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

by Nichols, Alix

  Adrien gave a chortle. “I do no such thing. Not even when I’m playing against Fritz.”

  “Who’s Fritz and why are you implying he deserves to watch you pick your nose?”

  “Fritz is the chess program I’ve been using lately. He’s devious.”

  “How does it work in professional chess? Is it your only occupation, or do you have to moonlight as Père Noël at Christmas?” she asked.

  “I have no need for moonlighting. In chess, you can make a living when your rating is high enough. Which happens to be my case.”

  Natalie detected a note of pride in his voice. It was kind of sweet. The whole of him was kind of sweet, actually. Once your eyes adjusted to the color clashes on his sweater, you noticed his intelligent eyes, his clean jawline, and his kissable lips.

  She swiftly looked away from his mouth. Did she just call it kissable? She should focus on keeping an eye on her boyfriend rather than applying inappropriate qualifiers to an unrelated man’s lips.

  “Do you play chess?” he asked.

  “I know the rules and I’ve played a few times . . .”

  “But? . . .”

  “But each time I got a huge headache. My brain must have overheated from all that strategizing and thinking several moves ahead.” She shrugged.

  “A former world champion, Garry Kasparov, calls chess mental torture. But it’s also great fun. I think it’s the coolest game ever invented.”

  “I envy you. You get paid to practice your favorite hobby. I wish someone would pay me to watch romantic comedies.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You love romantic comedies?”

  “Of course I do.” She feigned surprise. “Don’t you?”

  “Uh.” He scratched his head. “How shall I put it? I haven’t seen many.”

  “You must have seen Amélie.”

  He shook his head.

  “Really? Four Weddings and a Funeral? The Princess Bride?”

  He threw his hands up, looking apologetic.

  “OK, what about the classics—Roman Holiday? Pretty Woman? Groundhog Day?”

  He gave her a panicked look and shook his head again.

  “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you haven’t seen Pretty Woman.”

  “I’ve heard of it, though,” he offered.

  She rolled her eyes skyward. “What planet have you been living on?”

  “Hmm. I can see I have an embarrassingly big gap in my general culture. I’m determined to fill it, though.” He paused for a second. “Will you help me? I haven’t got anyone to watch a romantic comedy with. Will you guide my uncertain first steps?”

  She was flummoxed at how much the idea appealed to her. “I’ll give you my top twenty to get you started.”

  His face fell. “That would be great.”

  She needed to steer the conversation further away from the danger zone. “If I had a tenner for each romcom I’ve watched, I’d be a millionaire.”

  He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and moved his lips, as if doing mental math. “I doubt it.”

  “OK, maybe not a millionaire, but certainly better off than a teacher.”

  “You don’t like being a teacher?”

  His question gave her pause. “Is that how it came out? No, the only thing I don’t like about my job is the pittance they pay me. But I love every other aspect of it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Including the noisy little ankle-biters with permanently runny noses?”

  “Especially them.”

  “Well, I suppose there is something cute about them, if one looks beyond the noise and the runny noses.”

  “They’re so small and . . .soft. They don’t have any sharp angles, even at their elbows and knees. And they ask the most unexpected questions.”

  “They most certainly do. I’ve got two little nieces, and I’m on question-answering duty every Sunday when I’m in town,” he said.

  “I’m sure they love their uncle. Isn’t it heartwarming to see how kids are excited about everything, how they try to figure things out, to make sense of the world?”

  He nodded. “And you enjoy helping them, don’t you?”

  “I do.” She grinned. “In fact, I love it so much I wish I had a chance to do a lot more of it.”

  She bit her tongue, realizing she’d slipped from entertaining chitchat to a different kind of conversation—the kind wherein you revealed essential things about yourself. And if that shock wasn’t enough, Adrien’s expression certainly was. He smiled softly, his brown eyes filled with warmth and reassurance. It was like he was telling her he understood how she felt and he was on the same page. He didn’t think she’d been testing the waters with him, did he?

  She picked up her purse. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

  Once inside, she went to the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and shook her head vigorously. But the image was still there. God, that look on his face. That earnest, understanding look that said, I hear you.

  How did it happen? How did this evening, which she’d envisioned as a succession of two showdowns, go so far off script? She tried to figure out what to do next. According to her watch it was almost seven o’clock. Fred and his . . .lady friend must have left earlier today, before she got to the bistro. This meant she had no business hanging around, flirting with Adrien, telling him about her dreams, giving him wrong ideas—and losing her high moral ground of a cheated-on girlfriend.

  Feeling thoroughly ashamed, Natalie returned to the front dining room and placed a five euro note on her table. Adrien gave her a surprised look.

  “I need to go home. It was nice seeing you again.”

  She grabbed her coat and rushed out. As she was about to descend

  the stairs leading to the Metro, she heard Adrien’s voice.

  “Natalie, wait!”

  She swirled around.

  He rushed to her side, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t . . .I wanted to . . . ” he stammered.

  She looked at him expectantly. He stopped talking, took a step toward her, and took her in his arms. Before she had time to protest, he kissed her.

  The kiss was so astonishingly sweet, it took her breath away. His lips felt soft and warm against hers and tasted heavenly. Without thinking, she closed her eyes and savored the unexpected pleasure of the moment. His hands roamed her back, then delved into her hair. She felt exquisitely lightheaded. He cradled the back of her head and deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth, coaxing her to respond. And she did. How could she not respond to the way he held her, the way he smelled, the way his tongue caressed hers—it all felt so right, so impossibly good. It was as if she were being kissed by a sexy romcom hero and not by an offbeat nerd with unkempt hair. She hadn’t been kissed like that since her first year with Fred.

  Fred!

  Natalie broke the kiss and pulled away from Adrien’s embrace.

  “I really need to go now,” she said and ran down the stairs.

  ***

  TWELVE

  She was going to have her face-offs today, or she’d go nuts.

  Last night Fred had come home when Natalie was already in bed. She pretended to be asleep, but ended up spending a sleepless night thinking about Adrien and what had happened yesterday by the Metro entrance. Not only had she allowed him to kiss her, she had kissed him back—until she remembered who she was. What a mess! Or was it some stupid, unconscious attempt at retaliation? It was so wrong on so many levels, but mostly because Adrien didn’t deserve to be used.

  This time she arrived at La Bohème at half past four. Adrien wasn’t there. Good. The blue-haired waitress was. Excellent.

  She sat down and waited to be noticed. The bistro was half-empty, and the staff were sharing a meal. There seemed to be a lot of camaraderie among them, judging by their easy conversation and frequent laughs. As she watched them, she reflected on how satisfying it was to relate to people without effort, without considering every possible implication of what you wanted to say. Th
e way she related to her parents and to Marie. The way she related to Adrien. The way she’d never been able to relate to Fred. Was it because Fred was a complicated person? Or was it because she was unable to behave naturally around him, always wary of what was at stake, of how much he meant to her?

  The blue-haired waitress came over to take her order. Finally, some luck, Natalie thought.

  “I’d like a café crème, please,” she said.

  “Anything else?”

  Before Natalie could open her mouth to say she wanted to have a word, the waitress asked with a smile, “Are you a friend of Adrien’s?”

  “Um . . .not really. Why?”

  “Just curious. He’s a longtime patron, and I noticed him chatting a lot with you lately.” She smiled playfully.

  Natalie took a deep breath. “I’ve made an observation, too—you chatting a lot with Fred, my longtime boyfriend.”

  The waitress stared at her for a few seconds and knitted her brow. “What are you talking about? Fred doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Yes he does. He even lives with her. Haven’t you wondered why he hasn’t invited you to his place?” Natalie smirked.

  “He had to move out from his old place and is crashing at a friend’s until he finds something suitable.”

  That hurt. “Well, he lied to you. Fred hasn’t moved out. And I’m not sure he intends to.”

  The waitress fingered her choker. “I don’t know what to say . . .I hate cheating and cheaters. I broke up with my ex because of that. And now you’re telling me I’m the other woman.”

  “Isn’t it ironic?” Natalie smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  The waitress frowned. “Fucking liar.”

  “Jeanne, Pepe needs a hand!” One of her colleagues called to her from behind the bar.

  So her name was Jeanne. What a sweet old-fashioned name, so at odds with her looks.

  “Coming!” She turned back to Natalie and gave her a determined look. “I want you to know I’m through with Fred. He’s all yours if you still want him . . .And I am sorry.”

  Natalie held her gaze. “Not as much as I am.”

  She left the bistro feeling emptyhearted, as if the joy of life had been sucked out of her by a Death Eater from the Harry Potter books. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, jostled by passersby, and tried to compose herself.

  At least it wasn’t raining. Natalie caught a glimpse of the sun and knew where to go: the Beaubourg Center. It was her favorite place in Paris. An inside-out monstrosity of a building where—between its piazza, exhibits, library, and cinema—she always found something to do.

  This time, she stayed outside in the piazza, watching jugglers, musicians, and mimes. They were so good at what they did. And funny, too. They were entertaining enough to keep her from thinking about her next showdown and the impeding breakup. And about how her dream of family and children was crumbling in front of her eyes like a sand castle licked by angry waves.

  It was nine when she arrived at her doorstep, having spent several hours and all the cash in her purse at the Beaubourg Center. She opened the door. Fred’s raincoat was on the hook and his briefcase on the floor.

  She drew in a fortifying breath and stepped over the threshold.

  “Nat?” He said from the living room.

  She didn’t answer.

  He came into the foyer as she was removing her shoes. He looked tired.

  She strode past him into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. He followed her.

  “I guess you know that I know,” she said.

  He nodded.

  Now he’ll tell me he’s dumping me.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.” His face was red.

  She waited.

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Nat. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She turned to refill her glass and stayed with her back to him.

  You won’t see me come undone.

  “You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.”

  Get on with it already.

  “You’re pure, you’re kind, you’re classy—”

  She spun around. “For Christ’s sake, will you please cut to the chase, or shall I say it for you?”

  He didn’t answer, just stared at her.

  “You’re leaving me because you’re not ready for what I want, right? Or because you fell in love with another woman.”

  She was grateful now for the Death Eater’s attack earlier. The last thing she wanted was for Fred to watch her fall apart.

  “See, I can handle it,” she said.

  “Is that what you expected?” He looked genuinely surprised.

  “Why, you have another reason for breaking up with me?”

  “I don’t want us to break up. I want you to forgive me. That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

  Natalie tried to wrap her mind around it. So, he wasn’t dumping her. Was it because the waitress had dumped him first and he had no one else? Or had it never been part of the plan?

  “I made a mistake—the kind of stupid thing men do sometimes. You started this talk about having a baby . . .and I guess I just freaked out. Jeanne doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said.

  “And what about me, Fred? What do I mean to you?”

  “My home. My future.” He took a step toward her. “You are the woman I want by my side. The woman I want to grow old with.”

  She touched the hollow of her neck, her hand shaking.

  He took another step and grabbed her hand. “You’re the woman I’d want to be the mother of my child, if I ever have one.”

  She searched his eyes. In three years, he’d never told her anything remotely close to this. Did he need to have an affair with another woman to realize what she meant to him? Did he need to risk losing her to admit he cared for her?

  He brushed a kiss on the back of her hand. “Will you marry me, Natalie?”

  She stopped breathing. Everything felt unreal, heightened and distant at the same time, like an old Technicolor movie. Fred was gazing into her eyes beseechingly, all his usual self-confidence gone. He was begging her to accept her most cherished dream. How crazy was that? And how could she say no? How could she reject his offer, now that her dream was so close she could almost touch it?

  “Yes,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ll marry you.”

  ***

  THIRTEEN

  Michel’s fortieth birthday was a resounding success. Clara, his wife, reigned over the party, making sure glasses were refilled, plates heaped, and the music enjoyed. Most of the guests danced in the middle of the living room. Others mingled. A few stood by the wall in pairs and exchanged remarks too skimpy and far between to be called conversation. They took turns at pronouncing mysterious utterances that consisted of a medieval word, a letter and a number. Sometimes they accompanied those with facial expressions or interjections such as Aha!

  Adrien and the birthday boy were among the third group. They were playing mental chess.

  “Knight to b6,” Adrien said looking at his shoes.

  Michel raised his eyebrows, then closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Bishop e2.”

  Adrien’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he whipped it out, whispering an apology to Michel.

  Can we meet by the Palmier Fountain at Châtelet tomorrow at 5 pm?

  N.

  He should have been happy. Not only had Natalie texted him, she proposed to meet. But something about her note was off—no “hi” at the beginning or “xo” at the end. It wasn’t playful or even friendly. Adrien gave out a sigh and wrote a short reply to match.

  I’ll be there.

  Adrien

  She hadn’t been to La Bohème yesterday. She hadn’t showed up this afternoon, either. In fact, he hadn’t seen her since they kissed two days ago. Or, to be more precise, since he kissed her and she let him. Enthusiastically, at first. Ooh, the bliss when she leaned into him, melded her body to his, and parted her lips. A glorious kiss in every wa
y, except for the way it ended. When he pressed his lips to hers, the contact felt so right, so necessary. She tasted of chocolate and Natalie—a heady mix. No other woman he’d kissed before made him feel that way. Like savoring a small piece of heaven.

  And then she ran away. She was clearly conflicted, and he wanted to know why. He had almost called her yesterday and again earlier today, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Why did you take off so suddenly? Didn’t you enjoy the kiss? Dumb questions. He was so good at chess strategy—and so helpless at letting a woman know how much he liked her.

  Well, now he didn’t have to sweat over this anymore. She’d contacted him first and proposed a date to boot.

  Then why was he so nervous?

  Adrien’s heart began to race when he spotted Natalie approaching the Palmier Fountain. They smiled at each other and said hello. No cheek kisses.

  “I owe you an apology and an explanation,” she said.

  “Oh, good. Because I was expecting a slap on the face.”

  She smiled. “Well, that too. But given that I didn’t behave very well, I’d say the slap is evened out.”

  “OK. I’m all ears.”

  “Remember how you asked me if I’d started coming to La Bohème because I had moved into the neighborhood?”

  “Yes. And you changed the subject.”

  “I couldn’t give you the real reason.” She paused, looking away. “I was tailing my boyfriend whom I suspected of two-timing me with a waitress at the bistro.”

  His jaw tensed. “And was he? Was he two-timing you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you broke up?”

  She shook her head. “He stopped seeing the waitress. It wasn’t serious.”

  “I see.”

  Her gaze remained trained on the fountain. “It was a slipup he bitterly regrets.”

  “You took him back then, your strayed boyfriend?” He wondered why he’d asked her that—he already knew the answer.

  “He’s my fiancé now.”

  His mouth compressed to a hard line. “Congratulations.”