“Bonjour! Comment était cotre repas?” The chef asks, looking at Simon then tome.
“The meal was exquisite,” Simon says and I nod inagreement.
“Fantastique. And it’s always a pleasure to see you here, Simon.” The chef looks at me and says, “You areMadameLauren Blake,no?”
I blush, flabbergasted he even knowsme. “Yes, Iam.”
“Merci à deux d’être venus. It is such a pleasure to have you here. I hope you both have a wonderfulevening.”
Chef Alain walks over to another table, striking up conversation with itsoccupants.
Simon chuckles. “You probably don’t realize how famous you are. Like I said, it’s an honor to be here with you,Lauren.”
I drink more of my wine, and wonder why a catch like Simon Grant hasn’t beencaught.
With a tilt of my head I ask, “You don’t have a significantother?”
He squares his broad shoulders. “If I had someonesignificant, I wouldn’t be here withyou.”
Single. Unattached.Thankgoodness.
He lifts his glass, sips, and swallows. “And you? I’m assuming since you’re here with me, you too are significant-less.”
“Safe assumption.” Iwink.
We order a dessert trio of tulipes, crème brûlée, and macarons, accompanied by coffee, both of us savoring bites, while sharing stories about our family, friends, and pastrelationships.
He’s a beautifuldiscovery.
Like a brand new constellation, a Starbucks secret menu, a G-spot.
When we stroll back to his car, he opens the passenger side door and stands in front of me, the bright light from the moon peeking through the ominousclouds.
He leans in, as I look up and into his eyes. “Will you go out with me again tomorrow night?” heasks.
It takes less than five seconds for me tosay…
“Yes.”
His eyes, bold and enticing, hold mine hostage for a long while, then he brings his lips in my breathing sphere; hints of mint and cologne send my senses into a spiral. Spinning, whirling,twirling.
And then closer, until our lips finally touch. Soft. Smooth.Heavenly.
All thefeels…
All. The.Feels.
