Page 14 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
I pull out a chair for Annie, an act as natural to me as the Seine flowing through the city. She settles in, and her expression continues to ease—a smile that reaches her eyes, smoothing the creases of worry that had taken up residence there. The spirit of the place is working its subtle magic on her.
The waiter, his attire a nod to the timeless style of the establishment, sweeps over to our table and unfurls the menus with a practiced flourish. Annie’s eyes dart down the list, a small furrow forming between her brows.
“Je reviens pour vos commandes de boisson.”
“He said he’s going to come back for our drink order, right?” Annie whispers at me sideways.
“That’s right.”
She raises her arms in victory and then takes hold of the menu. “I could eat a horse. Oh no, that’s not actually on the menu, is it? It’s just a saying back home, but since y’all eat snails…”
“There’s no horse on the menu.”
“Thank goodness.”
“At least, not at this place.”
“Yikes! Never let me eat horse. Never-ever. What in the world isboof burgoognun?” Her accent stretches the words into something entirely new.
“Boeuf Bourguignon.” I lean in, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Imagine the most tender beef stew, slow-cooked until it's rich and full of flavor. It's not just food, Annie, it's an experience, the very definition of succulent.”
She looks up, a playful challenge in her eyes. “Sounds fancy, but you ever had Texas BBQ? Because it’ll make you wanna dance a jig in the freeway.”
A laugh escapes me. “I doubt it can beat this, but you've laid down a challenge, Annie. One day, I’ll take you up on that.”
She smiles, easy and genuine, and for a moment, the rest of the room fades away. “Deal,” she says, “but tonight, we’re on your home turf. Let’s see if this French stew can hold a candle to a Texan grill.”
The bell over the door chimes its welcome as Clément, Étienne, and Gilles make their entrance.
Clément's eyes sparkle with impishness as he leans in for a mock-confidential whisper. “Mathieu, I see you've upgraded from your usual book companion,” he teases, nodding towards Annie with a playful smirk.
“What’s this?” Étienne joins in, draping an arm over my shoulder as if we’re about to start a conspiracy. “Mathieu and the same lovely lady, two times in one day? Do we need to stage an intervention?”
Gilles raises an eyebrow as he pulls out a chair. “You should call us Cupid. Our arrows have landed you a dinner with a stunning woman.” He nudges me gently with his elbow.
“Annie has had a rough day,” I say as I brush Étienne’s arm off me.
“And she’s pickedyouto make it better?” Clément winks at Annie.
Annie meets their banter with a poised chuckle, not missing a beat. She drawls, her accent thickening for effect. “Well, boys, in Texas, we call this southern hospitality.”
Clément cozies up in the booth with us. “In France, we call it the art of seduction.”
I could smack him.
The boys laugh, their initial surprise dissolving into banter that is normally only reserved for nights out as old friends. But they're quick to fold her into our group, their playful jabs rolling off her as she laughs deep and loud, with complete abandon, and now I realize…
I have something of a crush on Annie Clayton.
The waiter sets down our dishes with a flourish that only adds to the grand reveal. Steam rises, carrying with it the aroma of butter, garlic, and something earthy and rich.
“What in tarnation isthat?” Annie points to a dish in front of Clément, her eyes wide with both curiosity and a hint of suspicion.
“That,ma chère, iscassoulet,” Clément declares with a proud nod. “A hearty stew of beans, duck, and sausage, slow-cooked to perfection.”
“And this?” Annie's finger moves to the next plate over, where a golden crust encases a mysterious filling.
“Ah, that’scoq au vin,” Étienne chimes in, spooning out a serving to reveal the tender chicken pieces simmered in a rich Burgundy wine sauce with mushrooms, pearl onions, and a hint of thyme.
