One Summer in Paris(52)

They’d eaten dinner twice, and each time Grace had insisted that Audrey order in French.

The first time, Audrey had almost walked away. “I’ll mess it up.” She’d shrunk in her chair as the waiter approached. “I’ll order octopus by accident.”

“Do you know the word for octopus?”

“No.”

“Then how can you possibly order it by accident? What do you want to eat?”

“Chicken and fries.”

“And you know the words for those because we learned them yesterday.” Grace had been cheerfully persistent. “If you don’t do it, I’ll stand up and do my chicken impression.”

“You wouldn’t.” Audrey got ready to dive under the table.

“If you can talk about bodily functions at the top of the Eiffel Tower, I can do my chicken impression. Order. Have confidence. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Apart from ordering octopus? The list is endless.” But under Grace’s watchful eye she’d stumbled over the words, ordered herself chicken with a side of fries, and been both surprised and delighted when the food that arrived was exactly what she’d ordered.

“Well, hey—nothing with eight legs.” Feeling ridiculously proud of herself, she poked at the chicken with her fork and saw Grace smile.

That had been the night before and now they were in a different restaurant, this time close to the river.

Having had success the night before, Audrey ordered the same thing again. She loved this bistro, with its tablecloths and waiters in aprons. “So you prefer the apartment to the hotel?”

“Definitely. It’s charming.” Grace had ordered a salad, although it was more elaborate than any salad Audrey had seen before.

Audrey emptied the bowl of fries onto her plate alongside the chicken and heaped salt over them. She saw Grace wince. “What?”

“That’s a lot of salt. And you ate the same thing last night, too.”

“I know. Delicious. Or délicieux, as you’d probably make me say.”

“Would you like a little of my salad?”

“No thanks. It’s too green.”

“Green is good for you.”

“Not everything green is good for you. Caterpillars are green, although you’re probably about to tell me that the French eat them.” Audrey tucked into her food. “So today in the salon I learned five new words, and tomorrow I have a date so I need you to teach me a few very specific words for that.”

“You have a date? That’s exciting. Who with?”

“It’s private, Grace. I don’t ask you about your sex life.”

“I don’t have a sex life. I’m a sad, soon-to-be divorcée, remember? But I hope you have fun on your date. Not that you want my opinion, but I think Etienne is pretty cute.”

Audrey put her fork down. “How do you know it’s Etienne?”

“I hope it’s Etienne.” She caught Audrey’s eye. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you. When you’re both in the bookshop at the same time it’s like a lab experiment.”

“He looks at me?”

“You know he does. And then there is the fact that he jumped to your defense when Elodie wanted to fire you.”

“She did fire me.” Audrey fiddled with her fork. “He defended me? What did he say? You never did tell me.”

“He reminded her what it was like to be a student and short of money. I was impressed that he was willing to risk his own relationship with Elodie to support you.”

“Yeah, I’m impressed, too.” She wondered how far Etienne would have gone. “So if I killed someone do you think he’d hide the body?”

“Let’s not put that to the test,” Grace said. “Where are you going on your date? Dinner? Dancing?”

Audrey acknowledged the generation gap with a grin. “You mean like tango and stuff? I don’t think so.” Although a naked tango had come to mind more than once during the week. Grace was right that she and Etienne had exchanged a few long, lingering glances. She was fairly sure he was interested, and she was definitely interested. She’d never felt this way before. Grace had caught her grinning at nothing a couple of times, and that had been embarrassing although also nice in a way. Grace noticed things.

She wondered what Etienne had planned for their date. Would they grab a drink and then go back to Etienne’s place for crazy sex? And what about alcohol? She didn’t drink, but she didn’t want Etienne to think she wasn’t cool.

She felt a ripple of nerves. Her sex life so far involved a few deeply unsatisfying encounters on top of a pile of coats at house parties. Deep down she was terrified there might be something wrong with her. What if her messed-up childhood had messed up other parts of her? She could never let go and relax. She was so bad at it she ended up thinking about something else or worrying. Anxiety about her mother had been a permanent burn in her insides. “I guess we might go to a club. Or maybe back to his place.”

On the other hand if the sex was terrible, that might be awkward.

Still, the idea that she could finally do whatever she wanted without having to think about her mother or anyone else left her feeling breathless. This was the type of freedom she’d been longing for. She had an apartment. A job. An almost boyfriend. She was in Paris.