What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) by Alix Nichols

here on my free time to rid humanity of this candidate for
Darwin Awards. I’m not as selfless as Jeanne seems to think, after all.”
    Jeanne, who was wiping a table next to them, said, “Rob, you have to
understand that Pepe isn’t doing it on purpose. There’s no ill will whatsoever.
And it’s not because he’s stupid, either.”
    Jeanne picked up the detergent and the dishrag and started for the
kitchen. She stopped in the doorway to solve the Pepe mystery for Rob. “He just
doesn’t give a shit about how you like your coffee, that’s all.”
    Lena laughed and caught Rob staring at her.
    He didn’t look away. “You have the sweetest smile, Lena. And those
dimples of yours . . . they’re to die for.” He suddenly stood
and pointed at his cup. “Can’t drink this. I’ll have to make a new one. More
tea for you?”
    “No thanks. I’m going to turn in.”
    Lena dug into her purse for her wallet. She kept her head low until Rob
was sufficiently far, hoping he hadn’t noticed her fierce blush. How debutante
and embarrassing to blush like that from a casual remark! But there was nothing
she could do about it. She was extremely pleased—no, scratch that—she
was over the moon. And it wasn’t just because of what Rob said. It was also
because someone else had said the exact same thing before he did, a long time
ago.
    Her mom.
    She used to say Lena had a sweet smile and adorable dimples. Then she
left—and no one else ever told her that. Lena began to think she had lost
the smile. The dimples were still there, but when she tried to grin in front of
the mirror, all she saw was a smirk, strained and lopsided. Not sweet. Lena
finally settled on the theory that the smile had been an invention of her mom’s
to cheer up her plain daughter and boost her own maternal pride.
    A little defeatist voice inside her head told her Rob’s remark was just
an old pick-up line. But she hushed that voice, because she wanted—she
needed—to believe that he’d really seen her famous smile. That it wasn’t
a chimera. That there was something special about her, after all.
    * * *

Lena ran the tips of her fingers across the leather-bound cover, as if to
say good-bye, and placed the volume back on the stall. The book was
romantically old but it was about bugs. She didn’t care for bugs.
    Last night, she had mentioned to Rob her plan to pay a visit to the bouquinistes ,
the used booksellers whose landmark green metal boxes lined the banks of the
Seine. She wanted to look for original editions of Tsvetaeva’s poems translated
into French.
    “I’m not working tomorrow, and I need a break from my thesis. May I come
along?” Rob asked.
    This was how they ended up walking by the Seine and browsing through the
bookstalls together.
    “Your first love, right?” she asked pointing at a tattered
electromechanics textbook. “Didn’t you say your BA was in engineering?”
    “First and only. I’m doing an MBA, so I’m better prepared to start my own
manufacturing company one day. I’ve got lots of ideas.”
    “Like what?”
    He sighed. “Where to start? Like developing a new technology for
recycling methane into consumer goods like furniture, for instance.”
    “Is that possible?”
    “It’s been done. But the process is still too costly and inefficient.” He
put the primer back and resumed the walk. “I can spend hours talking about
this, which I do with Grand-papa, but I don’t want to bore you.”
    “Just because I study literature doesn’t mean I’m not fascinated by
technology,” she said. “Is your Grand-papa an engineer, too?”
    “He’s a bit of everything,” he said and went on to tell her about his
grandfather and then about his mom.
    Lena found it endearing how his love for them shone through his droll
observations.
    And then he asked her about her mom, and she didn’t know what to say. She
didn’t feel like revealing the truth about why her mother had left. It would be
too personal. Nor did she