You're the One (a Bistro La Bohème novella)

Chapter 8: Natalie

What just happened? 

Adrien frowned, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. One moment she was laughing and the next, looking around in panic. When she turned back to him, disappointment was written all over her heart-shaped face. He had the impression she was blaming him for something.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

She blinked. "I'm fine. Never mind me. I do weird things sometimes."

"Who doesn't? The world would be incredibly boring if everyone behaved rationally at all times."

She smoothed her hair and looked down at her plate. "This fish is delicious but takes a hell of long a time to eat."

"Are you in a hurry?" he asked.

"Not particularly. Just making a point."

"Because if you aren't, you should absolutely order today's special for dessert. It's a lemon cheesecake. I've tried it—unforgettable."

"I'll think about it when I'm done with the fish," she said and waved at the nearest server. "Can I have another glass of Chardonnay, please?"

Adrien ordered another bottle of mineral water. It was tempting to keep her company with some wine, but he needed a clear head for his afternoon practice.

"There's one more thing that mystifies me about you," she said.

"Fire away. I live to clear up mysteries."

"Where do your . . .unique sweaters come from? If I'm not mistaken, the one you wore on Thursday was red with a green pattern, right?"

He nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

"Whereas this one is distinctly yellow. And yet it has the same . . .configuration and pattern as the other one. Are they a special order from a hippy Inuit collective in Northern Canada?"

"You overestimate my connections. They are French made."

"Seriously? Which brand? I must know."

"I'll tell you over dessert," he said.

She gave him a strange look. "I wasn't planning on having any."

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Then you'll never know about the sweaters."

Christ, this is immature, but . . .a man's got to do what a man's got to do.

She didn't answer, concentrating on removing the bones from her fish. Adrien began to panic. Had he been too forward? Did he scare her off? He really sucked at flirting. His ex had been a friend for a long while before they started dating. Before her, he'd gone out with a chess player he'd known through his club. And before the chess player . . .well, not much had happened before the chess player.

And let's not even mention the Louise episode.

He pushed the remaining food around his plate. How long before the pretty brunette asked for her check and walked out the door, never to return? He didn't know much about this girl except she was fun to talk to and lovely to look at. She appeared to be his age, and . . .lonely. That was what had given him the courage to address her in the first place. He'd watched her turn the pages of her newspaper, her eyes unseeing and her mouth turned downward. She didn't look like a person who was happy to be by herself. She looked like someone who was miserable in her solitude, who needed companionship and comfort.

Adrien's mood grew darker with every passing minute. He'd only seen this girl twice in his life, and yet thinking he may never see her again felt like a loss.

One of the servers approached her. "Will you be ordering dessert?"

"I'd like today's special, please," she said and threw Adrien a sideways look from under her lashes.

The server turned to him. "Have you finished your main course, monsieur?"

Adrien ordered the cheesecake and a glass of Chablis. There were more important things in life than keeping a clear head for afternoon practice.

"Now, what's the deal with those sweaters?" the girl asked.

"My mom spent a long time in bed last year, so she took to knitting. After a couple of months she became real good."

The girl gave him a sympathetic look. "I hope she's better now."

"She passed away six months ago," he said and added, trying to reestablish the earlier mood, "but she made enough sweaters, hats, and scarves for everyone in the family to last us a lifetime."

"I'm so sorry about your mom," she said.

"Thank you."

They remained silent for a few moments, and then he gave her a crooked smile. "You've now uncovered two crucial facts about me: I play chess and I wear handmade sweaters. Tit for tat?"

"I wouldn't call a hobby and a quirky clothing style 'crucial facts'. "

"You've just insulted me in the worst possible way." He pursed his lips and shook his head in exaggerated reproof.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said quirky—"

"It's not that. It's the hobby part. Calling a professional chess player a hobbyist is short of an insult."

"Oops." She gave him an apologetic look.

"It's OK. You couldn't have known." He smiled and held out his hand. "Adrien Aubert, International Grand Master, twice champion of France. And you are?"

She shook his hand. "Natalie Legrand, nursery school teacher."

He grinned, proud of his maneuver. Maybe his flirting skills were improving after all. If he also managed to get her phone number before she left, he'd give himself a pat on the back. In public.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Natalie."

"The pleasure is all mine." She smiled brilliantly.

Their cheesecakes and his wine arrived. Adrien made a mental note to tip the waiter generously for his timing.

"I'm curious to hear your opinion," he said pointing at the cake.

She took a forkful and chewed it slowly. "I love it. It's exactly what I need at this point in my life. Thank you."

"I'm glad I could be of help. Cheers." He raised his glass.

"To your health." She raised hers and emptied it. "Please stop me if I start babbling. I tend to do that after two glasses. I can't believe I downed two glasses of wine. With lunch. What will you think of me? There you go. I'm already babbling, aren't I?" She rolled her eyes.

"Absolutely not. You're perfectly coherent and you're making a lot of sense." He spread his hands. "I don't detect any symptoms of babbling."

"I'm relieved," she said with a smile that stole his breath. "My paranoia gets the better of me sometimes."

He watched her finish the cake and drink the last of her wine.

It's now or never. "Can I give you my phone number, Natalie? And maybe you could give me yours in return?"

She shifted in her chair, her eyes darting to the door.

Adrien, you fool, what have you done? She'll give you a scorching putdown, and that'll be the last thing you'll ever hear from her.

"I'm sorry. I made you uncomfortable. Please forget it," he muttered.

She stopped squirming and gave him a long look. Then she pulled out her phone and spoke as she tapped her fingers on the screen. "New contact . . .Adrien . . .open bracket . . .chess player . . .close bracket."

She looked up from the phone. "I'm listening."