After she drops off my water, I devour a few bites of my burger and fries when Ihear…
“Jacques, sweetness, I’m in need of a big bowl of that yummy soup. Something to warm my soul. And calm mynerves.”
Lauren.
Trying to avoid being seen, I slump into the booth, shades on, lowering the front part of my hat in an effort to shield my face even further. But I’m the only one in the restaurant, sticking out like a dog’sballs.
And…
She spotsme.
Causing me to brace myself forwhateveras she walks over to mytable.
“Well, now aren’t you sweet.” She lifts her wrist, glancing at her watch. “What in the world are you doing here so…early? Afraid your slower-than-normal driving would prevent you from making it here on time to pick me up?” An impish smile tugs at one side of her perfect plump lips as she stands, hand on hip, tapping her shoe on the tilefloor.
I roll my eyes, then realize she can’t see them through my shades so I settle for a short, “Nope. I was in the neighborhood. Actually thought about buying some HCthreads.”
“Hmm”—she eases into the booth, now sitting across from me—“you mind if I sit here? I can really use a break from my office. Plus I hate eatingalone.”
As much as you hate flowers andcandy?
I shrug and take a sip of water before I say, “Sure. Whynot.”
Avoid eye contact, yousucker.
She seems to study me, saying nothing as she stares blankly. “Why do you have your sunglasseson?”
“Light sensitivity,” I snap, impressed I can think on the fly. I guess that improv training I did in acting class paidoff.
“Well, bless yourheart.”
Oh-oh. When a southern woman saysbless your heart, it’s usually a precursor to somethingharsh.
“I suppose I’ll need to find a new driver,” she says, arms folded. “I definitely can’t have anyone with a light-sensitivity issues”—she uses air quotes—“drive me around Paris. I mean, what happens atnight?”
I exhale.“Fine. I don’t have light-sensitivity issues. But I do prefer to leave my glasses on. It shouldn’t affect you one way oranother.”
The waitress drops off a big bowl of soup, bread, and a soda for Lauren before she practically skips back to thekitchen.
“Mmm,” Lauren says, taking in a whiff of thesoup.
Admittedly it looks and smells yummy. For anyone who may be into soup, ofcourse.
Lauren unfolds her napkin and sets it on her lap, then flicks one side of her long hair back, then the other side, a move I thought only circa 1970s Cher had perfected. “This soup is simply divine. Cures all ailments. You should try it some day. May even do something for that attitude ofyours.”
Her sarcasm is growing on me. Like the pesky weeds in Nana’s vegetablegarden.
“So, what does it do for perpetualfeistiness?”
“Strengthensit.”
We bothlaugh.
For a while, we consume our meals in silence, her soup, my burger, while I surreptitiously check out how she savors her smallbites.
Nibble of bread. Slurp of soup. Flick oftongue.
She’sperfect.
