by Ariel Tachna
“You made him look at your pictures?” René said. “Lame, buddy. Really lame.”
“He asked,” Pascal said. “I mentioned that I traveled when I could, and he asked where I’d gone. When I told him, he said he’d love to see my pictures. And since that’s when he kissed me, you can’t complain too much because if we’d spent the whole time sitting on the balcony, he couldn’t have gotten close enough for a kiss.”
“Whatever works, I guess,” René replied philosophically. “When are you seeing him again?”
“Wednesday night at the bar,” Pascal said. “It’s my night off, but he has to work, so I’m going to drop by and see him.”
“Adrien’s going to love you, with all the extra money you’re spending there these days,” René teased.
“As long as I don’t distract his employees,” Pascal replied. “I don’t want Mathias to get in trouble again because of me.”
“Pathetic.” The tone of René’s voice was one usually reserved for cute puppies and chubby-cheeked babies. Pascal shook his head, but he couldn’t help the smile it brought to his face.
“YOU LOOK like the cat that ate the canary,” Louis said when Mathias arrived at work on Monday. “Good weekend?”
“Pretty good,” Mathias said.
“Then what’s with the grin?” Louis asked. “Did you get laid?”
“No,” Mathias said. “It’s not like that.”
“You had a date, right? With the cute panther in your building.”
“He’s not a panther,” Mathias protested.
“He’s over forty, and he’s dating a much younger guy. That looks like a panther to me,” Louis said.
“Yeah, but that makes it sound like there’s something perverted about it, and it’s really not like that. We had lunch. We talked. We looked at photos he’s taken on different trips,” Mathias said. “We talked about books. Did you know he’s friends with Martine Caron? He gave me her e-mail so I can tell her how much I like her books!”
“Her e-mail is in the books,” Louis pointed out. “At least in the more recent ones.”
“Yeah, but he has signed copies of all her books, not just the Pascal St-Laurent ones. He knows her from the restaurant.”
“Okay, that is pretty cool. Did you totally geek out on him?”
“Yeah, a little,” Mathias admitted, “but he didn’t mind. I got the feeling he liked it when I stopped trying to be suave and sophisticated and was just myself.”
“But that’s a good thing,” Louis said. “Not to say you aren’t suave and sophisticated, but you need a place you can let go of everything and just relax. And if this is going where you want it to, you need that place to be with him.”
“He also said he wasn’t looking for a fling,” Mathis said. “So that’s promising, but he’s… well, he’s everything I’m not, Louis, and I’m still not entirely sure what he sees in me or why he’d want to be with me beyond something fun and flirty. He doesn’t talk about it, but there are shadows in his eyes sometimes, like he’s been hurt in the past and hasn’t gotten over it.”
“And yet he doesn’t want a fling,” Louis said. “So either it was a fling that hurt him, or he’s ready to try for something serious again despite whatever hurt was in the past.”
“I’m not sure I’m strong enough to be someone’s rehabilitation,” Mathias replied.
“Has he asked you to be?”
“Well, no.”
“Then you’re projecting thoughts and emotions onto him,” Louis said. “You met up, had lunch, talked about books and work and travel. That doesn’t sound like rehabilitation. It sounds like two guys getting to know each other better. And that sounds like the beginning of a relationship.”
“You think I should go for it?”
“I think you shouldn’t give up just because it’s not the most obvious or straightforward thing you’ve ever done,” Louis said. “You aren’t one to take the easy road. If you were, you wouldn’t have picked the management track. You wouldn’t be living where you do and working a second job to pay for it. You’d be in La Tuque working in a paper mill or as a canoe guide. Isn’t that what you told me most of your high school classmates were doing with their lives?”
“Pretty much,” Mathias said. “I mean, a few of them will get jobs in the local infrastructure. La Tuque needs teachers and city employees and that kind of thing, but the growth is low, so there’s only a few spots available each year.”
“Still, you didn’t pick that way either,” Louis said. “Do the same with your personal life. If he’s worth taking an interest in, he’s worth dealing with the bumps in the road.”
Mathias nodded. He agreed with Louis mostly. He wasn’t concerned about the amount of work a relationship with Pascal would require from him. He was worried Pascal would get fed up with the differences between them. Mathias couldn’t afford to travel with Pascal, even if he could take the time off to do it, but Pascal obviously loved it too much to want to give it up. He needed someone who had the money and flexibility to go with him, not someone who probably wouldn’t be going anywhere but home to La Tuque for family occasions for at least the next few years.
He could enjoy it while it lasted, though, and maybe get enough experience out of it not to feel so green the next time he met someone who caught his eye.
BY THE time Pascal got all his errands run, all his shopping done, his laundry in the wash, and his apartment tidied up, it was already dinnertime, he hadn’t been to the gym, and he was exhausted.
Will you be terribly disappointed if I don’t come to the bar tonight? He texted to Mathias. I’m worn out and I haven’t had dinner yet.
Join me at Café Champlain for dinner. It’ll be rushed, but at least I’ll get to see you, Mathias texted back a moment later.
Pascal should have said no, but the idea that Mathias had looked forward to seeing him was enough to get Pascal off the couch and into a nicer shirt than the T-shirt he’d worn all day.
When?
Now. I’ll wait for you downstairs.
I’ll be right down.
Pascal checked to make sure he had his wallet and hurried down to meet Mathias for dinner. As expected, Mathias was dressed for his shift at the bar: spiky hair, skintight jeans, painted-on T-shirt. He looked positively sinful.
“Hi,” Mathias said when Pascal met him on the doorstep. He leaned in and kissed Pascal’s cheek. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“I’m pretty sure everyone at Café Champlain is going to think you’re indulging me,” Pascal said. “You look good enough to eat.”
Mathias flashed a cheeky grin. “They’ll think I’m lucky to have snagged such a handsome sugar daddy.”
“I’m no sugar daddy,” Pascal said as they walked down the street to the café. “I don’t make enough for that. And don’t put yourself down that way.”
“You look good enough for it,” Mathias said, “and they can think what they want about me. I know and you know it’s not like that. Who cares what they think? It’s like the patrons at the bar. If they think there’s a chance I might actually be interested in them, they’ll tip better. They don’t need to know I put all the numbers they give me in the trash at the end of the night.”
“You didn’t put mine in the trash,” Pascal said.
“You aren’t just a patron at the bar,” Mathias replied. “I… um… I e-mailed Martine Caron today on my lunch break. I told her you’d given me her e-mail because I was such a big fan. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” Pascal didn’t mind, per se, but he was sure to hear about it when his ladies came to the restaurant again in a couple of weeks.
They reached the café and ordered quickly. “I have training all day on Saturday and ‘homework’ that I’ll have to do on Sunday this weekend,” Mathias said as they waited for their food. “But I’m off on Tuesday next week. If you’re not working, I thought we could have a nice dinner.”
“Unfortunately, I am,” Pascal said. “I can tr
y to switch, but I’m not sure anyone will be able to. What about the Saturday after?”
“I’ve got four weekends of this crap,” Mathias said. “I keep telling myself it’ll be worth it.”
“That’s right. You told me. What’s the training on this time?” Pascal asked.
“Asset management in the credit department,” Mathias said. “It’s not the area I want to pursue, but part of this track I’m on is a two- to four-month stint in every department.”
“Once that’s done, will you have some say about what area you work in?”
“Well, I still have to apply within the departments, and they have to need someone, but I’ll have a lot better chance of getting what I want than if I hadn’t done the program.”
“Then it’ll be worth it,” Pascal agreed. “You just have to stay focused on the goal.”
“That’s what Louis keeps telling me. He’s my mentor in the program. He finished a couple of years ago and is helping me out now,” Mathias said. “He’s become a good friend, as well.”
The waiter forestalled Pascal’s reply with their food. Pascal figured that was fortunate since his immediate reaction was jealousy, an emotion he didn’t have any right to express just yet.
“Do you have your schedule at Le Salon for the week after next yet?” Pascal asked as they started eating.
“I’ll get it tonight. Why?”
“Because I have to put in my requests, if I have any, for that week tomorrow. If I know what night you’re off, I can request it, and we can have a proper dinner date. If you’d like to, that is.”
“I’d love to,” Mathias said. “I was trying to figure out how to get through four weeks without seeing you for more than a few minutes at a time.”
“Text me when you get your schedule,” Pascal said. “I’ll put my request in first thing tomorrow morning.”
“What are you going to do with your night off?” Mathias asked.
“Honestly?” Pascal said. Mathias nodded. “Read Hélène’s latest book and go to sleep early. I’m not sure why I’m so tired tonight, but I’m not going to stay up late.”
“Lucky you,” Mathias said with a grin. “I’ll be at the bar until one and at work at eight in the morning.”
Pascal didn’t ask Mathias how long he could keep up that kind of schedule. Mathias was young, and Pascal remembered having more reserves of energy at that age than he had now. “We’ll have dinner in two weeks, and we’ll spend a day canoeing as soon as your training course ends. How does that sound?”
“Amazing,” Mathias said as he finished his meal. “I hate to eat and run, but I don’t want to be late.” He pulled some money out of his wallet. “This’ll cover my meal. Do you mind waiting for the check?”
“No, go,” Pascal said, “but when we go out in two weeks, it’s my treat.”
Mathias smiled. “Okay, but I get to pick the restaurant, then. And next time, we’ll switch.”
Pascal thought it should be the other way around, but he didn’t say anything. If Mathias wanted to pick the restaurant, Pascal would let him. He could afford dinner at wherever Mathias chose, and he could make sure to choose somewhere interesting but inexpensive when it was Mathias’s turn to pay.
Chapter 8
PASCAL KNEW the minute he approached the table that his ladies had something up their collective sleeve. Camille’s smile was just a touch broader than usual, and Martine gave him a knowing look that spoke volumes about their plans. Well, about the existence of their plans anyway.
“Bonsoir, mesdames,” he said with the most genuine smile he’d given anyone all night. The fact that genuine with them meant a smirk that would probably get him fired with anyone else was irrelevant. They teased him as hard as he teased them. “A round of cosmos as usual?”
“What else would we drink?” Hélène asked with a light laugh. “Unless you’ve got something new to suggest.”
Pascal had a brief flash of Mathias offering him the pear martini. “Actually, I might,” he said slowly. “I’m not sure we have everything we need to make it, though. I’ll check with the bar. If you don’t like it, the round is on me.”
“Really?” Martine teased. “A new friend and now a new drink? You’re full of surprises tonight, Pascal!”
He just smiled. They wouldn’t let it go at that, but he could delay the inquisition by a few minutes at least.
Nick at the bar had everything for a pear martini and even had an idea of the right proportions of the different ingredients. He gave Pascal a taste before he poured the glasses for the customers, and it tasted very much like what Mathias had served him.
“Here we are,” Pascal said as he returned to the table. “Who’s going to do the honors?”
Hélène picked up the glass he set in front of her and took a sip. “Very nice,” she said. “I’m not sure anything will ever replace cosmos with you, but this is a nice change.”
“Good,” Pascal said. “I’m glad you like them. A friend is trying to get me to branch out, and this one was a success.”
“Tell us about this friend,” Martine said. “Is it the same young man who sent me such a nice e-mail last week?”
Pascal knew how this game worked. It had been a while since they’d last played it, but he hadn’t forgotten how. “I would imagine you receive quite a few e-mails each week.”
“But not that mention you as the way the person got my e-mail. If the icon on his e-mail is what he looks like, he’s quite the looker,” Martine teased.
“I haven’t seen his e-mail icon,” Pascal replied smoothly.
Martine gave an exasperated laugh. “Fine,” she said. “His name is Mathias Perras. Who is he?”
“Who is he to you?” Hélène specified. “And more importantly, why are you so hesitant to talk about him?”
“He’s….” Pascal sighed, not sure how to reply. “It’s complicated. Do you want any appetizers?”
“The best things always are,” Nicole said. “I’ll have the French onion soup.”
Hélène, Camille, and Martine ordered as well, and Pascal beat a swift retreat to put their order in and check on his other tables, but also to regroup and try to decide how to answer them. He already knew they wouldn’t be satisfied with less.
Wednesdays were not usually a busy night at la Colombe d’Or, a fact Pascal normally appreciated when his ladies came in, but tonight it took away his excuses for not coming back to check on them—and field their questions.
“The appetizers should be out in a minute,” he said. “Have you decided on dinner?”
“I’m sorry, Pascal,” Martine said. “I shouldn’t have pushed when you clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Don’t go all cold and professional on us. I won’t say anything else about it.”
“I’m just not sure what to say,” Pascal said. “He lives in my building and works nights at the bar I like. He works days at a bank, and yeah, it’s complicated.”
“It sounds like the good kind of complicated to me,” Nicole said, “but Martine’s right. We won’t push. I’ll have the chateaubriand, please, medium rare.”
“The poisson meunière,” Hélène said.
“The cailles en brochettes for me,” Camille said.
“And I’ll have the rôti de porc,” Martine said.
Pascal took their orders back to the kitchen and checked on his other tables. He only had two others tonight and probably wouldn’t have more unless the restaurant got unusually busy. Simon was used to Pascal’s ladies visiting and did his best not to overload Pascal when they were in so he could visit with them as well as wait on their table.
His other tables tonight were business dinners, from what he could tell, and so would probably appreciate less obtrusive service anyway. He took appetizers to one table and entrées to another before he returned to check on his ladies. “Another round?” he asked. “Or cosmos this time?”
“Cosmo,” Hélène said.
“I’ll have another of these,” Camille said.
&nb
sp; “Cosmo.”
“One of these.”
“However much I like him—and I do, probably more than I should—nothing can come of it. Not really. We’re too different,” Pascal blurted out. “I’ll get your drinks.”
By the time the drinks were ready, their appetizers were too, and he had his hands full for a few minutes getting everything served.
“Sometimes differences are good things,” Hélène said after all the dishes were in the appropriate places. “It makes life interesting.”
“It makes your books interesting,” Pascal said. “It makes life hard.”
“It can make life hard,” Nicole agreed, and Pascal remembered the pictures she’d shown him of her husband and family. He was Asian. She was not. And the clash of the two cultures had caused more than one disagreement. He’d overheard a rant or few over the years. “It can also be incredibly enriching. Maybe it isn’t worth it. But maybe it is. Don’t give up just because it’s hard.”
Right now it wasn’t hard, but Pascal could see all the ways it could become that way. “I won’t,” he said, “but he has to do the same.”
“YOU WORE blue,” Mathias said when Pascal opened the door. He’d texted Pascal on the train ride home from the bank, a habit he’d gotten into over the past two weeks since their lunch date. He might not be able to see Pascal every day, but he was determined to stay in touch and keep himself in Pascal’s thoughts by sharing what pieces he could of his day.
“You asked me to,” Pascal said with that little smile Mathias already loved coaxing out of him.
“It brings out your eyes,” Mathias said, just as he had in the text he’d sent earlier.
“You should just be glad I still had this shirt. I haven’t worn blue in… a long time.”
Mathias could hear a story in those words, but it didn’t take more than a glance at Pascal’s face to stop him from asking for it. Whatever—or whoever—had convinced him to stop wearing blue, it had left an indelible mark. That thought made the butterflies start in Mathias’s belly again. Pascal had worn blue at his request despite whatever had stopped him from doing so recently.