Page 31 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
“Dean had a list,” said Pierre, the little tattletale. “From his friends.”
She chuckled softly. “Don’t look so embarrassed, Dean. I happen to like the friendship you have with your roommates. It says a lot about you as a person.”
A character reference? Women loved that kind of thing. “Everyone loves me. Ask anyone. Right, Pierre? You love me, don’t you?”
“Oui, Dean,” his little wingman agreed.
He took back the earlier tattletale comment.
“Earning Pierre’s affection is equally impressive,” she replied, reaching for a wineglass. “Would you like to pour the wine and maybe set aside the wine opener?”
He looked down at his hands. Jesus. He was going to need that handkerchief by the end of their date for sure. “I was just…waiting for you to say when you were ready for a glass.”
Her mouth twitched, but she held out the glass without making a snarky rebuttal. His hand shook a little as he poured. Terrific. “Low blood sugar,” he lied.
“We shall feed you quickly, then.”
He nearly fainted as really naughty images of her feeding him flooded his reptilian brain. He had a quote for Sawyer:to be a guy is to be a moron in the face of woman.
She took the bottle from him. “Perhaps I’ll finish pouring.”
He drew out Sawyer’s handkerchief, but only to wipe the sweat from his brow. He was sweating! That was a first. “I’m paying close attention to your technique.”
Her mouth twitched again, and his eyes locked in on the sheer perfection of her mouth. Rosy. Full. Scrumptious. He cleared his throat. “So, tell me…”
His mind went blank again when she turned those beautiful brown eyes on him. She was backlit by the sun, and behind her was a blue sky filled with Monet-inspired clouds. But they couldn’t compete with his Jacqueline.
“What does it feel like to be back in Paris?” he said badly in French.
The light left her eyes, as if the shades had been pulled down over a window. “I’m…still adjusting. I mean, I’ve been gone for some time as you know. Seeing Pierre helps. As does wandering the streets and walking along the Seine. I’ll get my feet back under me.”
“Changing locales, especially countries, is a big deal. Your brain has to process a new language because I imagine you weren’t speaking much French in Hong Kong.”
She shook her head. “Some at work, but yes, mostly English and Chinese. It’s familiar, being back, and yet so different.”
The sorrow in her voice was evident, and it pulled at his heart like a bow pulling on a violin’s strings. “You must miss your parents a lot.”
She looked off. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”
The rough quality of her voice grabbed him. She needed a distraction, so he spun into action, setting out the picnic offerings as best as possible on the slanted chair, a disaster waiting to happen.
“Would you like me to get out the food and make you a plate? I’m afraid I’m going to knock something off the chair and onto the ground, and while I don’t mind a one-second rule on consuming food, it would have dirt on it. I couldn’t serve you picnic food with dirt on it—even if it might enhance the hot stone and dry soil notes in the wine.”
One side of her mouth kicked up as her gaze returned to him. “I appreciate your continued good humor. Maybe we could toast so we could taste the wine?”
He grabbed his glass and held it out to her, the wine sloshing a bit. She touched hers to his with the barest of glances, almost like the initial brushing of lips on a first kiss.“Santé.”
“Santé,” he replied, taking a sip of wine and nodding. “Not bad. That whole lime, apricot, and hot stone thing really works for me.”
She pushed a lock of dark blond hair over her shoulder. “You enjoy being funny, don’t you?”
He pointed to himself and made awho, me?Face. Truthfully, he was glad she enjoyed Dean theater, because he planned to bring it every time.
“I do, Dean,” Pierre said with a whistle, startling a few people into looking up from their phones.
“You are no Jerry Lewis, of course,” she replied, tracing the stem of the glass. “But you are not bad.”
“Thank you.” He lifted his wine in her direction. “I’ll consider whether to write you down as a reference for that comedy club application I planned on turning in tomorrow.”
