Page 35 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
Annie's standing there with all the poise of a seasoned professor, yet there’s a spring in her step that tells you she's anything but ordinary. “Alright, y'all, let's talk about love,” she announces, a conspiratorial grin spreading across her face. “And in English, we've got about as many ways to talk about it as there are recipes for barbecue back in Texas.”
“Falling in love, you see, it’s not about tripping over something—it’s about… well, I guess sometimes it is about not watching where you're going,” she quips, a glint of humor in her eye as she sneaks a glance my way.
“Tomber amoureux,” a woman in a sleek dress winks. “We have ze same expression in French.”
Annie continues. “Well, there you go. And once you’ve fallen in love, you just might end up ‘head over heels’, for which I highly recommend a helmet.” She grimaces at me and I laugh out loud that time.
“Pardon,” I nod to my café neighbor.
“I have heard ‘wear your heart on your sleeve’ but I do not know what it means,” says an older man with a shock of silver hair that has landed him on a magazine cover. The CEO of Boudrier is widely known across the country for his business prowess and romantic missteps with many beautiful actresses.
“Wear your heart on your sleeve. Let me think…” She makes an adorable face that shows she’s thinking and bites her lip. Oh, those lips. Was it really just moments ago I was feeling those lips against mine?
“Okay, imagine this,” Annie rubs her hands together. “You're CEOs, right? You walk into a big meeting, but instead of your high-powered business suit, you're wearing a T-shirt that says, 'I'm really nervous about this merger!' That's 'wearing your heart on your sleeve'. It means letting everyone see your feelings as clearly as if they were plastered on your outfit. No hiding behind a poker face or a fancy suit. It’s like broadcasting your emotions in neon lights at Times Square, or the Eiffel Tower, for that matter.”
“That seems to lack some subtlety.”
“Exactly!” Annie points at the man and he sits a little taller. Seems even CEOs can feel proud when the teacher encourages them. “When someone wears their heart on their sleeve, they're about as subtle with their feelings as a bullhorn at a library!”
The CEOs erupt in laughter, and Annie rides the wave, her lesson flowing from the language of love to the rituals that go with it.
“And don’t get me started on dating,” she says, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “In America, we’ve got this tradition of giving flowers and chocolates. I mean, who decided chocolates were romantic? Give me a good steak, and now we’re talking!”
A man who has thus far been quiet speaks up. “And what about 'playing the field'?”
“Oh, honey, that’s when you’re sampling the buffet instead of sitting down for a full meal.”
A knowing set of hums in agreement cross the table, their expressions a mix of amusement and pursed lips by those who have likely been burned by the “playing field” before.
Their conversation continues, but every so often, Annie loses her train of thought, her gaze drifting to where I sit. There's a dance to her teaching, a rhythm that's as enchanting as any melody, and I’m utterly transfixed by the sight and sound of her so close.
Her brown eyes see me at last.
As she wraps up, she leaves them with a parting thought.
“Remember, folks, the language of love might be universal, but it's got a thousand different accents. For now, I’m happy as a clam to hear it in French.” She winks, and for a moment, our eyes lock.
I think I just melted onto the floor.
The café empties of the CEOs and other lunchtime crowds, leaving behind a faint buzz. I stand, my chair scraping softly against the tiled floor. In a few strides, I'm there, in front of her, and not a single word comes to mind.
Annie looks up, her eyes wide with an emotion I can't quite name, but I feel it in my chest. Time pauses, a breath held, a moment stretched thin, and then we're reaching for each other. Her head tucks under my chin and keeping her close is the only thing on my mind.
“I feel like I almost died.”
“You almost did.”
She squeezes tighter. Our embrace is a homecoming, arms wrapped, hands clasping, hearts pressing close through the layers of fabric between us.
It’s everything I ever dreamed and more.
Her warmth seeps into me, her strength, her vitality, and it's like every moment I spent watching her from afar is melting away. We're silent, but in this quiet is a song that's been waiting to resume since the day I walked away.
Still wrapped in our silent cocoon of rediscovery, we barely notice the barista approaching until his voice, laced with playful mirth, cuts through the quiet.
“I always say it's the coffee that brings people together, but I think you two have your own special blend,” he quips, nodding at our entwined figures with a knowing smile and placing two cookies in front of us.
The spell briefly breaks, and we step apart just enough to share a sheepish glance, our cheeks flushed from more than just the closeness.
