Finding Paris

Red Roses, French Waiters, and Backpackers

Finding Paris

Chapter Six: Red Roses, French Waiters, and Backpackers

 

The wagon finally rolled to a stop just when I thought I was going to throw up. I unpeeled my arms from my face and looked around. I had to squint from the glaring afternoon sun. My head was still spinning but I noticed Jared was looking at me with a funny expression on his face.

"You know, you really are one of a kind," he voiced out, all serious and all like he was about to announce something very important, "I have never met anyone who gets dizzy from a slow, lulling wagon ride."

I would have said something scathing back, but I was in no condition to think of witty comebacks. I simply rested my head on top of a sack of disgusting peas. See? I even tolerate peas all of a sudden because of this little incident.

"Hey, Princess,"Jared called,"We need to get off here."

I had quit asking him not to call me that halfway through the trip.

I looked around, lifting my all too heavy head. We were in some sort of town, but it wasn't the one with the train station, I was sure. The woman who gave us free apples was nowhere to be seen. This place was a notch more urban than the first town which had looked like a medieval town from a story book, but not by much. The wagon was parked - Are wagons parked? - by this supermarket place. Perry was speaking to a woman in a shabby floral dress and a handsewn apron with his back to the wagon.

"Why should we get off? This isn't the same town."

"Well, it's the only town we're going unless you want to ride the wagon back to Yssa and her crazy mother," he replied, "Hurry up, he's unloading the peas."

Jared jumped cleanly off the side of the wagon. Panicked at the prospect of being discovered, I threw all of my bags on the ground then clambered down as ungracefully as I had climbed up. Jared, probably taking pity on me finally, helped me down. He surprised me when he put both hands on either side of my waist, making my hands all clammy and thus, making me slip. I've never had a guy touch me before, nor have I had one come this close to me unaccidentally.

He caught me around my waist, even though I was absolutely sure he was going to let me fall on my ass. I instantly felt all too conscious of his arms around my soft bulging belly.

He let go immediately, setting me down on my feet, and I murmured a thanks, unable to face him, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

I grabbed my bags once more and followed Jared's retreating back. As usual, I struggled to keep up with his long strides. It also did not help that the sun was shining down upon us in all its afternoon glory. He entered this cute little bistro nearby and signalled the waiter for a menu. I took a seat at the chair across from him, a little short of breath and very sweaty.

I gulped down the service water the waiter had brought along with the menu. It felt like drinking from an oasis in the middle of the desert. I was that thirsty. I watched Jared point at something in the menu and communicate with his hands. 

"Hey, what do you want to eat?" he asked, finally acknowledging me. Both Jared and the waiter were looking at me. The waiter was an average attractive European, but he had nothing on Jared's looks. He topped up my glass with more water which I downed in another unatrractive swallow.

Which reminds me... What is it about Europeans that make them attractive by default? Is it the weather? The genes? The general charm of the country?

I looked at the menu but the words seemed to swim right in front of my eyes.

"Whatever you're having," I answered since I couldn't understand a thing from the menu. There weren't any drawings I could refer to either. They were just fancy elegantly written French words and corresponding prices enclosed in a leather folder.