Page 28 of Remembering You
Francois shrugged. “The brain believes what the heart wants it to.” Then, Francois leaned down and even though he was whispering, I could hear every word. “I like this one, though.”
Turning back to me, he grinned. “Welcome to our little town. Outside, it might be freezing, but I think you’ll find it’s the warmest place in all of America.” He lifted my hand from where it rested on the edge of the table and brushed his lips across my knuckles causing me to blush.
From across the table, Jim smiled at me, hiding his Cheshire grin behind his clasped hands, elbows resting on the table. As Francois’s hand lingered on mine, Jim cleared his throat—a playful warning to his friend. Francois laughed and with a wink, he let go of palm. “Should we start with a bottle of wine?” Jim asked.
My spine stiffened as my eyes trailed to the wine list. I couldn’t legally drink yet… a fact that I thought Jim knew. A small part of me reveled in the little thrill that surged in my belly. Did they both think I was over twenty-one? I’d never been mistaken for being older than I was… almost always people thought I was still in high school. Then again, maybe that was because up until this week I had lived at home with my parents while I commuted to classes.
I cleared my throat and nudged the wine list away. “Not for me tonight.” Even if I could get away with it, I wouldn’t want Francois getting in trouble for serving alcohol to a minor. “I actually can’t…” I started to say, but was quickly cut off by Jim who playfully slapped his palm on his forehead.
“Oh, right.”
A relieved sigh escaped me. Thank God. He knew my age… he had just forgotten.
“The pain meds,” he said. “They can’t be mixed with alcohol.”
Well, crap. I pressed my lips together so hard that my teeth bit into the tender flesh. “Well… yeah.” That was technically true.
“No problem,” Francois said, sliding the wine list away from us. “Next time we do a wine pairing with dinner. For tonight, you two just enjoy the finest cuisine Maple Grove has to offer.”
“Francois,” Jim gestured for him to lean down and the two whispered a few things that I couldn’t quite hear. When the whispering was through, Francois stood and with a twinkle in his eyes, he left us to sit in silence, studying our menus which, big surprise, were entirely in French.
I decided to let the age thing go for now. Even if Jim didn’t know I was only nineteen, he would soon. It shouldn’t really matter anyway. I was legally an adult… it’s not like I’m sixteen and a child. But it did make me wonder how old he was…
I glanced up at him from over the edge of my menu, studying his face. There were little lines surrounding his eyes. Nothing too deep, but they were there. Little creases that suggested a maturity that I didn’t have yet. And smile lines like a parenthesis curving around his full, sexy lips. If anything, these lines only served to make him sexier.
He looked up from his own menu, catching me staring. With a small gasp, I ducked my head behind my menu once more, but not before catching the bemused smirk twitch on his lips.
Well, crap.
“So… you spent thirteen hours on the bus to get here, huh?” Jim asked, then tapped his forefinger to his chin.
Oh no. I gave him a hint without even meaning to. Regardless, I shrugged one shoulder to my ear nonchalantly. “Perhaps.”
“Thirteen hours. That’s got to be somewhere on the East Coast then. Alabama?”
I shook my head no and Jim snapped his fingers. “You’re a Carolina girl, aren’t you?”
I said nothing, pressing my lips together to try not to reveal the answer.
“But which one,” he said. “Are you North or South Carolina.” He narrowed his eyes at me, assessing. I watched as his gaze flitted around my features and hair, down my shoulders and collarbone. “I’m going to give this a little more thought before I give my final answer.”
I shrugged as though I didn’t have a care in the world and focused on trying to read the menu… which was pointless since my Francophile knowledge consisted of bonjour and croissants. Other than that, the language and the food were a mystery.
I read through the menu roughly three times before I finally looked up again at Jim. His menu was on the table and he leaned back in his chair, running his forefinger over the edge of his water glass. And he was staring right at me.
I gulped. Between the kiss outside of his car this afternoon, my sprained ankle, and the soap opera like break up back at the hospital, my one week here in Maple Grove was already more exciting than a lifetime spent in North Carolina.
And now, here I was dining at a French restaurant that was fancier than anywhere I’d ever eaten in my life. The table was covered in a smooth silky white table cloth and two lit candles framed a single stalk of lavender jutting out of a small vase.
“Marty,” he said quietly. “Please let me pay for dinner tonight.”
I glanced at the prices to the right of the food descriptions and gulped. I wanted to buy him dinner… it was the right thing to do after all he had done for me this week, but one meal here would cost a whole day’s worth of working for Jim.
With a deep breath, I shook my head no. “I said I was paying—”
“Marty,” Jim said again. My name on his lips was breathless and sexier than I’d ever heard my name before. “Please. When I tell our grandkids the story of how we met and I took you out to dinner the first time, I want to tell them I paid. I promise… you can treat me to dinner next time.”
I swallowed hard and arched a brow. “Do I have your word on that? You won’t fight me if I try to buy you dinner?”
