It had been so long since I’d been on an actual date with someone new that I’d forgotten proper etiquettes and behaviors. While I wasn’t sure it qualified as a date, I was considering it as practice for one. But I was finding it was like a muscle that had atrophied with disuse for a long time. It was going to take time and effort to get it working right again.
Hopefully, one day in the not too distant future, I’d start dating again. And when that day came, I needed all the help and practice I could get to avoid making a total fool of myself.
“Alright Dr. Colin,” she said, grinning. “Turnabout being fair play and all, tell me what you do so I can give you my thoughts on how to do your job properly.”
“Well actually, I am a doctor,” I said matter-of-factly.
“No, seriously,” she said. “What do you do?”
“Seriously, I really am a doctor,” I insisted. “You actually were right on with the Dr. Colin bit. Which was an incredibly good guess by the way.”
I winked at her as the server came over to our table. He took one look at us, and somehow knew to speak English. His accent was thick, almost too think to understand at times, but we were able to order our drinks. I took note of her choice in beverage -- a glass of white wine. I stored the bit of information away for later use. Because I was really hoping there would be a reason to pull it out again.
I ordered red wine, because when in France, you should try the local flavors. The waiter nodded and walked away to fetch our drinks, leaving us alone with each other again.
“So, you’re really a doctor?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I’m here for a medical conference. Need me to prove it to you by showing you my badge? Medical card?”
“No, I believe you,” she said.
“Good, because I left my badge in my hotel room,” I teased.
“Ah, already trying to get me back to your room, I see,” she said, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder as she leaned back in the booth. “Very clever, but I’m onto you, Dr. Colin.”
She picked up the menu and seemed to look it over, but she kept sneaking glances back up at me as if waiting for an answer to the unasked question that hung in the air between us. Was I trying to get her back to my room? I figured she was trying to ferret out my real motivations. A single woman in Paris -- or any city really -- needed to be careful.
“Oh I don’t know,” I said, leaning back and relaxing. “We’ll just have to see where the evening takes us. I may be cheap, but I’m not easy.”
“Yeah well, don’t get your hopes up,” she shot me down immediately. “I only want to get something to eat. After that, I plan on heading back to my room to get multiple uninterrupted hours of sleep. I just got into Paris a couple hours ago.”
“I see. So, shall we order some food then?” I asked. “Because believe it or not, I was coming here to eat, not to pick anyone up.”
She studied my face for a long time, a grin forming on her lips.
“So, we’re on the same page then? Just some food and conversation?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said with a grin. “Besides, I’ve been in conferences all day. I’m much too tired for whatever you had in mind anyway.”
That was a lie, and I’d managed it with a teasing, light-hearted tone and a wink. I was tired, but not nearly tired enough to turn down a roll in the hay with a woman like Hope if she’d been willing. She said she wasn’t, though I got the sense it wasn’t necessarily from a lack of interest. But I wasn’t going to push the matter. I knew women well enough to know you never got anywhere by being a pushy, arrogant jerk.
She shook her head and laughed under her breath, turning her attention back to the menu in front of her. I also looked at the menu, finding most of it in French. Another good sign that the place was decent -- they obviously didn’t cater to non-French speakers. But I’d studied Latin and Spanish -- not French -- meaning I was pretty screwed in getting what I wanted food-wise. I settled on something with chicken in the name and left it at that. As long as I wasn’t getting any mystery meat, I’d be happy to stuff pretty much anything in my face at that point.
“Do you speak French?” I asked my dining companion.
“Eh, not really,” she said.
“You’re a travel writer, and you don’t speak the local language?” I teased. “That seems rather blasphemous.”
“If I learned the language of every place I visited,” she said dryly, “I’d never have time to write. Or travel for that matter.”
“Good point,” I said.
“But I know enough to get by, and to not accidentally order something horrendous,” she said. “Like escargot.”
She crinkled her nose up at the word, and it was so damn cute, I couldn’t help but chuckle. She had a sweet face; one that would probably always look youthful due to the round shape and the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. I always did have a thing for pale redheads with freckles. They’d long been my own personal Kryptonite. She might not be what Hollywood considered gorgeous, but to me, she was utter perfection.
“I take it you’re not a fan of snails?” I asked.
“No, too slimy. I’ve tried them before. Once,” she said. “I try to keep an open mind when I’m visiting a new place and try some of the local fare, but they weren’t for me.”
“So you’re adventurous? Like living life a bit on the edge, do you?”
“Don’t I have to be in this line of work?” she asked as her eyes darted over to the waiter who brought our drinks to the table. “Excuse me, do you have a bathroom I could use?”
He pointed toward the back of the restaurant and then set our drinks on the table. She thanked him -- in French, impressively enough -- and hurriedly placed her order before excusing herself, grabbing her purse and hurrying off toward the ladies’ room.
I couldn’t stop smiling as I watched her go. It had been a long time since I’d met someone who kept me on my toes the way she did. And best of all, she wasn’t in medical school or a fellow doctor. I didn’t have to worry about her using me to get ahead in her career. Hell, she didn’t seem to know who I was or the first thing about me, which was a nice change of pace.
Most people in the social circles I tended to travel in had at least heard of me. I didn’t like to brag but being one of the best doctors in the entire country in your specialty meant that you got a lot of publicity and attention. I’d been on talk shows, podcasts, interviewed for major publications, you name it. As a result, most people in the world of medicine had at least heard my name. But Hope had no clue that I actually was kind of a big deal, and that was nice. I didn’t have to worry about her having ulterior motives or being inauthentic with me.
Not that I expected to go too far with her. With any luck, we’d have some much needed fun, then I’d go back to Los Angeles and resume my life and she’d go back to wherever she was from. There was no way we could work out long term. Not that either of us were even looking for that. But a doctor and a travel writer? One tied to his job, the other freely traveling the world on a whim and living vicariously through the people in other countries? Nah, I saw no long-term future with her, but it didn’t matter.
But if things went right, as the old saying went, at least we’d have Paris.
Hope
My skin felt clammy and my hands were shaking as I dug through my bag for my test strips and shots. I wasn’t nervous about the needles. Having to receive shots every day from the time you were in first grade, would quickly desensitize you to them.
I thought maybe my blood sugar was too low and that’s why I felt a bit shaky back at the table. But it hadn’t been. I mean, my sugar was low but still within normal limits for someone who hadn’t eaten yet. Which meant that obviously, I was nervous about the man waiting for me back at the table.
I hurried up and tested my sugar for the second time just in case. And as expected, it came in a bit low, which was a good thing since I was having a little wi
ne with my meal. I couldn’t drink much, not safely, but that was fine. Just another aspect of my life that had become normal to me long ago.
I was always very careful with alcohol though. Even if I managed to give myself the correct dosage of insulin to account for the alcohol beforehand, I didn’t like being out of control. I always needed to remain in control of myself. I always made sure I didn’t eat something I shouldn’t have or forget a shot at some point through the day. I kept everything rigidly monitored and scheduled.
People didn’t realize that living with type-1 diabetes meant you were in a constant state of fluctuation, and you had to monitor it all very carefully. I was a pro by now, of course, and sooner or later, I’d get a pump once my insurance decided I deserved one. But for now, I had to rely on the insulin shots to keep me alive.
As I stood in the bathroom though, my stupid hands would not stop shaking, my nerves taking over and making it harder to give myself the shot.
Breathe, Hope, I told myself. He’s just a man. Sure, he was one of the most handsome and borderline charming men I’d ever met in my life. But at the end of the day, he was still just a man. And I wasn’t not ready for anything serious. I wasn’t even close to being ready. Not to mention that even if I were looking for something long term, he could be from anywhere, and a long-distance relationship was simply not in the cards for me. They never worked out and I didn’t want to put myself through that. I’d been through enough.
It didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun, my overly eager, lust-driven brain spoke up. Apparently Anna’s words had gotten through to me, and it -- err -- she was right. I could have some fun while I was in Paris. Given my current relationship status, there was no reason I had to behave. I was young, single and in one of the most romantic cities in the world. Why not throw caution to the wind and actually enjoy myself?
I managed to stop the shaking long enough that I was finally able to give myself the injection, and then I tucked everything back into its case and breathed a sigh of relief With one last look in the mirror, I gave myself a little pep talk before heading back out into the restaurant.
Had I known I’d be running into a gorgeous doctor when I left my hotel room, I might have put a little more effort into my hair and makeup. But that had been the furthest thing from my mind at the time. I’d simply planned to grab a bite to eat then come back to my room to relax. And McDreamy had to literally run into me, messing up all my plans for the night and made me feel completely off kilter.
McDreamy was a pretty fitting nickname, considering the fact he was as tall, dark and handsome as Patrick Dempsey. With his short cropped dark hair styled impeccably and his nice, tight jeans, Colin was a sight for sore eyes and a delicious treat for other parts of my anatomy. And apparently, he also had eyes for me. I could see it in his face and hear it in his every word.
Have fun, I told myself as I left the bathroom. It’s just one night. I was allowed to enjoy myself I’d had a shit couple of months, and I deserved to let loose and have a little fun.
Insulin coursing through my veins and a few deep breaths to steady myself, my nerves were much calmer as I exited the bathroom and headed back toward our table. Colin was looking out the window, his strong jawline and piercing gaze making for a striking profile. I was interested to see that he simply sat there, not distracted by his smartphone or another electronic gadget., but rather, enjoying the sights outside the window. I had to appreciate that in a man.
As I approached the table, he turned his gaze toward me. It was then that I truly saw his eyes for the first time. I’d assumed they were brown since his hair was so dark, but no, I’d been wrong. Instead of brown as I’d assumed, they were actually a light grey, the color of the ocean swell. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt like I might drown in that gaze. It was so intense and probing, it felt like he could see straight through me.
“Welcome back,” Colin said, his tone playful.
“Thank you,” I said, scooting into the booth with a smile. I dropped my bag beside me and took a deep breath. “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”
“Just a couple of Americans making out in front of the restaurant,” he laughed.
“And how do you know they were American?” I asked.
“Oh, you just know. You can always tell an American when you see one in the wild,” he teased.
He swirled his wine around in his glass before taking a long swallow. He was obviously waiting for me to ask him for more information or the simple follow up question.
“I mean, can’t you?” he pressed
“Of course you can. Or at least I can,” I said, leaning back in my booth, relaxing into my seat. “I’m just surprised you can. I’m paid to take in the sights and make observations. I’m paid to notice things others don’t. But not many people pick up on the little details that give things like that away.”
He chuckled, his smile going all the way to his eyes, crinkling them up at the corner. I knew Colin was slightly older than me, that much was obvious. How much older he was though, remained a mystery. There was just a hint of grey at his temples, but some men went grey earlier than others. His face was chiseled and perfect, with only the smallest of smile lines and creases at his eyes when he laughed.
Yet at the same time, there was a youthfulness about him. The charming kid in him came out in the way he teased, the way he laughed a lot and smiled at me. And also, in that cockiness that you typically found in older, successful men that allowed them to sometimes behave like children.
I glanced out the window behind him, noting a couple walking down the street hand-in-hand. They were snuggled close, the smiles on their faces and dreamy look in their eyes saying they were obviously very much in love and oblivious to those around them. With a smirk, I pointed them out, while leaning forward and whispering to him.
“So tell me -- Americans or not?”
He glanced out the window and furrowed his brow. He focused on them, holding his gaze steady on the couple as they walked past our window.
“Yes,” he said. “Obviously tourists, probably on their honeymoon.”
“Oh?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Why do you say that? You don’t think average couples are that affectionate?”
His gaze flicked back to me, his brow was now set in a thin, straight line, and his eyes burning with intensity. He looked shockingly serious all of a sudden.
“Not just that,” he said. “The rings on their fingers were a clear indication they were married.”
“Maybe they’ve been married for a while now,” I said, smirking.
“No way,” he said, shaking his head. “Too young, for one. Neither one was older than their mid-twenties.”
“Maybe they got married young,” I said, enjoying contradicting him every chance I could get.
For some reason, it was fun to question him. Maybe because he was a successful doctor, I felt compelled to prove my intelligence to him. I couldn’t help but notice though, that he seemed to be enjoying the game as well.
“Sure, it’s possible they got married when they were teenagers, but there was one thing that gave it all away,” he said.
Colin leaned closer to me, pitching his voice low as if he were speaking conspiratorially. He was smiling again, though it was just a hint of one. His gaze was still intense, and his eyes bore into me, stealing my breath away for a second, his posture rigid and precise.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I asked when I finally managed to regain my voice.
“Their shirts -- the couple came from my hotel,” he said.
I cocked my eyebrow at him and grinned. “And?”
“And I saw several couples wearing those same exact shirts,” he said. “So I asked someone about it, and apparently the writing on the shirts say Newlywed in French. It’s a gift for the tourists coming here on their honeymoon.”
My jaw dropped. I hadn’t really paid attention to the inscription was on their shirts. Hell, to be honest, I didn’t even notice they were m
atching shirts at all. For a second, I wanted to call him out, tell him that there was no way he could have known that, but before I got a chance, he burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Your face,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes from laughing so hard. “You believed me, didn’t you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I made all that up. I have no clue if they were American or not, let alone whether they’re newlyweds or not,” he cackled. “So far as I know, there are no shirts at my hotel for honeymooners.”
I reached across the table and smacked his arm, mumbling, “Asshole.”
Still, his laughter was contagious, and before long, I found myself joining in. He’d won that round. He’d beaten me at my own little game. But paybacks were a bitch.
“You know, if this doctor thing doesn’t work out,” I teased. “Maybe you should become a comedian.”
He shrugged. “I dunno. I’m pretty good at being a doctor,” he replied. “Besides, I hear the pay sucks for comedians. How about writers?”
I had a good gig going for me. I got to travel mostly for free and enjoyed a few other perks. But truthfully, I barely made ends meet. I worked on a freelance basis, was paid by the piece, and if my editor decided to go another direction or that I was no longer performing to her standards, well, I’d be out of a job and likely homeless before long.
I didn’t make enough to throw into the bank and build up a nest egg or anything and was always living on the edge. I made just enough to get by and maybe had a little extra in the bank to splurge on a nice meal now and then.
“Can’t you tell by my haute couture?” I asked, sweeping my hands over my simple Gap capris and slouchy boyfriend t-shirt.
He grinned in response and it hit me right in the gut. I really liked making him smile.
“Alright,” I said, throwing my hands up. “You got me there. But still, I get paid to travel around the world, and I get to write about it. It’s an experience few get to enjoy, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything -- not even for a job that paid six figures.”
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