I'd Like to Trade my Sunglasses for a Tiara Please? *ON HOLD*

Chapter 2: The Click

After I finally get my shower and apply light makeup, I scrunch my hair and let it fall to its natural curls and slide on the dress.  I put on some comfortable wedge shoes and go to the courtyard we were at last night.

There aren't too many people out so i decide to sit on the fountain.  I run my hand through the water while I wait.  After a few minutes, I noticee someone sitting down beside me.  When I look up, I see him.

"Hey, I'm sorry I'm late," he looks sort of upset.

"It's totally fine, besides your not even that late," I shoot him a smile and he smiles back.

"Ok lets go, then," he suggests as he stands.

"What play are we going to see?"

"Les Miz."

"Oh my gosh!  I love that play!  I've probably seen it four times," I smile.  It is my favorite play.  I've loved it growing up, and it was the reason I decided to take French in the first place.

The play is amazing, but the whole thing is spoken in French so if I hadn't seen it so many times, I probably wouldn't know what's going on.  I cry just the same.  It's something I do every time I see the show.  It's a standing ovation when the curtain call comes; and the curtain falls, our cue to start heading out.

"Are you sure they will be able to understand me?" I'm really worried.  Even though I've lived in California for five years, I still have a hint of my Tennessee accent.

"I understand you perfectly," he smiles his intoxicating smile, and I smile back.  That reassures me a little bit, but not much.

The interview goes perfectly and Michel is kind enough to translate with the actors who can't speak English.  Next is the part that's even more scary than interviewing famous French actors, and that's lunch with Michel.

We're seated almost immediately, which is weird in itself because there are people sitting, waiting on a table.  People are staring at me.  I mean, goodness, it's like they've never seen an American before.

"So have you ever been here before?" I ask, seeing the waitress who seems flustered around Michel.

"A few times, why do you ask?" he looks up from his menu curiously.

"Well, the waitress is acting weird around you, and people keep staring at me so I was wondering if maybe these people were trying to figure out why I'm with you."

"Your partially right," he says with his famous smirk.

"And what does that mean," I question, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a French thing.  You wouldn't understand," he smirks again.  I realize he isn't being rude.  There's something he either doesn't want to tell me now or while we're surrounded by people.

We eventually order and just laugh and talk while enjoying our meal.  It's so delicious; but because it's good, I make Michel promise not to tell me what's in it.  I know the French have a custom of preparing weird foods; and if I find out what it is, I probably won't finish it.  

I learn that Michel makes the most adorable faces when he laughs.  I tell him about my life in America and the move from Tennessee to California.  He laughs at the fact I accidentally slip up and say y'all.  I tried to leave the whole accent in Tennessee, but I use it to my advantage if I realize a guy thinks the small southern accent is sexy.  

Michel, on the other hand, just laughs at me, but says he thinks it's cute.  I glare at him, and we both start laughing harder.

When he finally drops me off at my hotel it's 4:00.  He parks the car and opens my door for me.