Page 24 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
As I find the edge of the dance floor, the joy faltering in my chest, a melancholy washes over me. Imagine if he were here. Imagine it really had been him today. Imagine…
It's a funny thing, how the heart holds on, how a shadow can stir up a sea of memories and wishes for what could have been.
I shake my head, pushing away the wistful thoughts.
“Get a grip, Annie,” I mutter to myself.
“Come on, girl!” Charlotte calls, and with a deep breath, I'm back, the music reclaiming me, wrapping me up and helping me forget that man.
Almost.
As the last notes of a particularly rambunctious number fade out, I'm caught standing still in a sea of dancers. Without realizing it, my eyes scan the crowd—but there’s absolutely no reason he would be here.
“Ines,” I start, not quite meeting her eye, “you ever get the feeling you're just chasing ghosts?”
She follows my gaze, her own sharp as a hawk. “Honey,” she says, laying a hand on my arm, “if you're talking about tall, dark, and mysteriously absent, you've gotta stop letting him haunt you.”
Her words make me wince. “Do I really talk about him that much?”
“Giiiiiiirl…”
Luca chimes in, his Italian accent rolling through the air. “You're in Paris, bella. It's a city for lovers, not for longing.” He winks, but there's a serious glint in his eyes.
Camille, ever the pragmatist, crosses her arms. “Clearly the man has issues, leaving you like that,” she says bluntly. “Or maybe he's got his reasons. Paris is big, life is complicated.”
I sigh, because what else can I do? “Yeah, I know. It's just…” My voice trails off, the words sticking in my throat like peanut butter since they just make me sound even sillier.
Charlotte, who's been quiet up to now, leans in. “You know what we say in French, 'Cherchez l'homme,' find the man. But maybe you need to find yourself first, huh?”
I listen, I really do, but there's a stubborn part of me that clings to the flicker of something real I felt with Mathieu. I nod, more to myself than to them, tucked in the knowledge that whatever Mathieu's reasons, whatever this city holds for me, I'm here for the ride—and it has to be on my own terms.
The music slows, and the crowd thins, drifting off into the night like leaves on the Seine. I hang back, watching the last few dancers shuffle off the floor as my friends laugh about whatever ridiculous joke Charlotte just told.
What a month.
I've found my stride in this city, carving out a little niche that feels like mine, but there's always this shadow, just at the edge of my vision. It's got the shape of Mathieu, and sometimes it feels like I can almost hear his laugh over my shoulder.
The city's lights flicker like distant stars, and I think about how Mathieu left things—a kiss on the forehead with the hotel bill paid and breakfast waiting on a tray.
A quiet goodbye that wasn't really a goodbye at all.
There’s a noise in my room when I get back to the hostel, and that sure doesn’t belong.
Mathieu?
But when I ease the door open, it isn’t Mathieu waiting for me—it's a sleek black cat, perched right there on my pillow like he owns the place. “Well, ain’t you as cute as a button,” I coo. Sure, I’m disappointed, but a fluffy friend is the next best thing.
I give the lil' critter a once-over, just like I do with my feline boys back in Texas, checking for any unwelcome hitchhikers, fleas or ticks. Lucky for both of us, this kitty's as clean as a whistle, though he's missing a collar. He’s a real mystery guest. I crack open the window, setting him on the sill, thinking he might scamper off into the Paris night.
But nope, this cat's got other plans. He just sits there, looking at me with those big ol' eyes.
“Stay as long as you like,” I say, and get myself ready for bed. He’ll make his exit eventually, going back out the way he came in.
But when I finally slip under the covers, that darn cat hops right up, curling up at my feet like we've been roomies for years.
“Guess I got me a sleepover buddy,” I murmur. What is it about a cat snoozing at your feet that feels like all is well in the world?
After a night like tonight, life is definitely feeling more settled. I have found a new peace here. But this itsy-bitsy touch of hope still hangs on that Mathieu might appear. Who knows, maybe our paths will cross again.
