Page 32 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
“I risk saying too much,” I blurt out. “The first time we met, I felt something. Somethingbig. I've never opened up so quickly to anyone. But that’s too much to unload on her at once.”
“I agree.”
“But you know what I’m like. Once I get started, it’ll all fly out of me.”
Clément signals the barman for a pen, then slides a napkin in front of me.
“Write it down, all of it.”
“On a napkin?”
He nods. “This way, when you talk to Annie tomorrow—and you will—you can just be a normal guy, having gotten this all out of your system.”
“Out of my system…” I nod, seeing the simple wisdom in his words. “And exactly what do I write here?”
“Say it all, buddy. Hold nothing back.”
I take the pen, my hand steady as I start to write, my heart pouring onto the napkin in words I'd never dare to say out loud.
In the briefest of moments with you, I felt a new future in front of me…
It's like a dam breaks. The words flow, a torrent of unspoken emotions, fears, and hopes. When I finally put the pen down, I feel lighter than I have in months.
Clément watches, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “There you go,mon ami. Now practice your opening line.”
I clear my throat. “Hello, Annie.”
Clément grins and lifts his beer. “That’s perfect.”
CHAPTER14
Annie
I’m jabbingat the outdoor ATM keys like they've personally offended me, but all I get for my troubles is another blasted message flashing “Transaction Denied.” My card hangs out of the slot, mocking me.
“C’mon, darling, don’t do me like this,” I grumble under my breath, giving the card a hopeful last push.
No luck. I stuff the stubborn piece of plastic into my wallet and wait for the molasses-like sliding double door to finally allow me passage. The air inside smells like paper and impatience, and I can only hope my charm can work some magic here the way it does back home.
“Excusez-moi, ma'am,” I start, pasting on my brightest, most hopeful smile as I approach the teller. “The machine isn’t working with my card, even though my bank back home said everything should work fine.”
The teller looks at me like I just stepped out of a spaceship, her gaze as cold as the bank's marble floors. I can already tell this isn’t about to be any Texas two-step; it's more like a step-by-step back out the door.
The teller peers at me over her glasses, her lips pressed into a line that could slice bread.
“Mademoiselle, you need to call your bank in America, no?” she says, her voice flat as a day-old soda.
My smile falters, but I nod, trying to keep the friendly Texas spirit alive. “I did. That's what I'm trying to tell you. And they said everything is clear on their end, so it must be a problem with the machine.”
She clacks away at her keyboard, eyes never meeting mine, and I feel about as welcome as a rattlesnake at a square dance.
“The system says everything is fine with the machine. Maybe you should just try it again.” She gestures with an open arm, but it's more venom than honey.
“Try again. Okay, sure. I'll do that.”
I know what's going to happen, that same old “transaction denied.” And then I'll have to go in and face that woman again.
I plug in my pin code. Why would a bank have only one teller on a Friday morning? Sheesh!
