Page 77 of I Love You in French

“You’ve got a beautiful thing happening here, but I don’t need to be reminded of it every second of every day, okay? And no, you’re not being subtle with your pining glances whenever you’re in the same room.”

Rafe smirks while he draws on the table with his finger, the swirling motions somehow making me warm too. Ah, love.

“Lily—or Lils,” he laughs as she winces. She doesn’t shut him down for the nickname, though, which means he’s officially in. “What kind of person is your type?”

She shakes her head furiously. “I don’t have a type. I just pray over myself and keep moving forward.”

“Huh,” is all that Rafe says.

Suddenly, I remember the man from the train station. My eyes light up as I turn to look her way, an idea striking me like it came from the heavens. “Lils,” I say, looking pointedly at Rafe to get one of his signature grins. “What about the guy I mentioned at the train station? I still have his card somewhere ...probably.”

“Is he handsome?” Lily asks far too intensely.

“Wouldn’t suggest otherwise.”

“And what’s his name? You know I have a thing with names. They need to work together.” She points her finger between me and Rafe again. “You two lucked out.”

She’s not wrong. But I see the way she’s tensing, covering up for something I know has been locked away in her emotional vault since a few years ago. I would say it was around the same time as the loss of my father, but I don’t know if that’s my perspective because of where I was in my grief or an actual observation.

“Greg? No...” I tap my fingers on the table. Suddenly, I picture him clearly. “Oh! Graham. His name is Graham.”

Lily’s eyes widen, and I watch her face turn a shade paler.

“Lily, are you okay?” I ask, placing my hand on her forearm.

Rafe sharply turns his head toward me and lifts a brow. “Wait. Did you say Graham? As in my best-friend-turned-manager and soon-to-be-ex-roommate Graham Winnings?”

I grin innocently and watch as he puts two and two together.

“I can’t deny he has good taste. But you two wouldn’t have worked. He seems more suited for ...” He looks up at Lily before focusing intently on the table. “You know, there’s a story there. I think he really loved someone, and ...”

“Mashed potatoes!” Lily nearly screeches as she rises to her feet, a finger pointing in the air like she just made an earth-shattering declaration and not the bizarre response she actually gave.

There’s silence. Crickets, really, as Rafe and I look at Lily. I catch a glance and see his mouth slightly open, and I force mine to close. Before either of us can say anything more, Lily is at the stove, frantically stirring a pot that’s been off the heat for an hour.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Rory. I just remembered I’ve sworn off men, and now it’s time for our pie,” she says casually while I’m still trying to catch up.

“But you just said ...” I don’t get a chance to finish before a pie plate is dropped in front of us, the whipped cream shifting a bit at the velocity with which it was placed on the table. Rafe carefully grabs the slicer from Lily’s fist and starts dishing out the pumpkin goodness to our plates. I don’t like pumpkin pie as-is, so Lily always makes a pumpkin cheesecake for me with pumpkin macarons on top and calls it “pie.” She says that anything in a pie tin can be called a pie, even if it isn’t one. I know she just doesn’t want me to feel bad, so add it as another reason why she’s a gem of a friend, even if she has seemingly lost it in the past two minutes.

“Are we going to talk about—”

“No. So, Rafe, how’s the apartment search going?”

And that’s how we transition from one of the most awkward moments for Lily I’ve ever seen in my life. Rafe, bless him, never mentions the outburst, and I place a hand on his leg and squeeze gently as a sign of gratitude. He softly smiles at me and shifts his attention back to Lily. And this is how we continue for the next few hours. Light and fun conversation, lots of laughter, extra slices of our “pie,” more espresso for Rafe, and even a Christmas movie on in the background while we play a board game. It’s a magical evening, and I don’t miss the way my heart seems to lift at the beauty that is me and the two people I hold most dear spending a quiet holiday together. And after the mention of Graham, I also don’t miss the way Lily’s hand shakes each time she lifts her spoon to her mouth.

Chapter Thirty

Rafe

Sparrow and I stop at the market in town to get some things for dinner. We both had a photo shoot today—her for pictures for her upcoming cookbook and me for new headshots for my music. I used to think those things were miserable. But they got my best side today, for sure, since I was looking at her the whole time.

She’s been adorably talking about Paris, and for the first time in a long while, I really do feel ready to go back again. My father has not reached out since our run-in in Boston, but my mother did ask about my address. In her note, she mentioned that it was no bother to send me some sweaters from their last collection that didn’t sell as well, but I recognized one on the top of the pile that was featured on their most famous model. I took that as a sign that she was trying.

Speaking of trying, Sparrow and I have been scouring the aisles for the last ten minutes. It’s taking us ages to walk through this tiny store as we keep stopping every few ingredients or aisles to look into each other’s eyes and talk about nothing. It’s not productive at all. I love it.

“How about a picnic?” I ask, my eyes focused on her chocolatey eyes.

“In the freezing cold?” She grins, a knowing look that tells me she knows I haven’t been paying attention to our mission in the least.

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