Page 41 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
“I wouldn't miss it.”
“There will be a lot of squealing and crying and games played.”
“Then I’ll fit right in.”
“You’ll meet all the family, and there’s a lot of them. You sure?” His voice hopeful, but I can hear the undercurrent of nerves.
The idea sends a thrill through me, but it's tangled up with a twinge of something else—something that feels a lot like mortal terror.
“I can't wait.”
I'm standing there, drying off a plate, and the truth hits me like a freight train on a wild run—five weeks are not nearly enough. It's funny how life throws you a curveball, and suddenly you're standing in a Parisian kitchen, wishing time could just take a breather.
Mathieu smiles at me as I pass the dishes and he puts them away, like this isn’t the first night and this domestic living is what we’ve always done. Every time he smiles, it feels like I'm home. Not Texas home, but that deep-down, soul-settling kind of home.
I reckon I've foundthat thing, the kind that songs go on about, the kind that makes you believe in all those fairy tales Granny used to tell.
Five weeks.
Time's got its own ideas, and mine are ticking away with every click of that old hostel clock. Five weeks to soak up every laugh, every kiss, every “bonjour” that comes rolling off Mathieu's tongue like music. Five weeks to make memories enough to last a lifetime, hoping against hope that it'll be enough when I'm back on Texas soil, staring at the stars that don't shine quite the same as they do here in Paris.
How do you say goodbye to a world that's just starting to feel like your own? How do you leave a man who's got you thinking that he is the home you always wanted?
CHAPTER17
Mathieu
The trainto Versailles hums beneath us, a steady rhythm that feels like it's tapping out the seconds we have left.
One month.
As we speed through the French countryside, the green blur of trees and fields is a welcome breath of fresh air. I glance at Annie, her face pressed against the window, eyes wide with wonder, and I already miss her.
Time is a luxury we're running out of. I memorize the curve of her smile, the way the sunlight filters through her hair, turning it to spun gold.
Fortunately, I know Léa’s birthday will offer plenty of distraction, and I can’t wait to see how Annie fits in. It’s not a question ofif, it’s a question ofhow. Because I already know they are going to love her.
Today, I get to show her a piece of my past, but what I really want is to build a future—a thought that's both exhilarating and terrifying in its intensity. Versailles is approaching, the grandeur of its history merely a backdrop.
Annie's quieter than usual, her normal stream of easy banter slowed to a trickle. “You're quiet today,” I say, nudging her gently. “Nervous about meeting everyone?”
She turns to me, a half-smile dancing on her lips. “Well, it's like this time back in Sage, I got roped into a chili cook-off with no clue how to cook chili. I mean, I can eat it with the best of them, but cook it?” She laughs, a light, tinkling sound that eases the tightness in my chest. “I ended up mixing in some Dr. Pepper and who knows what else. It was a hot mess, but hey, I won 'Most Original Chili.'”
I blink, a little lost in translation, but the sparkle in her eye tells me it's a story of unexpected triumph.
“The point is,” she continues, her grin widening, “of course I'm nervous. But I'll make the best of the situation anyhow. And who knows? Maybe I'll win 'Most Original Girlfriend.'”
The train slows, pulling into the station, and her hand finds mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I squeeze back, grateful for her presence and her unwavering spirit. “You’re here, Annie. I’m the winner.”
“Mathieu! Annie!” Anne-Laure waves like crazy with the minivan waiting to whisk us to the birthday bash a few minutes down the road. “She is even prettier without flour all over her face.” Anne-Laure winks and gives Annie the customary kisses on the cheek. “I mean that in the best way.”
“So taken.” Annie smiles back.
We arrive into the chaos of jubilant children and a medley of French and English greetings. My nieces and nephews, a swarm of youthful energy, zoom past us in a blur of laughter and squeals, their arms laden with balloons and faces painted like jungle animals.
Annie doesn't miss a beat, setting down her bag and diving into the fray with a gusto that's all Texas charm and fearless curiosity. Before I know it, she's corralling the kids into a circle for a game, her French sprinkled with an accent that makes the kids smile in delight.
“Okay,petits loups, ready for'Simon dit',but in English?” she calls out, the French version of 'Simon Says' starting off with simple commands before she sneakily switches to English. “Simon dit… touch your nose!” she chirps, and the kids giggle, their fingers pressing against their noses, some a tad confused by the English words, but having the time of their lives just the same.
