Page 57 of That Weekend in Paris
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask.
“Maybe just stand at the back of the car and make sure no one plows into us. If you see someone coming, make a dive for the grass over there, and I’ll be right behind you.”
I smile a little and say, “I’m really hoping that scenario doesn’t play out. Although I have to admit I did see a news report before I left home about this car that ran out of gas. A police officer stopped to help her. While they were standing there, a huge truck lost control and ran right into them. Luckily, they were able to leap out of the way in time.”
“Okay,” Klein says, working a little faster now. “That’s definitely making me want to get this done quick.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It just, well, it actually really did happen. I’m going to stop talking now.”
I keep my eye on the traffic, but, admittedly, glance a few times at Klein, who is working at a pace that makes the muscles in his arms leap and dance beneath the skin. Not for the first time, I think what an incredible body he has. But then, that is not what I should be thinking about right now.
“I almost have it,” Klein says. “Just a couple more minutes, and we should be out of here.”
“Do you think maybe we picked a car that had a bad luck curse or something? I mean, we started with the muffler, and then there’s the tire,” I say.
“Maybe this will be the last of it,” Klein says.
“Let’s hope,” I agree. Klein is true to his word, and within a few minutes, we’re back inside the car and using the side lane as a ramp back onto the Autoroute.
We’ve been driving for about three hours when I say, “I’m actually famished. Would you want to stop at the next little town and get some lunch?”
“Sure,” Klein says. “See anything on the map that looks good?”
“As a matter of fact, there’s something that looks great just a few minutes ahead.”
“Perfect,” Klein says.
Fortunately, we spot the exit and get off the highway, winding around a curvy road that leads us to a charming little town whose buildings were all erected in centuries past. “This is beautiful,” I say. “The thing about Europe is, you really can go town to town and be amazed by what’s beautiful and unique in each place. And they all have something because there’s such a wealth of history.”
“To be honest,” Klein says, “I never really thought much about coming to Europe. It wasn’t something I had any real desire to do, but I understand now why people love coming here.”
“We could park at the edge of town, and walk, see what we find,” I suggest.
“That sounds good.” He finds the first available spot to leave the car. My French is good enough to know that we don’t need to put money in a meter or pay anyone. We start walking, and it isn’t long before the first shops start to appear, first a bakery, whose window display makes my mouth literally water.
“Can you believe how beautiful their food is?” The bread is poofy and delicious looking. Desserts made of apple tarts, and beignets decorate beautiful wooden trays.
“We could get something from here on the way back out to take with us,” Klein says.
“That sounds like a great idea,” I agree. We walk on, passing an art gallery with lovely colorful canvas paintings adorning the walls, and it isn’t long before we come to a cluster of caféswith outdoor seating. It’s a beautiful sunny day, so we opt to sit outside and peruse the menu as soon as the waitress brings it to us.
“I have no idea what to order. I want everything on here,” I say.
Klein laughs softly. “Me, too, but I think I’ll go for the mushroom risotto.”
“That sounds incredible. And I’m going to have the pizza and mashed potatoes.”
Klein looks up at me and smiles. “Interesting combination.”
“Gotta eat what you love,” I say. “But let me qualify that with, both of those will be a treat. I try to stick to my mostly fruit and vegetable diet, which I actually love. It’s not a hardship. But I do like to treat myself in places like this.”
“And you should,” Klein says. “Besides, you look amazing.”
I feel the heat creep into my cheeks and glance down at the menu. “Thank you,” I say.
“Am I right when I suspect that’s hard for you to believe?”
“Hmm.” I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “If I compared myself to the women you most assuredly have throwing themselves at you on a regular basis, then, yeah, maybe.”
