that song last night, I don’t know, it’s like maybe a valve has been opened up again, and I really have the desire to write. But I’d like to do it with you, Dillon.”
“Really? In Nashville?”
“Actually, I was wondering what you would think of taking some time to drive around the countryside, stay wherever we feel like staying, and write while we’re still here.”
“That would be absolutely incredible,” I say. “I would love to do that.”
He smiles then, and I realize it’s his first genuine smile of the day, or since this morning, at least. “No one’s expecting you back?”
“No one who can’t wait,” he says. “And you?”
“No, not really,” I say, thinking of Josh, and then blinking the thought away as quickly as it has appeared.
And, as if he has read my mind, Klein says, “Josh?”
“I don’t feel like I owe Josh anything. But, if he wants to have a face-to-face conversation with me, that can certainly wait.”
“Good,” Klein says, smiling again. “So, where should we go?”
~
WE ORDER LUNCH from the mouthwatering menu, and while we’re waiting on our food, we start googling places to visit outside Paris. We find a few small towns that sound absolutely wonderful, and then Klein says, “You know, we’re not confined to France. We can go wherever we want. Train, car.”
I laugh a little. “Hold on, now. If you’re not careful, I might not ever let you get back to Nashville.”
“I’m starting to think I wouldn’t have a problem with that.”
A wave of warmth cascades through my midsection, and I don’t think I’m crazy to think that he’s flirting with me. It very much feels like flirting, and I cannot deny that it feels amazing. “Careful what you wish for,” I say.
“Oh, I am very, very careful,” Klein says. And before I can ask him to elaborate on that, the waitress has returned with our food. We’re both distracted by how wonderful it looks and how hungry we are. I’ve ordered an enormous mixed veggie salad, Klein, an omelet with herbs, and we both dig in as if we haven’t eaten in a week.
Once we’ve satisfied a bit of our hunger, Klein looks at me and says, “I think I could easily gain fifty pounds here.”
“Me, too,” I say, “but it would look far better on you than me.”
“Highly debatable,” he says.
When we’re finished, we both decline dessert but opt for a coffee. As we’re sipping, I pick up my phone and try another search for great places to visit near Paris. There are so many that sound amazing that it’s almost overwhelming. I spot a link called Horse Vacations, and out of curiosity, click on it.
“Do you ride?” I ask Klein, without looking up from the screen.
“Anything in particular?” he asks, and I can feel his smile.
I look up and meet his gaze with a pointed, “Horses, of course.”
“I might have been on one or two at a county fair,” he says.
