There’s nothing worse than having sex when you have a food baby—except maybe having food-baby sex with your flatmate who’s been secretly in love with you forever. That’s probably worse.
“Please tell me she’s not going to insist we have dessert.”
His look said, “What do you think?” I thought I was going to burst open like that man in The Meaning of Life. I pictured Anna trying to shovel a cannoli into my mouth while telling me, “It’s only wafer thin,” in Italian.
“Could I get away with just an Amaretto instead?” I asked.
“Let’s try.” This time, it was Jean-Luc who winked at me.
Anna pardoned us from dessert, and I could have kissed her. I probably wouldn’t need to eat again until dinner the next night. Carlo brought two glasses of Amaretto to the table and before leaving, leant down to say in my ear, “Mamma still likes you.” He left before I could react.
I smiled to myself. It really had been an incredible meal—an incredible night, actually—if I forgot about nearly bursting into tears at the wine bar.
“Dis-moi, tu es heureuse?” I didn’t quite catch what he was asking me. “Happy?” he added, helpfully.
I watched those intense green eyes watching me. “Yes. Very. It’s been a lovely date.” He smiled, licked that bottom lip again, and my lady parts lit up like a frigging pinball machine.
An important question leapt to mind: How was I going to ever see him naked if I didn’t know when I would see him again?
“So …” we both started at the same time.
“You, please,” he said, deferring.
“I … how do I say this?” The wine, the Amaretto—my mind wasn’t clear. I couldn’t just come out and say, “Hey, I really want to shag you senseless—you coming to mine, or should I pop ’round to yours?” Especially because “mine” and “yours” were in two different countries.
I chickened out. “Can you go first, instead?”
“But, of course. I was going to say, it has been wonderful seeing you, hearing about your life, meeting Catherine the woman.”
I smiled and nodded. “Yes. Likewise, meeting Jean-Luc the man.” A little smile played on his lips. He obviously had more to say, so I shut up.
“Our last time together, in Paris, I said something about the Eurostar. London is not so far, you know.” I did know and felt my head nod without me telling it to. “I just think I would like to spend more time with you … to see …”
To see? To see what? My naked body? Because if that’s what he meant, I was definitely on board. I mentally booked into some Pilates classes and I didn’t even do Pilates.
He continued. “Because, twenty years, it is a long time. Well, less, really, because of the letters, but still …” Still? I really wasn’t following his train of thought. I willed my alcohol-fuzzed brain to focus. “I mean, yes, we are adults now, but I believe there are some things, our true selves, which stay the same our whole lives. Oui?”
Sure, I guess.
As if he knew he needed to spell it out for me, he finally got to his point. “And, I admit I’m a little embarrassed for my teenaged self. It must have been so obvious, even if he never had the courage to say so, that he was in love with you.”
Oh, I see.
Wait, what???
Chapter 12
His words hung in the air and I told myself to close my mouth.
Jean-Luc looked at his lap, closed his eyes and shook his head, seeming to chastise himself. I didn’t want him to feel bad about what he’d said, but I’d been caught off-guard.
I reached for one of his hands across the table right as he said, “I am sorry.” And there he was, the boy I knew so many years ago. He was there in the hang of Jean-Luc’s head and the whisper of his voice. My heart broke a little. I had missed him so much. I had to make this right.
“No, I’m sorry. I … I had no idea. I was only a kid—and so stupid. Please, look at me.” He did, reluctantly. “There’s so much …” My own thoughts were a jumble and the alcohol wasn’t helping. I shook my head hoping to clear the fuzziness from my thoughts, then looked him in the eye.
“First, I need to make you understand, I deeply regret ending our friendship.” He started to speak and I cut him off. “No, I know you said in Paris that it was all right, but it wasn’t. It isn’t. I was immature and stupid and you didn’t deserve that. If I could go back and tell my ex to bugger right off I would. He had no right to insist I stop writing to you and I shouldn’t have. I was a coward, and I’m sorry.”
He nodded, and I hoped he truly understood my regret—that he would accept my apology for what it was—heartfelt and honest.
“And, I didn’t know how you felt back then.” I couldn’t say the words, “that you were in love with me.” They were too real, and if I accepted those words, I would have far more to mourn than the loss of a friend. At some point I would have to unpack the “sliding doors” possibilities of what could have been, but not right then.
“How could you not?” He didn’t seem cross or defensive, just perplexed.
I smiled, laughing at myself. “Did you hear the part about me being stupid?” He smiled, sort of, pulling his mouth into a taut line—a sad, fraught smile. I kept holding his hand and I tightened my grip. “I’m sorry, all right? Please tell me you forgive me—for everything, for all of it?”
His face softened and he nodded, squeezing my hand in return. “Of course, I forgive you.”
A sheen of tears slicked my eyes. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “And I do think we should make plans to see each other again. I’ve loved tonight, and I loved spending time with you in Paris.”
This time his smile had joy in it. “We will rediscover our friendship, non?”
“Yes. You know the thing you said about us being inherently the same people our whole lives—I think that’s true. I think it’s why it’s been so easy between us tonight.”
“And because I am super hot, as you say.” He had a knack for breaking the tension when it all got too intense and I rolled my eyes, playfully.
“I know I told you that false modesty is unattractive, but so is conceit,” I teased.
“I will keep this in mind,” he replied with a twitch of his mouth. God, I wanted to kiss that mouth. But with what he’d revealed and everything we’d just said, I knew it would muddy things. Bollocks to hell and back again.
Jean-Luc glanced at his watch. I knew we needed to leave the restaurant soon and the thought of saying goodbye made me feel a little sick. I still didn’t know when we would see each other again. All we’d agreed was that we lived close enough for it to happen.
“We should—” he said.
“Yes, we should.” I lifted my head and caught Carlo’s eye, then signalled for the bill with the universal “drawing on my hand” gesture. He nodded and held up a finger.
“I am buying dinner,” said Jean-Luc.
“I’m going to have to say no to that. You bought the drinks—you insisted on buying the drinks—and besides, this has been one of the best meals I’ve ever had. You already did your part—you brought me here.” I aborted another attempted protest with, “Please.” He acquiesced with a slight tilt of his head.