Page 49 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
I nod, not yet convinced, but grateful that he isn’t judging me for it.
Clément leans forward, propping his elbows on the table, the playful glint in his eyes belying the gravity of his words.
“Buddy,” he says, his voice steady, “you won’t know if you’re wrong if you haven’t laid everything on the table.”
I frown, a bit thrown off. I was hoping his advice would be something I could do alone. “Tell her? But what if it's too much? You know me, once I get going…”
“I know.” He shakes his head, the smirk never leaving his lips. “But if she's the one, it won't scare her. She needs the truth—the whole, messy, beautiful truth of how you feel. And you need to know you've given it to her. And then the two of you can decide if this is something you want to really try for.”
“Tell her everything.”
Clément claps his hand on my back, a solid, reassuring thump. “Exactly. Lay it all out on the table, Mathieu. Tell her about the watching, the hoping, the longing. Show her the depth of what you felt and let the chips fall where they may.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is. Love’s not a riddle to solve. It’s the truth to share.” Clément raises his beer in a mock salute. “Isn’t that poetic? Now go tell her, before you turn into a pumpkin or whatever happens to dawdling princes at midnight.”
Between Léa and Clément, it seems I’m destined to live out a fairytale. The only thing left to know is whether there will be a happily ever after.
“Alright, I'll do it.”
“Good,” Clément says with a satisfied nod. “Off you go, it’s not even eleven yet—you’ve got time to get to the hostel. Don't let this be the one that got away because you were more chicken than peacock.”
“More chicken than peacock?”
Clément clinks his glass against mine. “She's a country girl, she’ll get it.”
The Parisian streets blur past as I rush back to the hostel. I'm wound tight with nerves, but if I think about it too much, I’ll turn right around and head home.
So I don’t think.
I burst through the hostel doors, my breaths coming fast, and there she is. Annie's nestled into a corner of the common room, clad in her pajamas with a mug of tea in hand, looking like the very picture of peace that's eluding me.
Charlotte and Emilia see me first.
“You again!” Charlotte calls. “And we’re all set for bedtime. If you wanted a pajama party, you could've just said.”
“Annie.” She blinks at me, apparently not fully believing I’m here. I’m starting to doubt it myself. My prepared speech is faltering under her gaze. “I couldn't wait until tomorrow.”
She sets her tea down, raising an eyebrow. “I see. Well, I am not one to get between a man and his determination. But just so you know, these jammies are staying on. It's past my bedtime for wardrobe changes.”
I let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, knowing that there's no turning back now.
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
Here we go.
“Annie, I need you to know how I feel.”
“This is gonna be good!” Emilia whispers to Charlotte, and they throw me off.
What was I going to say?
Words jostle at the tip of my tongue, a clumsy parade of half-formed thoughts and feelings that don't quite translate into the eloquence I need.
“Annie, I’ve let my past take up too much space in my mind. It's just that withher, it was a matter of necessity, of filling voids in myself, of ignoring how I felt because I wanted to just be with someone, anyone. And then you appeared out of nowhere and when I wasn’t looking.”
“Oh hold up. This is serious.” Charlotte, who was happily eavesdropping, suddenly springs into action, shooing the lingering hostel dwellers out of the room. “Allez, allez, give them space!” she hisses, herding everyone out. The door swings shut behind them, leaving just Annie and me in a bubble of tense quiet.
