Page 38 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
“That’s not true,” I try to protest except…
It’s true.
There’s a part of me—a big part—that can’t believe this is real. Mathieu is a doll. A one of a kind. A heart so sweet that I could give up sugar.
And…
He knows I’m leaving.
How much of what we’ve built between us is purely because he knows it won’t last? How many of his thoughtful gestures, warm words, and longing looks would disappear if he knew I was staying here forever?
These are the thoughts that keep my brain swimming in the wee hours of the morning, and I’m too afraid to ask the hard questions in case I won’t like the answers.
That’s why I don’t talk about him to my friends.
“He’s a nice guy.”
“Nice!” Emilia grabs her hair. “You’ve been intensely dating the guy for two months?—”
“Not two months, remember?”
“Okay, fine, there was that couple of weeks you’d lost each other, but then hesaved your lifeand he’s justnice?”
Emilia sure loves the drama, but she’s not wrong either.
“He's funny, too, like he could charm the stripes off a raccoon. And lord, the man can cook. Makes a meancoq au vinthat could even win over my mama.”
The girls circle in like wagons on the prairie, their eyes all fixed on me, waiting for the lowdown on this French fella who’s got me all wound up.
“He's got this smile that makes you want to smile right back, even if you're not in the mood for it.”
Charlotte nudges me, a sly grin spreading across her face. “And?” she probes, her eyebrow arching in a challenge.
“And he's patient, like a saint. Doesn't even bat an eye when I get all tangled up in my words trying to speak French.”
“Girl!” Charlotte cries. “You haven’t said a single thing about that beautiful body!”
Boom, my cheeks heat up like Texas asphalt in July. “Alright, alright,” the words tumbling out with less of a filter, “he’s sweet and kind and when he looks at me, it's like he sees right down to the bottom of my soul. Like he knows just what to say to make the world feel right again, especially when I’m questioning why on earth I threw myself into a country where I don’t speak the language and fit in as well as the Eiffel Tower at a ranch.” I bite my lip, a little tremble in my voice as I press on. “He’s everything I hoped for but didn’t have words for. Maybe that’s a bold thing to say, but it’s true. That’s how I feel and I can’t deny it.”
The silence that follows is thick with unspoken words and shared glances among the girls. Even the clink of glasses and the sounds of the city beyond our little oasis can't fill it. They're all staring, their expressions a mix of awe and delight, caught up in the sincerity spilling from my lips.
I feel like crying.
“But what's the use?” I finish in a whisper, suddenly unable to look at anything but my hands. “Five weeks left is all, and then it's back to Sage for me.”
The room falls a touch quieter, all ears now finely tuned to the frequency of my heartstrings.
Emilia leans her chin in her hand, her gaze softening. “Honey, five weeks is a lifetime, if you spend it right. And it sounds like Mathieu's doing everything in his power to show you that.”
Five weeks or not, Mathieu's got me roped and tied in a way I can't quite explain.
Charlotte reaches out, covering my hand with hers and smiling all the way to her eyes. “You’ve got it bad.”
I nod quickly. The room stays quiet, the sense of truth loud enough as it is.
Until the door swings open.
“Well, look who the wind gusted in!” Charlotte shoulder-bumps me as if I didn’t see perfectly well who it is.
