Page 54 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
I put my hands on his shoulders. “This isn’t happening.”
Clément removes my hands and looks me dead in the eye. “Remember how alive you felt with her? The way you could kid around, take the edge off all that seriousness? That Mathieu is who we know and love. Don't lose him again.”
Étienne stands behind Clément. “You’ve got an ego, sure. We all do. But it’s time to step up. Take a chance.”
“You wouldn’t be a French romantic if you didn’t,” Gilles adds. “And we all know you are the biggest romantic among us.”
“It’s even rubbed off on us,” Clément says. “Look at us, rushing here like madmen so you don’t make the worst mistake of your life.”
“Mistake…”
They all shout at once.
“You have to go get her!”
“You can’t let her go!”
“Make this happen!”
I recoil, but their conviction is rubbing off on me. I can feel it growing in my chest. It’s… it’s…
Hope.
“You’re right.”
“Of course we are!” Gilles claps his hands, grinning. “Now, let's get you to that girl before it's too late!”
For the first time in days, a genuine smile cracks across my face.
The energy in the room shifts into high gear as my friends spring into action, their movements a flurry of determined chaos. Clément rummages through my wardrobe, throwing shirts and jackets onto the bed, assessing each one with a critical eye.
Étienne grabs me by the t-shirt and marches me to the shower. “You have two minutes-flat.”
“This one, it's got that casual but 'I made an effort' look,” Clément declares, holding up a navy blue shirt.
Gilles is already on his phone, speaking rapidly in French, “Yes, a taxi, as fast as you can, please. It's urgent, a matter of the heart!” he exclaims with theatrical flair. “No, I’m absolutely serious… yes, the airport.Merci!”
I’m being propelled through my own apartment, steered by the relentless energy of my friends. They're a whirlwind, each playing their part in this impromptu rescue mission. Clément is laying out my clothes with an almost military precision while Étienne is gathering my scattered thoughts with firm but kind words. Gilles, still on the phone, is pacing, his voice a steady stream of instructions and encouragement.
In my two-minute scalding hot shower, I realize that this isn't just about getting to Annie; it's about reclaiming my future. With or without Annie, this is the only life I’ve got. My friends, in their loud, brash, and utterly sincere way, have reminded me that time is way too precious to waste.
And my fragile ego isn’t worth losing the future I’ve always wanted.
I have to see her.
The taxi ride to Charles de Gaulle is an exercise in patience and panic. We're wedged in the heart of Parisian traffic, each honk and brake screech stretching the tension tighter.
“Can't this thing go any faster?” Gilles mutters, drumming his fingers against his knee. Clément, ever the optimist, keeps glancing at his watch and then out the window, calculating our chances. “At this rate, Mathieu, you'll have to sprint, but you can make it.”
As the cab crawls closer to the airport, the urgency is palpable.
Étienne leans forward, his voice firm. “Mathieu, we're almost close enough, you get out and bolt. Forget the traffic, just go!”
I nod, my heart racing at the thought. Finally, as the airport signs become visible, Clément slaps my shoulder.
“This is it, man! Time to make your movie moment happen!”
I barely wait for the cab to slow down before I'm out the door, my friends' cheers propelling me forward.
