already seen her. She stood awkwardly by the door, watching as customers came and went, wondering if one of the men could be her next meeting. Couples settled into seats on the sidewalk under a large red canopy. The smell of cigarette smoke reminded her she was far from home. Ten minutes passed, and she grew restless. She double-checked her phone. Kate had said four o’clock. Piano music played inside, interrupted by the voices of coffee drinkers.
“Annie, yes?” A tall man with dark brown hair and bright green eyes tapped her on the shoulder. His voice revealed only a very subtle French accent, and his immaculate dress shirt and pants suggested he had exceptional wardrobe sense. She felt self-conscious in the dress she’d bought for thirty dollars in Macy’s: the messy tourist who could never achieve French style.
“I’m Adrien.” His smile suggested he thought otherwise though, and his eyes danced over her subtly as his smile widened. He kissed her on both cheeks and guided her to a table.
“You’re very beautiful.” Adrien said as he flashed her a beaming smile.
Annie glowed, wondering if all European men were as blunt as Pedro and Adrien with their compliments, or if Kate had instructed both to be as upfront and flirtatious as possible. She wasn’t complaining; she just wasn’t used to such outward displays of affection.
“Thanks,” she replied, blushing and tucking her hair behind her ear. She wanted to ask him what he did for a living and if he was local, but knew she couldn’t. It was one of the rules. Another man who had to remain a stranger. Instead, he shifted the conversation toward her.
“So why are you in Paris, Annie?” His voice was soft and warm, and he didn’t take his eyes from her.
“I’m here to research. I’m a writer.” She squirmed at her euphemism, wondering how much he knew. His broad grin told her he understood.
“And what kind of writer are you?” he asked, one eyebrow arching up in a questioning pose.
A waiter in a white apron and black pants left cappuccinos on the table and disappeared. Adrien watched as she stirred sugar into her coffee. She pictured him undressing her with more than his eyes, and hoped the attraction was genuinely mutual. For a moment, she wanted to break out of the game and wished she’d simply met him there.
“I write women’s fiction.”
Another broad smile. “Women’s fiction? What do you mean by that?” He was teasing her, gently.
“Romance...erotica.” She laughed a little as her blush deepened.
“Ah. So this is your...research?” He almost laughed with her but instead took a sip of coffee.
She nodded, but felt unsure of what to conclude with.
“Paris seems beautiful,” she arrived at, watching as he rocked his coffee cup and listened.
“It’s a wonderful city. Where are you staying?”
“In a villa in Montmartre,” she replied, trying to decipher if he already knew.
“That’s one of the best parts of the city. How long are you here for?”
“Three days. Then I go to Rome.” She felt uncomfortable suddenly, as if she’d revealed that he was only one of several men who were involved in the game.
He seemed only curious. “Oh? Why Rome?”
“I always wanted to visit. Thought I’d make a stop while I’m on this side of the Atlantic.” She felt herself tense and then relax, comfortable she’d sounded convincing.
She looked at the bottom of her coffee cup that was almost empty, waiting for him to offer a new thread of conversation. As she looked up, she met his stare and realized he’d been watching her fumble for words.
“Can I drive you home, Annie?”
His suggestion came sooner than she’d expected. “Sure.”
He left a handful of Euro coins on the table and nodded to the waiter. “Let’s go.”
She followed him through the crowds, squeezing past commuters who were now marching briskly past
“Annie, yes?” A tall man with dark brown hair and bright green eyes tapped her on the shoulder. His voice revealed only a very subtle French accent, and his immaculate dress shirt and pants suggested he had exceptional wardrobe sense. She felt self-conscious in the dress she’d bought for thirty dollars in Macy’s: the messy tourist who could never achieve French style.
“I’m Adrien.” His smile suggested he thought otherwise though, and his eyes danced over her subtly as his smile widened. He kissed her on both cheeks and guided her to a table.
“You’re very beautiful.” Adrien said as he flashed her a beaming smile.
Annie glowed, wondering if all European men were as blunt as Pedro and Adrien with their compliments, or if Kate had instructed both to be as upfront and flirtatious as possible. She wasn’t complaining; she just wasn’t used to such outward displays of affection.
“Thanks,” she replied, blushing and tucking her hair behind her ear. She wanted to ask him what he did for a living and if he was local, but knew she couldn’t. It was one of the rules. Another man who had to remain a stranger. Instead, he shifted the conversation toward her.
“So why are you in Paris, Annie?” His voice was soft and warm, and he didn’t take his eyes from her.
“I’m here to research. I’m a writer.” She squirmed at her euphemism, wondering how much he knew. His broad grin told her he understood.
“And what kind of writer are you?” he asked, one eyebrow arching up in a questioning pose.
A waiter in a white apron and black pants left cappuccinos on the table and disappeared. Adrien watched as she stirred sugar into her coffee. She pictured him undressing her with more than his eyes, and hoped the attraction was genuinely mutual. For a moment, she wanted to break out of the game and wished she’d simply met him there.
“I write women’s fiction.”
Another broad smile. “Women’s fiction? What do you mean by that?” He was teasing her, gently.
“Romance...erotica.” She laughed a little as her blush deepened.
“Ah. So this is your...research?” He almost laughed with her but instead took a sip of coffee.
She nodded, but felt unsure of what to conclude with.
“Paris seems beautiful,” she arrived at, watching as he rocked his coffee cup and listened.
“It’s a wonderful city. Where are you staying?”
“In a villa in Montmartre,” she replied, trying to decipher if he already knew.
“That’s one of the best parts of the city. How long are you here for?”
“Three days. Then I go to Rome.” She felt uncomfortable suddenly, as if she’d revealed that he was only one of several men who were involved in the game.
He seemed only curious. “Oh? Why Rome?”
“I always wanted to visit. Thought I’d make a stop while I’m on this side of the Atlantic.” She felt herself tense and then relax, comfortable she’d sounded convincing.
She looked at the bottom of her coffee cup that was almost empty, waiting for him to offer a new thread of conversation. As she looked up, she met his stare and realized he’d been watching her fumble for words.
“Can I drive you home, Annie?”
His suggestion came sooner than she’d expected. “Sure.”
He left a handful of Euro coins on the table and nodded to the waiter. “Let’s go.”
She followed him through the crowds, squeezing past commuters who were now marching briskly past
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