Chasing Heartbreak (Dark Love #6) - Kat T. Masen Page 0,7
and it’s the devil herself—Mrs. Matchmaker.
“Don’t bail on this,” Charlie scolds without a greeting.
“What are you? A clairvoyant now?” I answer abruptly, straightening my posture to stretch my tense muscles. “In case you don’t know, something has come up with work.”
“Not an excuse. I know for a fact you’ve been emailing Lex documents, therefore, you’re on top of your work, and it’s Sunday night. You owe me this.”
Clenching my jaw, I close my eyes to calm my irritation. I agreed that once a year, Charlie is allowed to set me up on a blind date. When I consented to this, I recall being drunk on rum and Coke, combined with being sexually charged. But, of course, Charlie, with her overbearing ways, has held me to it.
The only reason I agreed to this date tonight is that last year’s blind date wasn’t too bad. Maxim was lovely and very good-looking. We went on four dates until he dropped the ball mid-dinner—he’s bisexual and was looking to have an open relationship. We remained friends and still catch up for drinks every few months. On our last catchup, he introduced me to his new boyfriend, Youssef. The two of them are a match made in heaven and are fun to unwind with.
Charlie apparently met Maxim back in LA at some fashion event. When she found out he lived in Paris, and knowing I have been single forever, she put two and two together.
“Fine,” I complain, opening my eyes. “Can you tell me more about Gustave?”
“No, because every time I tell you something, you forget anyway or use it as an excuse not to go.”
“I do not.”
“Just go on the date and report back later,” she coaxed, then quickly cheers, “Good luck.”
“Since you’re the one setting me up, I’m going to need it.”
***
I have to give it to Gustave. He chose a fine restaurant, which I know for a fact is difficult to get into and rather expensive.
He sits across from me, dressed nicely in a pale green shirt and gray trousers. Without asking his age, he appears more mature with dark brown hair with a few grays near his temple. When he smiles, several creases surround his blue eyes. I’d peg him for early forties, which doesn’t bother me so much these days.
Gustave peruses the wine list, keeping quiet and leaving an uncomfortable silence between us.
“Ça vous dérange si je parle anglais?” I ask him if we can speak English, given my exhaustion from working nonstop the last few hours. I can barely compute a sentence in English, let alone French. Clearly, the excess caffeine is wearing off.
“Oui.” He smiles, placing the menu down. “Do you like wine?”
“Who doesn’t?” I jest, welcoming the topic.
Gustave turns out to be a food critic. Our conversation steers to only that. He offers to choose our meals, which I agree to, but Gustave’s face looks less than pleased with the plate sitting in front of him when the waiter serves us.
We eat in silence, his face relatively blank with each bite he takes.
“Do you not like the food here?”
“It’s mediocre,” he responds flatly.
I start to wonder if people are watching us, trying to make sense of what the purpose is of us dining together since I can’t. Unlike Gustave, I immensely enjoy the French delicacy and can’t fault a single dish served tonight.
A plate of various cheeses is served, placed between us. In authentic French culture, cheese is consumed after the main dish but before dessert. Since I enjoy cheese, I don’t see a problem with this at all.
“Cheese is a delicacy. If done right, it’s the most satisfying meal,” he speaks, slicing a small piece for himself.
I have no clue what to say to that but need something quick. “Cheese is rather satisfying.”
Wow, Kate—electrifying.
“The smellier the cheese, the better.” He raises the cheese toward my face. “Here, smell this?”
Leaning in, I take a sniff, immediately scrunching my nose at the godawful stench. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
“So, you like cheese?” I nod, quick to change subjects before I fall asleep. “Tell me about your family?”
“My father owned a delicatessen and curated his own cheese. My mother worked with him for over fifty years.
“And siblings?”
“No, just me.” He raises another piece of cheese, prompting me to sniff it. This one is even worse.
“And what about traveling? What do you like to do in your spare time?”
“Not much these days.” A smile graces his lips, and I wait with bated breath for a funny anecdote. “Comté vieux is aged over