Page 10 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
But every warning my mama ever gave me about strangers is flashing in front of my eyes.
We’re standing in this weird little bubble of awkwardness, and it’s pretty clear Mathieu’s the sort of guy who means well, the kind who’d lend you his umbrella in a downpour without a second thought. It’s the straightforward, stand-up quality about him that has me thinking he might be one of the good ones.
I narrow my eyes, half out of suspicion and half out of sheer weariness.
“You're not thinking of getting up to any monkey business, are you?”
His brows knit together. I try again, leaning into my Texan roots with an idiom I'm sure my grandpa would chuckle at.
“I'm asking if you're fixing to be a coyote trying to sneak into the hen house?”
Mathieu's puzzled expression deepens, and I sigh, dropping the colloquialisms.
“Do you intend to take advantage of me?” The words are heavy, even to my own ears.
He gasps, sheer horror crossing his face.
“No, no! I am a respectful man. I am anuncle,” he insists with a fervor that makes him almost seem larger than he is. “If any of my nieces were alone in America, I would hope someone would help them as I am offering to help you.”
His sincerity cuts through my doubts and I find myself asking, “How old are your nieces?”
“They are young—three, five, seven, eight, and ten. There are two nephews in the mix. They are the joys of my life.” He says it with such warmth that it's impossible not to believe him.
His earlier nerves are tucked away as he fishes out his phone, thumb swiping with practiced ease. “You’ve got to see a picture of them. They're rather adorable—if I do say so myself. It’s Lea’s birthday soon. She’s the oldest.” His grin is infectious, and as he flips through the pics on his phone, it’s hard not to get pulled in by the warmth of it. The photos of little tykes at birthday parties, messy with cake and wide-eyed at the camera, they do the trick. The clutter of my worries closes with each swipe of his screen.
This man, at first an ordinary footnote in my day, starts to feel like something more important. He’s like a cowboy in one of those old westerns my dad watches, all quiet confidence and no-nonsense resolve.
“Okay.” I nod. “A little nap in your hotel room.By myself.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“What a mess.”
“It could be worse. Paris is beautiful in May.” Mathieu nudges me with his elbow.
I stop pacing and fix him with a glare. “Easy for you to say, Monsieur I-Have-A-Passport. And to think that the embassy is closed. I never.”
Mathieu chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, in the spirit of May Day, perhaps you could take a rest from your troubles and let it go? I mean, it’s not like you can storm the embassy.”
I squint at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
He raises his hands in defense. “Non, non,I swear.”
But he smiles so sweetly that the edges of my mouth betray me, curling into a reluctant smile. Mathieu’s got this easy-going vibe that’s hard to resist, even if he’s poking fun at my misfortune.
“Okay, so what do French people do on Labor Day, then?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me despite my predicament.
“We relax, we enjoy time with family and friends, we have picnics, we…” Mathieu trails off, a playful gleam in his eye. “Well, I could show you, if you’d like? On our way to your nap at the hotel?”
The offer hangs in the air, tempting and sweet as the smell of pastries from the bakery we passed earlier. My brain says I should be figuring out my next steps, but my adventure-starved heart whispers,Why not?
I sigh, feigning defeat. “Lead the way, Mathieu. Show me this French Labor Day relaxation business. It better be good.”
He grins, the delight clear as day on his face. “Trust me, Annie. It’s an art form.”
CHAPTER5
Annie
