Bonjour Cherie by Robin Thomas Page A

bounced off lightly onto the floor.
    â€˜Get over yourself, Zach Mills.’
    All he did was grin more broadly. ‘You know, it’s almost too easy teasing you, but it doesn’t make it any less enjoyable.’ He stood up too. ‘Come on, let’s go to the kitchen where we can sit at the table and you won’t be so temptingly close.’
    I grabbed my books and headed down the hallway. I don’t think there was a person alive who didn’t annoy me more than Zach Mills and not only did he know it, he positively delighted in it.
    I sat across from him at the broad pine table and opened my French book. ‘You’ve missed three lessons and part of the fourth one. So far we’ve learned the days of the week, months of the year, some basic vocab, as well as a few common phrases, including how to introduce and describe ourselves. So, do you know much French at all?’
    â€˜A little, but I’ve forgotten most of it. Charlotte’s pretty good at it, but she’s not here usually.’
    That’s right, I thought, remembering she had said something about how she wasn’t here for him to practise with. I could understand someone like Charlotte wanting to learn French, but I wondered why Zach wanted to. I was tempted to ask him, but I didn’t want to get into anything personal at the moment. I wanted to get this lesson over with as soon as possible.
    I ran over the first couple of lessons, and Zach listened carefully, obviously deciding to behave himself for a while. His accent was surprisingly good and he caught on very fast. I suspected he knew more than he let on. However, I just ploughed on determinedly, not wanting to get sidetracked from my goal of finishing this quickly.
    We were on the last lesson where Zach had to describe himself. Another ten minutes, max, and I would be out of here.
    â€˜How about I describe you instead,’ he said.
    â€˜Red hair, green eyes, pretty standard,’ I said tartly.
    â€˜Oh no, not standard at all. I don’t know if the French have a word for that particular tint of auburn hair, which catches the sunlight and glows like fire, or those green eyes that change with your mood. I’ve only got to look at your eyes to know what you’re feeling.’
    I didn’t like the way this conversation was heading. I closed my book. ‘I think we’ve had enough for now. You should be fine in French class.’
    â€˜I agree. Let’s have a glass of wine and sit down somewhere more comfortable.’
    â€˜I’ve had enough teasing for one night, and it’s getting late.’
    â€˜Yes, eight thirty at least, very late.’
    â€˜I’ve got work in the morning.’
    â€˜I’m sure you can manage a glass of wine, or a coffee if you don’t want to drink and drive. I’m not teasing now. I’d just like to get to know you better, no strings attached or hidden agendas. Come on, let’s be civil to each other for a change.’
    I sighed. It seemed ridiculous to protest any more without sounding immature and rude.
    â€˜Okay. A coffee. And I’m quite comfortable in here.’
    â€˜Your call.’ He got up to put the kettle on.
    He sat down again. ‘So tell me why you like French so much. And I am being serious here, no jokes about the French teacher intended.’
    I considered a moment. ‘I don’t know really. From the very first moment I started to learn French at school, I loved it. It was the one area where I was better than my sister, Lauren, who sucks at languages. She was all over maths and science and a straight A student.’
    â€˜I’m sure you would have been okay in other areas too. You seem pretty switched on to me.’
    â€˜Yeah, mainly Bs and the occasional A or even the occasional C—average really. Mum and Dad never made me feel badly or that I was in any way not as good as Lauren. But it was obvious. And I couldn’t hate her for