Page 21 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
“I’ve never read them, actually. But I think they are. And lovesick crazies from all over the world come and leave letters here, hoping it will bring them good luck, although if you think about it, that makes no sense at all. These two weren’t reunited until death.”
I sighed again, exasperated. “You were right. You shouldn’t have told me that story. Now I’m all…” I fidgeted uncomfortably. Turned on. “Discombobulated.”
“I think I know what will fix that.”
My stomach cartwheeled, and I licked my lips. “What?”
“Wine. And maybe some food.”
“Oh. Right.”
Wait a minute. Was I actually disappointed that he meant wine instead of something more suggestive? What the hell was wrong with me? It was wine, for fuck’s sake. My favorite thing.
Tucking my sweater more snugly a
round me, I smiled at him. “Yes, that sounds perfect. Let’s go.”
Lucas chose a table by the window in the brasserie we’d picked, and I took a seat across from him. “I’m famished. What time is it anyway?”
“It’s just after two.”
“Is it? Wow, time flies when you’re having fun.” I thanked the waiter who handed me the menu and opened it up.
“Are you having fun?”
I looked up and saw Lucas studying me curiously. “Of course I am. Aren’t you?”
“Yes. But I don’t need to be convinced to stay in Paris. Have you made a decision yet?”
“I’m this close.” I held up one hand with my thumb and finger just an inch apart and continued in a whisper. “After some wine, it might be official.”
“OK, then, this bottle better be good.” He considered the list and looked up at me through thick, dark lashes. “What would you like?”
“Hmmmm. I really loved what you poured for me last night. The one from the Rhône Valley.”
“Want to try another Rhône or something different?”
“You pick. I’ll just enjoy. Oh, could you order me a salad like the one that’s on that lady’s plate over there?” I tried to point without being obvious.
Twisting in his chair, Lucas looked behind him. “It’s a Salad Niçoise,” he said. “Now you can order it.”
“But your French is so much better.” Lacing my fingers together under my chin, I attempted a winning smile. “Really, I don’t speak it well at all. Could you order it, please?”
He shook his head. “What are you going to do when I’m not around to order for you? You should do it. Don’t be scared.”
The thought of uttering French words in front of Lucas made me sweat a little, but when the waiter came around, I managed to order the salad and even ask for some water. Lucas ordered the wine—at least that’s what I assumed all the rapid-fire French was about—and a Salad Niçoise also.
“See? Was that so hard?” he asked when we were alone again.
“I guess not,” I admitted, smoothing my napkin onto my lap. I knew he was right about learning to speak for myself, because even if I did stay, I couldn’t expect Lucas to spend all his time with me. This was probably just a one-day deal. A hollow pit formed in my stomach, and I realized how sad I would be if I didn’t see him again after today. When I looked up, I saw him watching me with a serious expression on his face.
“Mia, would—”
But he was interrupted by the waiter approaching with a pitcher of water and two glasses. Lucas poured water for us, and I waited for him to say whatever it was he’d been about to say, but he didn’t.
“You were going to ask me something?” I prompted.
He shook his head and took a drink of water. “No.”
