Should she go on? Why not? If she had this conversation with Tina, the response was too much advice and not enough sympathetic listening. Paul, however, seemed to hang on her every word. “When I go home my mom tells me to quit waiting for a knight in shining armor to come along and sweep me off my feet. But I don’t want to spend my life married to one man and wishing I’d waited for another. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Or our children.” Allee paused. “I’m talking way too much.”
“I’m not complaining.” At a traffic signal, he turned to smile at her. “Say, I have an idea. Why don’t I take you on what we call a ‘windshield tour’ of Paris? The city looks completely different at night. The lights are amazing.”
“I’d love that.” Allee was glad to change the subject. Plus, she remembered reading Paris was also called the “city of light”.
Late that evening, Allee sat on her hotel room bed with her knees drawn up. There was no news about Tina’s surgery. She sent her friend a text of encouragement. At the very end, she tapped in the words, “Met someone”. She sent the text quickly, not wanting time to rethink the pros and cons of sharing the information with her friend.
14
The following morning, Paul took Allee for a stroll along the famous left bank of the Seine River. She loved the picturesque little stalls, particularly those featuring original art work. “You know what I’d like?” she asked while they sat enjoying lemonade at a sidewalk café.
“Name it.”
“I realize we can’t go to the top of the Eiffel Tower because of the strike. To tell the truth, I’m not sorry to miss that. Heights scare me half to death.” She tasted her cool, sweet yet tangy drink. “I’ve always wanted to have my picture taken there, though. You know, on that bridge, with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Could we do that?”
“Absolutely.” His gaze locked onto hers, and he gave a dazzling smile.
Allee wondered if Paul was amused at her request. Did he guess she’d never dreamed of being alone in that Eiffel Tower picture?
A pinging tone told her she had a new text message. While Paul finished his lemonade, she stole a quick peek. Tina sent her usual cryptic message: New knee OK. WHO IS HE?? Spill!
Quickly taking the message off the screen, Allee gathered her things and put her empty glass aside. “Shall we?”
After a ride on the metro followed by a short walk, Allee stood staring at the airy iron latticework of the Eiffel Tower. “You’re a good photographer,” she told Paul, sorting through the photos he’d taken with her phone.
He laughed. “I’m a rank amateur, but it’s impossible to take a bad picture of a stunning subject.”
Allee wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her or Gustav Eiffel’s design. Before she could think of a suitable response, Paul said, “Would you mind having a picture with both of us in it?”
“Great idea.” She waited while he gave his phone to a tall, thin woman.
As soon as Paul returned to Allee’s side, the woman motioned for them to stand closer. She positioned the camera, and then made more hand motions. Paul put his arm around Allee. The woman yelled something in French.
“What did she say?” Allee found it difficult to speak and hold her smile at the same time.
“She wants us to, uh, embrace. Do you mind?”
“I believe that is the traditional pose.” A picture of her hugging a gorgeous man in front of the Eiffel Tower would knock Tina’s socks off.
As they turned to face each other, he gently took her into his arms. Allee responded by slipping her arms around his neck—forgetting all about the photo, the tower, and everything else but Paul’s nearness. She gazed up into his eyes, desperately wishing he would kiss her.
Allee had no idea how long the moment lasted. Her reverie was interrupted by the Frenchwoman yelling, “Monsieur! Madame!” She drank in the details of Paul’s face before reluctantly turning to smile for the camera.
Later, at a sidewalk café, Allee quickly perused the pictures Paul emailed to her. She didn’t want to stare too long, telling herself she’d have to study them that night when she was alone in her hotel room. Feeling Paul’s gaze on her, she tucked her phone away and concentrated on the incredibly delicious coffee.
“As I recall, the next thing on your list is the Champs Élysée.” Paul doodled on the table with his finger. “I’m thinking of a specialty shop we could take a slight detour to visit while we’re in the area.”
“What kind of place is it?”
With narrowed eyes, he whispered across the table, “It’s a surprise.”
They meandered along the historic Champs Élysée.
“This is the image of Paris in all those wonderful old classic movies, a beautiful tree-lined boulevard with the arch of triumph at the end. Only I don’t see this many cars on the street on the silver screen,” Allee said.
“Yep. A magnificent sight, surrounded by a gigantic traffic jam. It’s a perfect representation of Paris.”
Allee laughed at his dry wit. “Spoken like a man who’s had to drive here.”
“I must admit the traffic is something I won’t miss.” Paul glanced to his left. “Here’s our cross-street for “Accro de Chocolat”.
As they rounded a corner, Allee knit her brows. “OK, chocolate is a word I recognize. So what’s an “accro”?
“Addict.”
“Chocolate addict? Oh, as in chocoholic? Ohhhhh! We’re going to a candy shop.”
“The mother of all candy shops.” Paul lifted his eyebrows and pointed to a window behind her. “Voilà.”
Allee gasped at the extravagant display. A fountain on a high pedestal generated a flowing river of chocolate, which wound its way down a valley, through a dark forest and into a miniature village. Everything in the broad window appeared to be fashioned from various shades and shapes of chocolate.
“You mentioned you have a fondness for chocolate. Shall we go inside?” Paul gestured toward the entrance.
“Fondness doesn’t start to describe it. More like an obsession.”
The sedate elegance of the shop surprised Allee. It was tastefully decorated, mostly in white and pastel pink. Small wooden tables and chairs filled the side of the room by the display window. Instead of the usual wrought iron ice-cream-shop style tables, the furnishings looked as if they would be at home in a royal dining room. The opposite side of the room contained a vast array of every kind of chocolate confection known to man. Attendants in pristine white outfits bustled about, serving treats and waiting on customers.
Paul pulled out a chair for her. “Are you ready for a snack? It would be a shame to come all the way to Paris and not partake of one of its finest products.”
“I absolutely agree with you.” Allee took the chair he presented to her with a flourish. “But how can I ever decide what to order?”
“I recommend the taster’s special.” Paul sat across from her. “It’s really an elaborate con. They give you a little tidbit of lots of things, and you’re hooked. Most customers end up buying a big box of chocolates to take home.”
“You can’t say they don’t give you fair warning, with the word ‘addict’ in their name.”
“Let the record show, these two victims submit most willingly to the come-on.” Paul smiled and showed his dimple, reminding Allee she enjoyed his good looks almost as much as his companionship.
Allee opted for a cup of hot tea, while Paul had coffee with their sampler. Almost immediately, a server brought out a three-tiered china tower loaded with chocolate treats.
“Now, you’re sure that walking around will keep me from gaining weight?” she teased Paul.
“No question about it. The only drawback is the number of miles you have to go to burn up this many calories.” He waved a hand over their candies.
Using the exquisite silver tongs, Allee put a few selections on her plate. “I’ll do the calculations when I get home. Math was never my favorite subject.”
“I’d bet that was English
.”
“How did you know?” Allee waggled her index finger his direction. “And don’t tell me there was a note in my backpack, because I know there wasn’t.”
“Oh, just a wild guess.” He grinned. “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Tales of the Round Table, Camelot. Those stories from the days when knighthood was in flower seem like your cup of tea.”
“You’re right.” Allee pushed truffles around on her plate with the back of her fork, deciding not to mention her additional passion for Regency romance novels. It had been a very long time since a man wanted to understand what made her tick. One who paid attention to her likes and dislikes. A man who could make her feel weak in the knees merely with eye contact. “I’m maxed out on chocolate.”
“No worries. They’re used to packing up leftovers.”
While Paul paid their bill, Allee found an English-speaking employee and arranged for an assortment of sweets to be sent to her family.
“That box will be in Alabama before you are,” Paul assured her.
Allee slid her hand across the cellophane-covered container. The family chicken farm in Redmont’s Crossing seemed like another world right now.
15
“It’s open because it’s operated by the church, not museum workers.” Paul explained as they stood looking up at the spires of Notre Dame Cathedral.
“Everything in Paris looks like a movie set.” Allee gazed at the ornate architecture upward to the gothic bell towers.
Despite the day’s warmth, the interior of the old cathedral was cool.
“There’s a calmness here, a soothing spirit,” she whispered.
After lighting candles, they wandered through the airy expanse for a while. Then, Allee drifted away from Paul. She could not explain the need, but she wanted to sit in one of the congregational chairs and pray. After her prayer time, she stared at the light streaming through the fabulous stained glass rose window and considered the ironies of life. Just when she was about to give up on the existence of the kind of man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, she met Paul. Now she was back to square one, without enough time to pursue a relationship with him and yet unable to convince herself she should settle for something less. What a mess. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Allee said when she bumped into Paul studying icons in an alcove.
“Not at all. I could spend days in here. There is so much detail in every archway and niche.”
Once outside, Paul took some pictures of Allee standing near the cathedral’s entrance. As they wandered across the plaza, he said, “It’s a miracle the cathedral is still standing.”
“Why is that?” Allee planned to read lots of French history when she got home.
“Most of Paris’s historic churches were destroyed during the French Revolution. Notre Dame escaped because it was repurposed as a warehouse.”
Allee took another backward glance and shook her head. “They may have called it a warehouse, but it probably always felt like a church. It sure did to me today.”
“Speaking of church.” Paul gave her a sidelong glance. “I’d love for you to go to the worship service at my church tomorrow.”
“Is today Saturday? I’ve totally lost track. Oh, of course it is. We’re going to the opera tonight, right?”
“And if it’s opera Saturday, tomorrow must be church Sunday.” Paul guided her toward the metro station steps. “Well, for me, that is. If you want to do something else—”
“Where could I possibly want to go on Sunday morning other than church?” she interrupted. “Of course, I want to go with you. I probably won’t understand a word they say, but at least I’ll be there worshipping along with other believers.”
Paul grinned. “You’re probably right about not understanding because my pastor has a thick Boston accent.” He fed coins into the metro dispenser and handed her a ticket. “I know you know this, but let’s review. Your metro stop is Bastille, right after St. Paul. I’ll meet you in your hotel lobby at six.”
Accepting the ticket, Allee fixed her stare on him. “Got it. Bastille. Are you saying you go to a church where they speak English? In Paris?”
Paul shrugged the distinctive Parisian gesture she’d seen from so many Frenchmen in the last week—lifting his shoulders and eyebrows simultaneously. She turned to catch one last glimpse of him before she rounded a tiled corner to the departure platform. He was still standing in the metro station’s entrance, head down, with his hands stuffed into his pockets. It seemed like something was eating at him. I wonder what it is.
Allee decided the opera was a suitable occasion for Tina’s red sweater to make its debut. After draping her silk scarf across her shoulders, she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. At home she would have chosen higher heels, but her bejeweled sandals were more practical for walking. She whirled around, causing her long, black skirt to flare out in a swirl. Paris. The opera. With Paul. This must be how Cinderella felt on her way to the ball.
Catching sight of Paul waiting in the hotel lobby took Allee’s breath away. She’d almost become accustomed to his good looks, but in a tuxedo, he was nothing short of devastating. “You are so beautiful in red,” he said as she came toward him. “You should wear it all the time.”
“You look rather mahvelous yourself,” she replied, trying her best to keep the tone light.
Allee wondered if Tina’s sweater was a mistake when she saw everyone else was dressed in sedate, dark tones. Feeling more than a little conspicuous, she leaned toward Paul and said, “Something tells me I should have gone with basic black for the opera. I’m like a neon sign in this crowd.”
“No,” he whispered. “You look like the only blossom on the rosebush.”
Instead of the bright costumes and colorful set Allee expected, the stage was stark. The characters were clothed in modern garb. Unlike the peppy singing in the filmed operas she occasionally saw at school, this production featured what seemed to her to be tuneless, mournful songs.
At intermission time, Paul asked, “Are you enjoying the opera?”
“Honestly? No. I’m sure this is because of my lack of taste, but these guys sound like a bunch of bumblebees in a fruit jar.”
“This avant garde thing is not my favorite, either.” He gave her a quizzical look. “Want to duck out?”
Allee made sure she had a good grip on her evening clutch. “You betcha. The sooner the better.”
Once outside the opera house, they giggled like kids skipping school.
Paul took her hand as they passed darkened shop windows. “I was afraid I would spoil your evening by suggesting that we leave,” Paul said. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Allee put her free hand to her forehead. “I’m so filled with regret I may never recover.” Did he give her hand a little squeeze, or was her imagination working overtime?
“I know a trendy little coffee house where they read Russian poetry all night. Maybe a few hours there would ease your angst over cutting out early from the opera.” He grinned as if he was confident there was no way.
“It would serve you right if I said, ‘Wonderful. Let’s rush on over there right now.’ Then what would you do?”
“I’d throw myself on your mercy and beg to take you country and western dancing.”
Allee laughed. “You’re probably trying to gross me out, but a little boot scootin’ is right up my alley. That’s alley with a ‘y’, not like my name.”
He stopped under a street light and swung around to face her. “Seriously? I mean, do you want to give it a try?”
“Yeah. Remember, I’m a ’Bama girl.” She lifted an eyebrow. “But you know something, Captain? I think you’re bluffing me. They don’t play country music in Paris. And if they did‒which I seriously doubt‒I don’t believe you would know how to dance to it.”
“You don’t say.” He was smiling the way her big brother used to when he knew a secret she didn’t.
“I do say. You may know everything about French culture, but y
ou’re on my territory now. I have a hunch you don’t know the cotton-eyed joe from a do-si-do.”
“All right, Miss Know-It-All. You’ve thrown down the gauntlet, and a Chevalier never ignores such a challenge. Do you have your dancing shoes on?”
“Close enough.”
After a short metro ride and a one block walk, Paul announced, “Here we are.”
Allee eyed the steep staircase with suspicion. “This L’expatrie place we’re going to is in a basement? I don’t know about that.”
Paul put a reassuring arm across her shoulder. “If you don’t like it, we’ll leave immediately.”
Against her better judgment, Allee put her hand on the rail and descended three steps. “I hate smoky dives, especially if they’re full of drunks.”
“I’m disappointed you think I would take you to a place like that.”
“Aren’t we a little overdressed?”
Paul leaned close. “Trust me, Allee.” He broke into a big grin. “Or are you worried I’ll find out you don’t know how to do the two-step?”
“I’m surprised you know that term.” Allee turned and marched down the stairs.
When they went inside, the first thing Allee noticed was the pleasant aroma of brewing coffee. Although she and Paul were the only couple in evening clothes, there was enough variety of attire that she did not feel like a total misfit. Three couples waltzed on the modest wooden dance floor, while most of the patrons sat at small tables.
“What is your pleasure, coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?” Paul asked as they took seats at a table for two. With a smile, he added, “Sorry, no alcohol allowed.”
“Hot chocolate sounds good.” Allee assessed her surroundings.
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