I hop off the bench and hug him. “I’m so happy for you. That’s great.”
“Yeah, I’ve been working this out for a long time, researching the business, and keeping an eye out for opportunities. I’ve been keeping track of this one place… lots of regular customers, busy all the time. The owner is a nice old guy… seventy-eight years old. He wants to retire.”
“Sounds great. Is it nearby?” I ask, really wanting to know.
He smiles. “Just a few blocks from our place.”
A breath of relief escapes me. I’m shocked by my reaction. If he’d told me it was in Seattle or something, I would have been devastated. I realize right then that I never want to lose him, that I love him.
Should I tell him right now? We’re in Paris. The day is gorgeous. It’s the perfect moment.
“Weren’t those amazing crêpes,” I say instead. “You should serve crêpes at your new coffee shop.”
I’m such a coward.
He smiles. “Not a bad idea.”
I just can’t. I can’t tell him I love him. I’m too afraid he won’t say it back. I know I’m messed up. I know my dad fucked me up. And all that high school bullying… I’m afraid to love. I’m a complete mess.
“Well, I’m really happy for you, Oscar. You deserve this. I can see how excited you are.”
He smiles proudly, as adorable as a kid at a lemonade stand. “Never been more excited about anything in my life,” he tells me. “Well, when I first met you was also pretty exciting.” He winks at me and takes my hand. “You can come over all the time. Free coffee.”
“I’ll be there so often, you’ll get sick of me, buddy.”
He laughs. “Impossible.”
Antoine and Mom finally catch up to us. “Weren’t those delicious?” Mom says. She’s obviously forgotten all about Mark. A good crêpe and a sexy French silver fox by your side will do that, I suppose.
We spend another hour at the market. My eyes are greedy as we walk past all the vendors; old bicycles, rustic furniture, pretty antiques knick knacks, old books (mostly French) and so much interesting stuff. Mom buys quite a few things (a book she will never read, some artsy napkin holders, a stylish hat, and a pretty bracelet). Still on a budget, I limit myself to one thing: an old leather satchel. I’m thrilled when I discover an old French coin and a train ticket inside.
Oscar buys me pretty fresh flowers to take back to our apartment — it’s kind of a tradition of ours. He always buys me flowers — carnations, tulips and lilies, no roses or anything pretentious.
It’s a beautiful day in Paris. Mom is happy (for now), and so am I. I’m holding flowers in one hand, and Oscar’s hand in the other.
Life could definitely be worse.
But it’s too good to be true, I think, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
