“Well, if you look at the map—”
“Not Dinan, Heaven.” She stared at him and studied his face.
He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“Let’s say I’m curious. Solid fact or fanciful myth?”
Paul turned his face to the sky and rubbed a hand up and down his arm for a moment. Then he moved his hands to his thighs and looked straight at her. “It is a place as real as where we’re sitting right now, maybe more so. I am a Christian, Allee, a follower of Jesus Christ.” He took a deep breath. “Is that what you wanted to know?”
“Yes,” she replied, impressed with the honest sincerity of his words. “I, too, am a believer.” She resisted the impulse to rest her hand on top of his. “So, on to Dinan tomorrow.”
“Not so fast, ma belle Allee. Now there’s something I want to know about you.” He seemed to be devouring her with his eyes. “Is there anyone special waiting for you back in Alabama?”
The implication of Paul’s question took her breath away. Could he possibly be interested in her? It would be terribly embarrassing if she misinterpreted what he was asking, and why. “My mom and dad are pretty special.”
He rolled his eyes toward her. “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about a steady boyfriend or a fiancé.”
She wanted to keep a poker face, but a smile spread across her face. “No, no one. What about you?” Her question revealed her interest in him as a man. Why not let him know she found him attractive? He couldn’t miss the signs anyway. Besides, both of them knew they would part forever in a little over a week.
“I’m unattached. My girlfriend dumped me. She told me I was too religious. ‘Fanatic’ was just one of the words she used to describe me.”
Allee pretended to be absorbed in her guide book while she wondered if Paul was telling the truth. How extreme would his beliefs have to be for his girlfriend to dump him? Her curiosity was piqued, but she was hesitant to ask too many questions. She wished with all her heart there was time for them to really get acquainted.
12
Early the following morning, Paul picked Allee up in front of her hotel. “Nice wheels,” she said, eyeing the sleek black sports car. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.”
“It’s a Chat Noir, rather pricey but it’s what happened to be available at the rental agency on short notice. It handles like a dream.” Paul weaved through the traffic like a man possessed. “I sold my car a couple of weeks ago to get ready for my PCS.”
“What’s that?” Allee closed her eyes as Paul zoomed into an impossibly tight space between a bus and a taxi.
“PCS? It’s a permanent change of station, my reassignment back to the States.”
“Where are you moving to?”
“Colorado Springs. I’ll be teaching French and protocol at the Air Force Academy there.”
Allee tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “That sounds nice. I hear Colorado is a beautiful state.” Only it’s half a continent away from Alabama. Bonehead thought. Even if he lived around the block, why would a man like Paul want a relationship with a hick from the sticks?
A smart car darted from a cross street and stopped directly in front of them. Allee braced herself, certain Paul would T-bone the tiny vehicle. However, at the last possible moment, the smart car shot across two more lanes of traffic. “Does everyone in Paris drive like a maniac?” she asked.
Paul chuckled. “Only those of us who don’t harbor a death wish. Slow down in this part of town, and you’ll get run over. Traffic’s flowing pretty good this morning.” He glanced at Allee. “Driving in Paris is a piece of cake compared to Rome.”
“You’ve been to Italy?”
“Yep, just got back. I took the bus into town after my flight from Rome landed. That’s when the infamous backpack mix-up occurred.” Paul made an impossible lane change, again causing Allee to grab the arm rest and squeeze her eyes shut.
Her eyes still closed, she tried to sound calm. “If my luggage hadn’t been misrouted I would have ridden into Paris in style, in a limo—courtesy of Fast and Thrifty.”
“And I would have been on a different bus if my flight hadn’t been delayed.” Paul smiled. “Obviously, we were meant to meet each other.”
Soon the cityscape gave way to suburban housing, and then to open countryside. “A traffic circle?” Allee was surprised. “Out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Paul merged with the vehicles in the roundabout. “They make more sense than putting signals and overpasses in rural areas.” When a pearl white sedan wedged in front of them with only inches to spare, Paul acknowledged the driver’s daring. “Nice move.” He shifted gears. “The key in the roundabout is not to look at the other drivers. They take eye contact to mean you’re yielding the right of way to them.”
Allee laughed at Paul’s driving philosophy and relaxed against the back of her seat. “I’m surprised that things out here aren’t more different.”
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know exactly. In the city, every street and building, and even the trees and flowers were like pictures I’ve seen of Paris. It’s so distinctive. This countryside isn’t that different from parts of Alabama.”
“Here’s another resemblance. Parisians think people in the rest of the country speak with an accent.”
“Do they say ‘y’all’?” Allee laughed at her own joke and Paul joined in.
“No,” he answered quickly. “In Normandy it’s strictly ‘youse guys’.”
The drive went by quickly for Allee, laughing and joking between snippets of serious conversation. She couldn’t remember when she’d had such a fine time.
Pulling into a parking place, Paul suggested, “Let’s hit the open-air market first.”
“That sounds great,” Allee agreed. “I love to shop.”
Glimpses of the old city walls kept the scene from looking like an American flea market, although the portable tents were identical to those she’d seen at home. Allee sampled a bite of cheese and immediately decided to make a purchase. She leaned toward Paul and said, “Ask what kind of cheese this is.”
“Sharp cheddar,” the perky merchant responded, in an undeniably British accent.
“You’re English.” The words popped out of Allee’s mouth.
The young woman smiled and tossed her head to flip a braid over her shoulder. “Certainly. No one else knows how to make a proper cheddar.”
With Paul always lingering near, Allee meandered the stalls, enjoying the adventure. He laughed when she wanted to save the can from her soft drink. “Well, look at it,” she insisted. “At arm’s length it’s like something I see in the grocery store all the time.” She held the can out to demonstrate her point. “Then, when I get past the big print everything’s in French. It’s so cute.”
“Then by all means, you must have it.” Paul grinned and tucked the can into his backpack.
“In case you didn’t know.” She did her best to look stern. “Cute is huge. At least it is in ’Bama.”
“That must be why Alabama girls are so appealing.” He tapped the end of her nose lightly. “You’re so irresistibly cute.”
Allee turned to paw through a stack of tote bags, hoping she wasn’t blushing. If she didn’t know better she’d think he was flirting with her.
After Allee bought gifts for her family and Tina, she and Paul strolled to a charming little cafe for lunch. “Let me guess.” Allee settled into the wooden booth. “This is called a creperie because crepes are their specialty.”
“Exactly. Who said you don’t speak French?” Paul accepted a menu from the waiter.
The wonderful aromas wafting from the kitchen tortured Allee until her entrée arrived. “I’ve never tasted a more delicious crepe,” she declared. “Not that I eat them often.”
The combination of spinach, chicken, and mushrooms was perfectly balanced, wrapped in a tender crepe. A rich gravy laced with more mushrooms topped everything off.
“I like bananas. Chocolate is in a category all its own. I adore it.”
“They make a wonderful concoction with those ingredients, which I highly recommend. Want to try it?”
Allee hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m really full.”
“How about we split an order?”
“I must take a picture of this,” Allee said when the waiter brought banana and chocolate-filled crepes topped with whipped cream and drizzled with a creamy caramel sauce. She fished around in her handbag. “Where is my phone?” After more serious digging did not produce results, she dumped the contents of her purse on the table. Frantically pushing items left and right, she moaned, “It’s gone.”
“Are you sure? Where did you have it last?”
“I sent Tina a picture of the market while the English woman was wrapping my cheese.”
“Wait here.” Paul tossed his napkin onto the table and stood. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Allee’s stomach did flip-flops. She wasn’t sure she could remember any of her contact numbers. She put her hands on either side of her head and sat hunched over the table, alternately praying for Paul to find her phone and feeling immensely stupid.
The length of time Paul was gone seemed far too long for anything good to come from his search. Allee repacked her handbag, trying to be grateful she still had her wallet. She didn’t notice Paul approaching until he slid into the seat across from her, grinning, holding up her phone.
“Oh, Paul, you found it!” she exclaimed. “I thought it was gone forever. Thank you. Where was it?”
“At the tote bag booth. As soon as I got there, the guy said the French equivalent of ‘I was hoping youse guys would come back for this.’ and pulled your phone out from under his counter.” He glanced at the untouched dessert and picked up his fork. “Bon appétit.”
Allee relished their sweet confection, grateful Paul came to her rescue. Although she was capable of taking care of herself, she could not deny the appeal of her gallant escort. For a few unguarded moments, she allowed herself to imagine how wonderful it would be to have someone like him around all the time.
13
“I wish we’d had more time,” Paul said as they drove toward Paris late that afternoon. “What did you think of Dinan?”
Allee leaned back and closed her eyes. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. The kids in my class will go crazy over the pictures of the old city walls.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, but there is so much more. I’d love to take you to the American cemetery. If you’re interested in military history, the D-day Normandy beaches, and Sainte Mère Église have to be on your itinerary.”
“What about the strike?”
Paul shot her a sidelong glance. “There is a museum at Sainte Mère Église, and I suppose it’s closed temporarily. But you can always see the town square and the stained-glass window in the little church featured in so many World War II movies. They make history come alive.”
“I’d love to see those places. And the Bayeux Tapestry.”
“And Mont Saint Michel,” he added. “You can’t miss that. Now you can appreciate why I wanted thirty days of leave—I mean vacation—to play tourist. Even with a month I can only hit the highlights.”
About an hour into their drive, Paul asked, “Are you hungry?”
Allee nodded. “After those dessert crepes, I thought I’d never eat again. But I must admit I wouldn’t mind a little something. I brought my restaurant coupons.”
“It’s too far to Paris for my rumbling tummy. How about an adventure?”
“Sure.” Allee wondered if she should have asked more questions, especially when Paul turned off the main highway. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a great little family farm right down the road. The only catch is there’s no menu. Whatever Madame Simoneau feels like cooking is what you get for dinner.”
Remembering how few euros she had, Allee chewed her lip. It was probably too late to back out now. She could only hope her stressed-out credit card would go through.
When Paul stopped the car, Allee took in the farmhouse and its outlying buildings. “For crying in a bucket. This is a chicken farm.”
“The French love good chicken, what they call poulet,” he said. “They raise some of the best in the world right here.”
Allee wondered briefly if Paul was making fun of her upbringing by taking her to a chicken farm. Nevertheless, the crepes were a long time ago, and the prospect of a good meal triumphed over her doubts.
Madame Simoneau fit Allee’s picture of a French farm wife. She was round and soft looking, with rosy cheeks, and her salt-and-pepper hair was pinned up in a topknot. She folded her hands over her spotless bibbed apron and smiled when Allee and Paul stepped into her foyer.
“Bonjour, bonjour,” Mme Simoneau chirped. She led them to a long wooden table with sixteen chairs and the same number of place settings.
“Part of the adventure is the food,” Paul whispered to her. “The other half is meeting our dinner companions. You never know who will show up.” As they exchanged introductions with the eight people already seated at the table, Allee found herself in the company of a British school teacher and her barrister husband, two Dutch chemists, and four Parisians.
“Are you enjoying your first visit to France?” the English woman with the exquisite jewelry asked Allee. “In spite of the most disagreeable strike?”
“Yes,” Allee assured her. “I’m having a wonderful time seeing the sights that don’t involve museum workers.” And struggling not to fall in love with a man I just met and will never see again after next week.
The Dutchmen made several attempts to engage Paul in a conversation about American politics. He merely smiled and gave noncommittal responses when they repeatedly asked his opinion of various people and policies.
By the time the roasted chicken entrée arrived, there were no seats left at the table. The energetic Mme Simoneau gently turned away disappointed groups in between deliveries of steaming platters of vegetables, bread, and sauces. The chairs were so close together Allee could barely move without touching Paul with her left shoulder. More than once, he draped his arm around her as he leaned to speak with the guest on her right. The nearness was simultaneously reassuring and unsettling—and altogether pleasant.
Allee thought how satisfying it was to fit the norm of being paired off for once in her adult life. She’d lost count of the number of movies, dinners, and school functions where she’d felt awkward because she went alone. There were many social occasions she avoided unless she found a girlfriend to go along with her. Maybe her mother was right that her expectations for a life partner were unrealistic. Was she asking too much to want an intelligent, Christian man with a great sense of humor?
Paul shifted from English to French and back again as he engaged the people around him in conversation.
What would happen if she took a job in Colorado? Would Paul be interested in dating an old maid school teacher? Probably not. She reminded herself to enjoy the pleasure of this cultured man’s company for now, and not to frustrate herself by wishing for more.
When Allee leaned ever-so-slightly to address Paul, her arm brushed against his. Although she wanted to maintain the contact, she reluctantly shifted to restore a little space between them. “This chicken is better than my mom makes. But don’t ever let her find out I said that.” When she thought she could not eat another bite, Mme Simoneau bustled into the dining room with apple pies, still bubbling hot. “I’ll be fat as a pig by the time I get home,” Allee bemoaned.
Paul turned and beamed at her. “Not if you walk every day as much as you did today.”
By the time they left the farm, the brilliant day faded into soft dusk. Riding along in the deepening darkness had an intimate fe
el Allee tried in vain to ignore. “Oh, no!” She sat up straight in her seat, wide eyed. “I forgot to pay for my meal.”
“I took care of it,” Paul said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry. Mme Simoneau wouldn’t let you leave without attending to that minor detail.”
“Thank you for dinner, then,” Allee said, feeling more than a little foolish.
“My pleasure, Mademoiselle.”
Allee used every ounce of self-control to keep from cringing at Paul’s speed. She was not at all sure her next wake-up would be on planet Earth. In an attempt to relax, she watched the dark landscape zooming by. Then she decided to ask about something Paul mentioned the day before—even if it came across as snooping. “What made your former girlfriend label you a ‘religious fanatic’?” she asked without any preface.
The dim light from the car’s dashboard was enough to illuminate Paul setting his jaw. “It’s complicated,” he said after a pause.
“Most relationships are.”
“Right.” Paul slowed enough to negotiate a roundabout and sped up again. “In a nutshell, she wanted us to share an apartment. I told her I didn’t think I was ready to commit to marriage. She argued the two things don’t necessarily go together.” He changed lanes and passed a slower auto before adding, “And so, after finding we couldn’t discuss our differences in a civil manner, we parted company.”
“How long ago was the breakup?”
“Four months. There’s no point in dating again until I get back Stateside. I’ve seen too many of those long-distance romances with my Air Force buddies. They never work out well.”
Paul reduced his speed as they entered a residential suburb of Paris. “You know the rules of the game. Now I get to ask you a serious question.”
When she voiced no objection, he continued, “How does a beautiful, fun-loving woman such as you remain unattached? Are those Alabama fellows crazy?”
For a brief moment, Allee considered evading Paul’s question. However, since he’d been straightforward with her—and since she knew he would disappear from her life in one more week—she decided to be candid. “I had an occasional date in high school, never anything serious. In college, I worked as a waitress to support myself. Between work and studying, there wasn’t much time left over to date or party.” She watched the streetlights sail by. “I guess my social life doesn’t attract many available men. It pretty much revolves around my church and friends I work with.”
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