Page 53 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
“I think you know it, too.”
Don’t cry. Don’t.“This is my last night.”
“I know. But only your first trip to Paris. Mathieu may be a bit of a mess right now, but he knows what he wants. He just has to remember that. And he knew it that first day.”
I look down at the napkin, only vaguely aware that Clément is backing away. I’m too caught in the swirling words in French, simple words, but so clear that Mathieu saw me—the real me—on that very first day.
And he was already falling in love.
Charlotte and Emilia appear at the waterside.
“We were wondering what happened—what’s that?” Charlotte peers over my shoulder. “Whoa.”
“Is that from…” Emilia gasps.
“Mathieu.” I nod, holding the napkin like it's the most precious thing in the world.
We stand there, the three of us, a sisterhood of riffraff with arms wrapped tight around each other. Paris may have all the stars tonight, but right here on the ground is all the heart I could ask for.
CHAPTER21
Mathieu
The old leathercouch cradles me as the overcast early morning hours echo the silence of my head. I won’t let myself think. My mind's a whirlpool of 'what ifs' and 'maybes', each thought more agonizing than the last.
The Paris skyline is a distant canvas, so different from the Texas sun under which Annie will soon find herself.
In only a few hours, she will be at the airport, crossing security, and leaving my life forever.
A distant part of my brain entertains wildly ridiculous thoughts—showing up at her doorstep in Texas, or her breezing back into Paris. But they're just fantasies, fleeting and insubstantial.
It’s a wonder how I've grown since Annie burst into my life, how she let me see a different future ahead. Not just a black curtain anymore, there are vivid colors that swirl in the shape of children running around the yard, summer evening barbecues, and winter nights curled up with a movie.
I thought I could have it all with her, but she doesn’t see it. She doesn’t seemein it.
If only I could show her she’s wrong. Sure, we may only be at the beginning of our story, but every great story has a first chapter.
I'm torn, caught in the tumult of wanting to chase after her, to declare everything, and the gnawing sense that she’s already decided. My heart aches with the need to be with her, but my mind paralyzes me with the worst forms of ‘what if.’ The room feels both too big and too suffocating, filled with the conversations we had, now fading like a dream at dawn.
I might wear the floors with the way I’m pacing, but I’m a ship without a compass, longing for a safe harbor that only Annie can offer, yet unsure if I have the courage to sail those turbulent seas again.
“MATHIEU! OUVRE, MINCE!”
The sudden commotion of the door bursting open jolts me from my brooding. In march Clément, Étienne, and Gilles like men with a mission, but I didn’t get the memo.
“That’s it,” Gilles declares. “Get dressed.”
“What’s going on?” I look between them as they rustle through the apartment, but don’t find an answer.
“Mathieu, this isn't you, man,” Clément says, striding in with purpose. “You can't just sit here in the dark like some heartbroken poet.”
I try to protest, “Guys, it's not like that. It’s complicated?—”
“Complicated?” Étienne cuts me off, his voice tinged with frustration. “Come on. Ever since Annie, you've been more 'you' than you've been in years.”
“You're going to let the best thing that ever happened to you slip away because of some doubts?” Gilles chimes in, his tone urgent, “We won’t let you.”
“Because that’s what friends are for!” Clément points in my face. “Now, get it together. Clothes!”
