‘Soap! I know that one.’ I smirked, and he laughed.
‘Of course. She sells soap and I help at the market in Saint-Jean-de-Luz. It must sound very boring to you.’ He looked down at the plate and put a chip in his mouth.
I nudged his leg under the table, and he looked up at me.
‘It’s not boring at all. It’s so different to Belfast. I mean, the sun for a start. We spend so much time inside because it’s so cold.’
He laughed at that. ‘The sun is nice.’
My gaze landed on his lips as he ate a mussel, balancing the shell on his bottom lip and pulling it into his mouth with his teeth. I’d never been jealous of a mussel before.
He picked up a closed shell. ‘Do not eat these ones. The ones that are not open.’ He set it on the table and ate another open one. ‘You are close with your family?’
‘A bit. I don’t know, we used to be closer. But now my parents think I’m a bit of a waste of space.’ I shrugged and selected a mussel, focusing on the salt and garlic that exploded in my mouth.
‘Et mon cul, c’est du poulet?’ Felix said it loudly and I’d no idea what he meant so I just laughed.
‘What?’
‘In English, it translates as “My ass is chicken”? It means, “I don’t believe you”.’ His brown eyes were sparkling again as he beamed at me.
‘That’s hilarious. And they didn’t teach usthatexpression at school.’
‘Tu l’as étudié?’ he asked, pronouncing each word slowly instead of running them into each other.
‘Oui.’ I replied.
‘Of course, you told me that you read Sagan. We must learn more. I will teach you.’ Felix reached for my hand, with its chipped black nails and still painfully white skin.
‘La main,’ he said.
‘I knew that one.’
He touched each of my fingers, gently. ‘Les doigts.’ Then he turned my hand over and laid it on the table. Then he traced the lines of my palm. ‘Les lignes de la main.’
Then he took my hand again and raised the back of it to his mouth, kissing it gently. His lips warm and soft on my skin. ‘And this?Bisous,’ he said, looking right into my eyes.
‘Bisous,’ I repeated. And it felt different from the other French words I’d been saying.
‘Or sometimes we say “embrasser”.’ He’d lowered his voice to a whisper. And he’d moved closer to me, leaning on his elbows.
‘Embrasser,’ I said, feeling the weight of each syllable melt on my tongue.
8
Then the moment was shattered by an angry French voice.
‘Felix!’
We broke apart and Felix looked up. We turned to see his boss, Yves, yelling at Felix from across the Brasserie and waving his hands around.
‘Merde,’ Felix whispered. ‘I have to get back to work.’ He smiled at me apologetically. ‘And I am working tonight, but tomorrow, I was thinking we could maybe go somewhere. For a date?’
‘A date?’ I said, more shock than a question. A grin escaped, and Felix matched it before Yves yelled across the Brasserie again.
‘Felix!’
‘I have to go.’ Felix put his hands on my arms and kissed me on both cheeks before turning away briefly, speaking in French to Yves. ‘But quickly. Give me your number and I will send you a message.’
