You're the One: a Contemporary Romance Novella Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème)

by Nichols, Alix

  Adrien’s mood grew darker with every passing minute. He’d only seen this girl twice in his life, and yet thinking he may never see her again felt like a loss.

  One of the servers approached her. “Will you be ordering dessert?”

  “I’d like today’s special, please,” she said and threw Adrien a sideways look from under her lashes.

  The server turned to him. “Have you finished your main course, monsieur?”

  Adrien ordered the cheesecake and a glass of Chablis. There were more important things in life than keeping a clear head for afternoon practice.

  “Now, what’s the deal with those sweaters?” the girl asked.

  “My mom spent a long time in bed last year, so she took to knitting. After a couple of months she became real good.”

  The girl gave him a sympathetic look. “I hope she’s better now.”

  “She passed away six months ago,” he said and added, trying to reestablish the earlier mood, “but she made enough sweaters, hats, and scarves for everyone in the family to last us a lifetime.”

  “I’m so sorry about your mom,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  They remained silent for a few moments, and then he gave her a crooked smile. “You’ve now uncovered two crucial facts about me: I play chess and I wear handmade sweaters. Tit for tat?”

  “I wouldn’t call a hobby and a quirky clothing style ‘crucial facts’. ”

  “You’ve just insulted me in the worst possible way.” He pursed his lips and shook his head in exaggerated reproof.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said quirky—”

  “It’s not that. It’s the hobby part. Calling a professional chess player a hobbyist is short of an insult.”

  “Oops.” She gave him an apologetic look.

  “It’s OK. You couldn’t have known.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Adrien Aubert, International Grand Master, twice champion of France. And you are?”

  She shook his hand. “Natalie Legrand, nursery school teacher.”

  He grinned, proud of his maneuver. Maybe his flirting skills were improving after all. If he also managed to get her phone number before she left, he’d give himself a pat on the back. In public.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Natalie.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.” She smiled brilliantly.

  Their cheesecakes and his wine arrived. Adrien made a mental note to tip the waiter generously for his timing.

  “I’m curious to hear your opinion,” he said pointing at the cake.

  She took a forkful and chewed it slowly. “I love it. It’s exactly what I need at this point in my life. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad I could be of help. Cheers.” He raised his glass.

  “To your health.” She raised hers and emptied it. “Please stop me if I start babbling. I tend to do that after two glasses. I can’t believe I downed two glasses of wine. With lunch. What will you think of me? There you go. I’m already babbling, aren’t I?” She rolled her eyes.

  “Absolutely not. You’re perfectly coherent and you’re making a lot of sense.” He spread his hands. “I don’t detect any symptoms of babbling.”

  “I’m relieved,” she said with a smile that stole his breath. “My paranoia gets the better of me sometimes.”

  He watched her finish the cake and drink the last of her wine.

  It’s now or never. “Can I give you my phone number, Natalie? And maybe you could give me yours in return?”

  She shifted in her chair, her eyes darting to the door.

  Adrien, you fool, what have you done? She’ll give you a scorching putdown, and that’ll be the last thing you’ll ever hear from her.

  “I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable. Please forget it,” he muttered.

  She stopped squirming and gave him a long look. Then she pulled out her phone and spoke as she tapped her fingers on the screen. “New contact . . .Adrien . . .open bracket . . .chess player . . .close bracket.”

  She looked up from the phone. “I’m listening.”

  ***

  NINE

  Natalie rubbed her temples in an attempt to relieve her pounding headache. Something had to give. She had to know. For the sake of her sanity and the well-being of her little wards. Her world had been turned upside down for six days since last Wednesday. She’d hardly slept during those six days and was beginning to have attention lapses. Yesterday at nap time she let Téo go to the bathroom barefoot. This morning, she dozed off for a few seconds while Elodie was giving her a detailed account of the birthday party of her favorite doll.

  It was time to find out the truth, no matter how painful.

  She got off the Metro at Cadet and planted herself by a newspaper kiosk where she had a good view of the bistro. This time, she wasn’t going to miss the moment Fred walked out with the waitress.

  It was raining, but she was glad for it. Instead of wearing sunglasses in October like she did last week, she could simply hide her face under the umbrella. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see Fred inside the bistro, but she could see Adrien. He wore a gray sweater today. His gaze shifted from his laptop screen to his watch and to the entrance door, as though he were waiting for someone.

  At about quarter past six, Fred and the waitress walked out, and Natalie followed them. They headed in the direction of the Gare du Nord, then stopped in front of a residential building and went in.

  Natalie waited outside gradually sopping up rain water, her umbrella a paltry shield against the autumn downpour. She wondered what Fred and the waitress were doing now. Did they take their time to undress? Or did they rip the clothes off each other? Or maybe they didn’t even bother removing them. Would Fred kiss the waitress like he used to kiss her? Would he whisper the same scorching words he whispered in Natalie’s ear during their first months?

  After forty-five minutes of soaking and torturing herself, she called Marie. Thank goodness her friend answered the phone.

  “Got any plans for tonight?” Natalie asked.

  “Why? You feel like seeing a movie?”

  “More like crashing at your place. If it’s OK with you?”

  “Don’t be silly. Are you all right?” Marie asked.

  Natalie exhaled slowly. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

  “I’m meeting with a client in thirty minutes, so I won’t be home until nine thirty, maybe ten. Should I cancel the meeting?”

  “No, I’ll come over then,” Natalie said.

  She hung up and looked at her watch. Would the bookshop at the Gare du Nord still be open? Or maybe she should just hole up in the nearest café and try to get warm. If only Marie didn’t have an appointment tonight! Natalie wouldn’t be able to resist picturing Fred with the waitress if she spent the next couple of hours by herself. One thing was certain—she had to clear the premises before Fred came out and saw her in her pathetic wig.

  Her phone rang and she answered immediately without looking at the caller ID. It could only be Marie phoning back to tell her she’d canceled her meeting after all. God bless her heart.

  “Marie, you really didn’t have to—”

  “Sounds like you were expecting someone else,” a pleasant male voice said.

  “As a matter of fact, I was . . .Who is this?”

  “Adrien. The chess player from La Bohème?”

  “Oh. Hi.”

  “I’m sorry if I called at an inconvenient time. I was wondering if you’d like to hang out with some cool people tonight.”

  Natalie didn’t answer immediately. The offer had been so unexpected she needed a moment to process it.

  “Just to be clear, I wasn’t referring to myself when I said ‘cool people’. A friend of mine just finished composing his new album. He’s testing it on a happy few tonight at Luke’s,” Adrien said.

  “I know that place. It’s in the Tenth, isn’t it?”

  Fate was finally taking pity on her. No matter how bad the music turned out to be, she wouldn’t
have to be by herself tonight.

  “It’s a five-minute walk from the Gare du Nord,” he said. “Shall I come and get you at the Metro station?

  “I’m sure I can find it,” she said as she walked toward the café. “When does your friend start?”

  “In half an hour, but you can drop in later. It’s very informal.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes. I happen to be in the neighborhood.”

  Luke’s was an artsy basement club she’d been to a couple of times years ago. They used to have jazz nights regularly back then. She carefully climbed down the wet staircase and entered a candlelit room with a dozen tables and a small stage. The place was run down but definitely cozy.

  “Natalie!” Adrien strode to her from his spot at the bar. “You made it.”

  He was tall, at least six feet. One mystery solved.

  “You sound surprised,” she said.

  He grinned. “I’m glad you’re here. You won’t regret having braved the rain.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Come, let me introduce you to my friends,” he said, taking her coat and leading her to the bar.

  She sneezed twice, and then hugged herself, rubbing her arms.

  “A tes souhaits. Would you like to put on my sweater? It’s as warm as it looks,” he said.

  “No thanks.” I may be down but I still have my dignity.

  “Then you need a drink. Strong or warm?”

  “Strong. Definitely strong.”

  As they reached the bar, two young men and a woman climbed down from their barstools to exchange names and cheek kisses with her.

  “Cyril is the songwriter,” Adrien said, pointing at the bearded man.

  Cyril bowed his head. “Did you explain the rules to her?” he asked Adrien.

  “In a moment.” Adrien turned to Natalie. “Will you let me buy you a drink?”

  She nodded. “A gin tonic, please.”

  As she took the first sip, Adrien said, “There’s just one rule, really. Be honest. Especially when we get together after he’s done singing to debrief.”

  “What if I forget one of the songs?” Natalie asked.

  “That would mean it wasn’t memorable enough,” Cyril said.

  The woman who had introduced herself as Kiki said, “Cyril’s first album was well received, so the pressure is high for the second one.”

  “I’m sure Cyril appreciates your reminding him,” the guy named Romain said.

  Thankfully, Cyril was already halfway to the stage. He sat on a chair in the middle of it, picked up his guitar, and strummed a few chords. Natalie followed Adrien and his gang to their seats. The room grew quiet as Cyril started to sing.

  The first song was an angry political manifesto. The second, a touching and funny piece about a stray dog. The third one was a plea of a man in love, and Cyril opened it with a guitar riff that was out of this world.

  He crooned into the microphone. “Baby, come and sit with me—here in the sun. Baby, let me ease your pain. Maybe I’m the one.”

  As he went on, Natalie’s heart started to ache, as if an invisible hand had pierced her chest and was wringing it ruthlessly. She found herself envying the woman in the song so much she wanted to cry. Fred no longer wished to be “the one” for her. She wasn’t even sure he ever had. He didn’t want what she wanted. He didn’t want her. It was time to accept she had lost him, along with her most precious dream to have a family. To have a child.

  She hardly paid attention to the remaining songs. As Cyril finished the last one and bowed, she turned to Adrien to apologize and slip away before the debriefing.

  Adrien’s gaze was locked on her face, intense. She wondered how long he’d been looking at her like this. His stare made her uncomfortable. And yet it drew her in, like the glow of a campfire on a cold night, a promise of warmth and comfort . . .

  She blinked and looked away. “I just remembered something. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

  His bright eyes clouded with something akin to hurt. “Funny you should say that, but then again, you reap what you sow.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting to Marie’s as soon as possible, because she doubted she could keep herself together much longer.

  ***

  TEN

  Marie opened the door and gave her a bear hug. “You’re drenched. Come on in.”

  After changing into Marie’s spare pajamas and pulling on a pair of warm socks, Natalie curled up on the armchair and tucked her feet under her.

  “A cup of tea to warm you up?” Marie offered.

  “Thanks, I’d like that.”

  Marie placed two steaming cups on the coffee table and sat on the sofa. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Fred’s cheating on me.”

  Marie searched her eyes. “Tell me the whole story, and in chronological order, please. We may discover you’re just being paranoid.”

  Natalie drank her tea. “I doubt it.”

  In between sips, sobs, and nose blowing, she gave Marie an account of the past six days—in chronological order.

  Marie puckered her face. “I don’t like this at all.”

  “Neither do I, believe me.”

  “OK, let’s stay positive and give him the benefit of the doubt. What if the waitress was an old friend of his, and he’s helping her out with something?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know . . .filing an insurance claim? Scrapbooking?”

  Natalie cackled. “If he told you that, would you believe him?”

  “Hmm . . .”

  Natalie cradled her head in her hands. “You know what’s worse than his two-timing?”

  “That he’s doing it with a woman who’s way hotter than you?”

  Natalie couldn’t stifle her smile. “Marie, dear, with friends like you, who needs enemies?”

  “I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

  Natalie’s face turned serious. “What’s worse is that he told me last week he didn’t want a baby because of his career.” She shook her head. “Career, my foot.”

  “I don’t get it. For you, his lying is worse than his cheating?” Marie asked.

  Natalie rubbed her forehead. “It’s hard to explain. Now I know it’s not his job.” Her voice cracked. “It’s him.”

  Marie gave Natalie’s hand a squeeze. “What do you intend to do?”

  “Confront him. I just don’t have the nerve to do it tonight.”

  “Tonight you regroup and try to get some sleep.” Marie picked up Natalie’s purse and handed it to her. “Here. Get your phone and text him so he wouldn’t worry.”

  “Ha. Maybe he should.”

  “You don’t want him alerting the police, do you?”

  Natalie sent Fred a short text.

  I’m at Marie’s. Will sleep over. N.

  “You should confront the waitress first,” Marie said.

  “Whatever for?”

  “She’ll tell you the truth. She has no reason to lie.”

  “I guess . . .”

  “And then you’ll confront Fred and compare their statements. It’s called cross-examination.”

  Natalie smiled. She appreciated her friend’s attempt to inject some lightness into the situation. “I don’t think that’s what a cross-examination is, but I get your drift.”

  She suddenly felt completely drained.

  Marie picked up the empty cups. “Come on. You’re ready to drop.”

  Natalie nodded and trudged to the bedroom.

  If only she could wake up tomorrow and realize the past week had just been a bad dream.

  ***

  ELEVEN

  Natalie ended up staying at Marie’s most of the next day, in too much of a mess to go to work. She called in sick, did some staring into the wall, a bit of crying, and a lot of thinking about her bleak future. In the evening, she went home, took a sleeping pill, and spent the night in a deep dreamless slumber. Which was exa
ctly what she needed.

  The next day, she got to La Bohème a little before six, determined to confront the waitress and later, Fred. The wig and the sunglasses were gone—she was done with her little game. She ordered a hot chocolate and looked around. The blue-haired waitress was nowhere in sight.

  “I like your new hair,” a familiar voice said.

  She looked over and saw Adrien standing by her table, still in his rain jacket. He must have just walked in.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “It’s lighter and . . .longer.” He gave her a puzzled look.

  “Coiffeurs can do the most extraordinary things to your hair these days. You should try it.”

  What was it about this guy that lightened her mood no matter how low she’d been feeling?

  “Um . . .” His mouth twitched upward. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  He looked at her for a few seconds, shifting from one foot to the other, and went to sit at the table next to hers. Natalie couldn’t stifle a small sigh of relief. This wasn’t too bad. They could chat like two people who found themselves next to each other by accident while she waited for the waitress. Once she spotted her, she’d excuse herself and ask to talk to the woman in private.

  “I didn’t see you here yesterday,” he said.

  She was glad he hadn’t brought up the evening at Luke’s. “I was wearing my invisibility cloak.”

  “Of course. I should’ve guessed. Do you wear it often?”

  She smirked. “These days, yes. But I didn’t even own one until last Wednesday.”

  “What happened last Wednesday to make you pay a fortune for an invisibility cloak?”

  “I got a cheap one,” she said. “Counterfeit. I was told it may malfunction at any time. So don’t be surprised if I materialize out of thin air while you’re happily picking your nose.”