I found myself outside the Absalon design house, wearing black pants and a white shirt and one of Zoe’s burgundy aprons tied about my waist. I felt like a fraud, an imposter, and a little bit of a stalker. Mercifully, Zoe was with me, wearing the same, as we posed as two restaurant workers taking a break at the bistro across the street.
We were sitting in the corner of the patio, behind a bunch of scrupulously groomed topiary trees beneath a heater. We could just see past the thick foliage to the front door of Absalon. I sipped my wine, wondering how long we could realistically stake the place out. Zoe seemed very French about it all, as if it was perfectly normal to drink wine at midday while waiting for a glimpse of a man.
“You’re good at this,” I said.
“Love makes us do crazy things.” She shrugged.
“Does that mean you’ve done this before?”
A slow smile lit her face. “Perhaps.”
I suspected that was all I was going to get out of my new friend.
“Oh boy,” I said. “Just promise me there isn’t a warrant for your arrest in Paris or elsewhere.”
Zoe laughed, tipping her head back, causing her braids to swing. “Non non. But I have gotten a proposal or two.”
There was a sexy twinkle in her eye, and I wasn’t sure I should trust her judgment. I had a feeling Zoe would encourage all sorts of shenanigans, especially of the romantic kind.
“Oh là là, is that him?” Zoe asked. She sat up straight and pointed across the street.
I whipped my head in the direction of Absalon. My heart stopped. It just stopped in my chest, as if I’d taken a punch to the sternum, then it started up with a hard thump while the blood drained from my face. It was him!
Jean Claude was just as beautiful as I remembered, with the same unruly dark hair, chiseled features, and lithe build. His clothes, slacks and a dress shirt, fit him to perfection, naturally. He walked with the same restless energy he’d had when I’d known him. I’d always tried to slow him down, ease his journey, and it took everything I had not to run to him and grab his hand in mine and distract him from his course, just like I used to do with hugs and kisses.
“Il est magnifique.” Zoe sighed.
I nodded, and Zoe hopped up from her seat. “We must follow him.”
Having already paid our bill, we headed toward the door.
“Um . . . small problem,” I said. I was watching him out of the corner of my eye as Zoe led the way through the tables. “He’s walking this way. He’s coming here!”
We looked at each other, frozen into immobility, as Jean Claude crossed the street, heading right for us.
“Back, go back!” cried Zoe.
We rushed to our seats, almost spilling what remained of our wine as we knocked the table in our hurry.
I sat with my back to the patio, not wanting him to see me. “Act casual,” I hissed at Zoe, who nodded.
She relaxed in her chair, the very picture of nonchalance. She lifted her glass and took a sip, but her eyes widened, gradually, as if she were watching a slow-moving collision. I desperately wanted to turn and see what was happening, but I didn’t want to give myself away. Not yet.
Zoe lowered her glass and mouthed some words, but I’d never been good at lipreading. I had no idea what she was saying. Was she speaking French? I started to turn around, but Zoe grabbed my hand and shook her head. Did that mean—oh no, was he right behind me? I widened my eyes at her and pointed right behind me. She nodded, and I broke into a light sweat.
Jean Claude was here, mere inches away! I had to pee. No, I didn’t. It was nerves. I jogged my knee up and down. Zoe stared at me hard. I stopped. I reached for my wine. A drink would calm me down. I lifted the glass and took a sip just as I heard his voice.
It was the same deep, sweet tone I remembered, and it felt like getting dipped in warm caramel. With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair to hear more. I could catch only every other word. It sounded like he was ordering a glass of wine. I wondered if he was alone. I glanced at Zoe, who was leaning forward, as she, too, was trying to hear