Page 41 of Sawyer
Then Mathieau called out Sawyer’s name, and Phoebe stepped aside as the server hurried forward to greet them.
“It is wonderful to see you, Sawyer,” he began in French. “All of us here have been delighted to see the good press about Nanine’s reopening. Everyone must be pleased.”
“We are,” he answered, his heart warming at the reminder of how many people cared.
“Marie and all of us would like to offer you and your guest a glass of champagne to celebrate.”
“That is very kind of you,” he answered, putting his hand to Phoebe’s back as Mathieau led them to a reserved table in the corner that had more room than most and featured a window view.
When they were seated, Phoebe leaned forward as she shrugged out of her coat, her red hair almost bouncing as it came to rest against her chest. He wanted to reach out and touch a strand. Rub his fingers over the texture. Examine the hues of the highlights. Study how it contrasted to her fair skin.
“Are you sizing me up for another painting?” She struck a pose. “How about this? Is the light flattering? Is this my good side?”
He leaned closer, mostly to be close enough to feel the vitality radiating from her, rather like how heat radiates off a road in the desert. She had so much life inside her, and for tonight, he was glad it was all his. “Every side on you ismarvelous, Phoebe, and yes, I was. Your hair in particular. It’s gorgeous.”
Fluffing it playfully, she smiled. “So is yours. I adore the way it curls. It reminds me of black ink and a bunch of Oxford commas drawn together. I believe in it, you should know.”
“The Oxford comma?” God, he never knew what she was going to say, which was fun. “Why? Because you’re an alum?”
“No, because I dislike ambiguity. Clarity at all costs is my motto.”
He was laughing as Mathieau set down their champagne. He managed to give a gracious thank you along with Phoebe before he pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up higher. “Language is riddled with ambiguity.”
She gasped playfully. “Why, Dr. Sawyer Jackson, I’m surprised at you. So you think we are doomed to be unclear in our thoughts and feelings?”
He picked up his flute and swirled around his champagne, enjoying the color and the way the bubbles rose in a straight line. Her bubbles, he noted, were more like a cyclone. Somehow even the champagne had picked up on their individual energies. “We do our best to be clear, but there are always hidden meanings and subtext. The same is true with art.”
She shook her finger. “No, no, no. We cannot speak about art. So let us toast to Nanine’s with this very nice gift from your friends here at the restaurant. I’m glad you brought me someplace that matters to you. I’d wondered where you’d take me. I like this place. Oh, but wait! Let’s toast.Santé!”
“Santé.”Her vivaciousness had him smiling as he took that first sip. “I’m glad you’re happy. Nanine loves this restaurant, as do many of my roommates. Plus, we can stroll toSacre Coeurand watch the city at night. I know it’s cliché, but the view is spectacular.”
“You are a romantic to your soul, Dr. Jackson.” Her green eyes sparkled. “Good thing I am too—although I can be practical when it calls for it. But life is so much more fun with things like romance and spontaneity and magic, don’t you think?”
He nodded, feeling like he had a front row seat to the best show in town. The Phoebe Anderson Theater. He was going to savor every act.
They browsed the menu, her taking his recommendations. When Mathieau arrived to take their order, he asked for his advice about a red wine and settled on a robust Burgundy they agreed would suit theirboeuf bourguignon. After he left, taking their empty flutes with him, Phoebe wiggled in her chair and started rubbing her hands together.
“Are you cold?”
“No, I’m getting ready to do the wholetell me more about yourselfthing.”
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “I’m surprised you don’t already know everything there is to know about me.”
She laughed. “I probably deserve that, but no, there is plenty we haven’t covered. I’ll start. You already know I’m half British and half American. Which means I’m in complete conflict over two things. Whether I like a burger and fries better than fish and chips and whether I should be a fan of the royal family or dislike the institution as a whole. Tough life decisions, let me assure you.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth, chuckling. “Descartes would be worried for you.”
“I know! That wholeI think, therefore I amquote should beI think I like an American burger more, therefore I am.”
“Oh, Phoebe. Descartes is rolling in his grave.”
“I know, but I’m not finished with my inner anguish. I also went to school in both countries. London and New York,which means that half of the time I dress stylish while the other half I think I’m dressing stylish but I’m probably not.”
“I’ve never found your fashion choices questionable.”
“But you’ve only seen me three times! See. Now you’re worrying, aren’t you?” She lifted her napkin and playfully placed it over her chest like it was a prop in a show. “I might show up in a grape-colored jumper with houndstooth pants—which I have, you should know. It’s quite a statement. I once had a famous French designer see me in that outfit. He said it was a bold choice and a little crazy, but he liked it. I took that as a win.”
Was she always this fun? Yeah, he thought she probably was. “What else do I need to know?”
