Page 58 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
As the sun begins to set, it dawns on me that this experience is more than just a cultural exchange—it's a merging of worlds, of Annie's and mine. The laughter, the shared stories, the sense of belonging, it all comes together in this backyard.
Just like it did in France.
I look over at Annie, who's deep in conversation with her father, her laughter ringing. Amidst the grills and the laughter, the Roquefort and the ribs, I see a future that's bright and inviting—a future with Annie, where two worlds blend into one beautiful tapestry.
The Texas heat might be overwhelming, the accents might take some getting used to, but the warmth of Annie's family and the love that radiates from her eyes make every moment worth it.
After the excitement of the barbecue, Annie's mother leads me through the house to a cozy guest bedroom. The room is adorned with quaint, rustic decor, nothing like my minimalist Parisian apartment.
"Now, Mathieu, I know how things are in France with all that romance and whatnot," she says with a twinkle in her eye, "but in this house, you'll be sleeping here in your own room.Alone."
"Of course,Madame, I completely understand and respect your rules," I assure her, with a polite nod.
“Good boy.”
The room is welcoming, with a comfortable bed and soft, warm lighting. I place my suitcase down and thank her for her hospitality. As she leaves, she gives me a knowing smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder.
No sooner had she left, Annie sneaks in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Can't let you get lonely on your first night in Texas," she whispers, slipping under the covers beside me.
“But your mother…”
“Shhhh. I’ll handle my mother. You just sleep. You’ve had a long day.”
We snuggle close, her warmth and familiar scent instantly comforting. Despite the thrill of her sneaking in, my jet-lagged body begins to surrender to sleep. I wrap my arms around her, peace and belonging feeling as warm as the summer air.
"This feels right," I murmur, feeling her heartbeat against mine.
"Like it was always meant to be."
Her breath is soft against my neck, the last thing I remember before falling asleep.
* * *
Waking up in a sunlit room, unfamiliar and yet strangely comforting, I momentarily forget where I am. The walls are adorned with pictures of a happy family, and the light cotton quilt under which I slept feels handmade, infused with care. But the bed beside me is empty, and a pang of loneliness hits.
Annie's absence brings back memories of that first night in Paris when I left her behind. A year later, I'm waking up in her childhood home, in her world, and the irony isn't lost on me.
How could I have ever doubted what we had? How could I have let my insecurities dictate my actions? Annie is more than just the woman of my life; she's my anchor, my guiding star.
And I know more than ever what I want for us.
As I'm lost in these thoughts, the door bursts open, and Annie bounds in. She throws a pair of rugged cowboy boots at me, a playful challenge in her eyes. "Get dressed, city boy! There's a full Texas breakfast waiting for you, and we've got a date with the rodeo."
Her words pull me back to the here and now. I catch the boots, a smile spreading across my face. She's gone as quickly as she arrived, leaving behind a trail of laughter and a mischievous grin that promises adventure.
The rodeo grounds are abuzz, dust swirling under the blazing sun. As we approach, the smell of hay and livestock fills the air, mixing with the aroma of grilled meats and popcorn from nearby stands. I hope my mouth isn’t hanging open at the scene: cowboys strutting around in boots and hats, kids chasing each other, and the distant sound of a country band tuning up.
Annie, full of pep, drops a cowboy hat onto my head, adjusting it with a laugh.
"You're gonna fit right in," she teases. I try to mirror her confidence, but inside, I'm a bundle of nerves.
We find seats near the front, the roar of the crowd pulsating through me. Then, Annie nudges me, pointing toward the lassoing competition sign-up. "Your turn to shine, my sweet Frenchman.”
“What?”
“Off you go!”
It must be the jet lag, because before I know it, I'm standing in the arena, a lasso awkwardly in hand. The announcer's voice booms over the speakers, "And now, folks, we have a special participant all the way from France!" The crowd cheers, and I can feel a hundred pairs of eyes on me.
