Page 45 of Meant to Be

CHAPTER 11

Joe

It wasn’t the first time a beautiful woman had shot me down. In many of those cases, though, they were simply playing hard to get. I didn’t mind jumping through an occasional hoop, but ironically, the women who played the most games usually turned out to be the least interesting. Every once in a while, though, I’d come across a woman who reallywaselusive. Cate fell into that category.

When I tracked her down at the store where she worked, she was very polite and pleasant, helping me buy a bunch of nice clothes. But I couldn’t really read her, and when I got up the nerve to finally ask her out, she told me she had a boyfriend. It was a boundary I almost always respected, and a line Inevercrossed if the woman was in a serious relationship, but with Cate, I got the distinct impression she was using him as an excuse—perhaps making him up altogether.

So I put on a full-court press, sending her flowers and writing her poems and thenreallygoing out on a limb by booking a last-minute flight to Paris, where she was headed for a work trip. The whole thing was pretty over-the-top, and in the back of my mind, I was worried that it might backfire and put her off entirely. But I decided I had nothing to lose other than my pride, which I didn’treally care about, and a few days of work, which I cared evenlessabout. After I’d been assigned yet another drug case involving an African American teenager being charged as an adult for selling pot, Gary’s words were weighing heavily on me, and I was about an inch away from resigning anyhow.

As it turned out, the transatlantic gamble paid off. Cate finally relented, agreeing to meet me for dinner. I was super stoked, especially when I saw her walking toward me in her hot black dress and high heels. I have to admit I can be as shallow as the next guy.

But as we sat together by candlelight, talking for hours over a bottle of fine wine and French cuisine, I could feel a shift, along with a tightness in my chest that I only get when I start to really like someone. I learned that like me, Cate was an only child who had lost her father at a young age, but we didn’t dwell on the subject—or anything too heavy. Instead, we kept things light, talking mostly about our work and travel. She’d been all over the world during her modeling days, and I found her stories fascinating. I loved the way she talked with her hands and threw her head back when she laughed and wasn’t afraid to reach across the table and touch my arm when she was making a point. She was so engaging—and then there was something unpredictable about her, too, something that kept me off-balance in the best possible way. At one moment, she’d be teasing me as if we’d been friends for years; in the next, she would sort of pull back and stare at me with those aloof, ice-blue eyes, completely unbothered by long stretches of silence. I’d fumble around to fill them so that our time together wouldn’t end.

When I finally walked her to her room to say good night, it crossed my mind that I might, for the first time, be in over my head with a woman. The thought of it thrilled me.

—

I stayed inParis three more nights, slipping notes under Cate’s door every morning, wishing her a good day. I knew she’d be mostly tied up with work, but I still hoped that I might see her again before I left. Meanwhile, I kept a low profile, lounging about my room, watching movies and catching up on sleep. When I did venture out, I stayed off the beaten path. One morning, I rented a bicycle and rode all over Montmartre, discovering the coolest little cobblestone squares and colorful art deco buildings and hidden cafés and art galleries and bookshops. I’d always had a thing about used and rare books, which was a little strange given that I didn’t read much. I always intended to, and often I included reading among my New Year’s resolutions, but somehow I never got around to finishing the books I collected, or in some cases evenstartingthem. My favorite discovery, though, was a quaint shop specializing in vintage handbags and silk scarves. I immediately thought of Cate, and decided I wanted to buy her something. For over an hour, I agonized about my selection, finally settling on a mostly blue “brides de gala” Hermès scarf from the fifties. As the shop owner told me about its history, and how the design had been reimagined several times over the decades, I pictured how pretty it would look on Cate.

—

On my finalnight in Paris, just as I was giving up on hearing from her, she called my room and asked what I was doing.

“Oh, nothing much,” I said, feeling hopeful that she might want to see me. “Just hanging out…watching a movie.”

“What’re you watching?”

“Braveheart. For about the fourth time,” I said, wondering whether that made me cheesy or romantic in her eyes.

She laughed, indicating that it was more likely the former, then said, “Do you want some company?”

“I’d love some,” I said, feeling so excited. “My room or yours?”

“Mine, please,” she said without hesitating.

“Cool. When should I come by?”

“Now’s good,” she said. “Unless you want to finishBraveheart?”

“Nah,” I said, smiling. “I already know what happens.”

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