Before we head inside, Alice insists on trawling the stalls selling trinkets out front. She buys three lavender soaps, a stack of beaded bracelets and now she’s inexplicably picking up a tiny Virgin Mary.
‘I’m getting this too,’ she announces. I must look confused because she adds: ‘I thought your Nonna might like it?’ Alice catches my eye and I am completely touched by her thoughtfulness.
The heat picks up by mid-morning, the cobbled streets of the city shining under the warm September sun, so we stop to grab a coffee and waffles, watching the world roll by. Alice’s sunglasses are neon pink and she’s wearing a sleeveless blue gingham dress. I feel like the luckiest man in France right now.
I check the time and tip some Euros on top of our bill. ‘Ready for your next train?’
‘I thought we were staying here another night?’ She asks, crestfallen.
‘We are. I’m talking about this …’ I turn to point at the little silver train arriving bang on time in the sun-dappled square.
Alice’s mouth makes an o shape.
‘Har har. Very funny.’
‘I’m not joking!’
‘You want me to get on that tiny train? Isn’t that for children?’
I laugh. ‘It’s called a Petit Train. As you can see it runs on wheels rather than tracks and it’s a great way to see the city, apparently. You’re the first to admit that you love a theme so I thought we’d keep the train one going for a bit longer.’
‘I do love a theme,’ she says cautiously. ‘But I don’t love public humiliation. Look at that little tinker toy … We’re going to end up looking like a right pair of geeks!’
‘I see,’ I say with a smile, folding my arms.
‘What?’
‘Sounds very much to me like the introvert and the extrovert have suddenly exchanged roles.’
She purses her lips. ‘Not wanting to go on that dork-mobile doesn’t make me an introvert.’
‘You’re embarrassed!’
‘I am not.’
‘You’re worried about how you’ll look.’
She gives me a side eye. ‘Okay fine, I am a bit. What’s your point?’
‘Just suggesting that we’re all different, that’s all. I might not like singing and dancing in public but I am happy to hop on this tiny train …’
She sighs, taking the last bite of her chantilly-topped waffle. ‘I hate it when you’re right.’
‘Well, well, well,’ I pretend to gloat. ‘Can I have that quote printed on my next business cards?’
‘Those business cards are the reason we’re in this predicament in the first place,’ she pulls her purse out of her bag and opens it up, handing me the card I gave her when we first met. Touched that she’s kept it, I flip it over to read the note I scrawled on the back.
A-Z. Call me.
‘I can’t believe you still have this,’ I say, remembering feeling so nervous writing it, back then. This clever, confident woman had just stormed straight into my life and I didn’t ever want her to leave it. It’s unreal to think that we’re here, now, twenty dates in and she’s showing this secret, romantic side to herself that I never knew existed.
‘I can be sentimental occasionally,’ she says with a coy smile, taking the note back and sliding it into her purse. She carries it around with her. I’m so touched that I reach out for her hand, pulling her towards me for a kiss.
Alice’s initial mortification wears off so fast that she’s soon waving at passers-by from her spot on the Petit Train. Turns out she’s remembered how to say ‘it’s my birthday’ in French and even though her birthday was yesterday, she’s been trotting out the phrase to anyone who’ll listen. A sweet little French kid on the row behind us wishes her happy birthday and Alice isthrilled.
I love that she’s loving it.
We weave through the tightly packed streets at quite a pace, which makes me think that our train driver may be breaking the tiny speed limit. The tannoy points out landmarks in English and French and Alice grabs my hand every time she sees something of interest, which seems to be mostly patisserie based.
