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30
AVERY
“Pancakes?”I ask incredulously as we head into the small café and I catch sight of the menu.
“Shush! No, they're called crepes.”
“Crepes are pancakes.”
“This is not your lemon and sugar Shrove Tuesday variety,cariad.”
The café hides in a side street in the centre of old Rouen, a rough interior that better suits Bryn's image. Another young couple sit at a table tucked away in one corner and we take another beneath the art prints on the pale walls.
“Crepes and a local red.” Bryn grabs a menu and thrusts it at me. “Choose.”
This reads like a pizza menu and I'm apprehensive about what I'll be eating tonight. Deciding to go with a safe ham and cheese, Bryn orders from the gruff café owner who returns with an open bottle of wine and two glasses.
“How are you?” he asks as he pours two drinks. “You look tired.”
“So do you.”
He shrugs off his leather jacket revealing the muscular forearms I'd love to dig my fingernails into. “Touring.”
“Studying.”
“Have you done much else? Anything exciting happen?”
“Nothing to eclipse January and parties with rock stars, no.”
He smiles slowly. “Hotrock stars.”
We continue to skirt around the issue of ‘us’ as he regales me with tales of touring, complaining about his sister, but no mention of anything to do with Hannah. I relax as his easy-going aura emanates toward me.
The crepe surprises me because I love the flavour combination and never expected to. The freshness of the cheese and ham, melted together in the centre of the crepe is somewhere between a pizza and a sandwich. Even that’s talking down what looks ordinary but is the best meal I've tasted in months.
“They're famous for these here,” says Bryn through a mouthful, indicating my plate with his fork.
“I can see why. I agree, not pancakes.”
Meal and wine finished, we wander through the myriad of half-timbered medieval houses along winding lanes in old Rouen. Other groups walk through the narrow streets, ducking into bars or sitting outside cafes, wrapped up against the cold spring evening. Nobody pays attention to the Blue Phoenix drummer and his date.
I'm surprised when Bryn takes my hand and squeezes. His large palm encompassing mine feels natural, and he just took hold of my heart again. We reach a square beneath the shadow of the cathedral where brightly lit spires push into the cloudy evening, and my sensation of being in a different world grows.
“Not quite Paris romance, but I think this is a romantic spot,” Bryn says and slips his arm around my waist as we gaze up. “Did I choose a good place?”
I shift to face him. “A good place for a date? Yes. A step out of life and time somewhere like Rouen is incredible. Very romantic; five stars to you.”
Bryn studies me, his scrutiny trailing heat from my cheeks to my neck, before touching my cheek lightly with his fingertips. “No, Avery. Did I choose a good place to tell you I accidentally fell in love with you?”
His words stun as much as the day he said he couldn't be anybody's and I swallow down my anxiety. “Bryn, don't. That's not fair.”
He cups my cheek in his cool hand. “Avery, all I’ve wanted for the last six weeks is to see you again. Every morning I’ve woken up and wished I could see the infuriating, sexy, funny, smart, caring girl who snuck into my heart.”
“That’s a lot of adjectives.”
“I have plenty more.”
I scrutinise him in return and in his open face, I see the truth I hoped for in January that he refused to give me. “Last time I saw you, you told me I wasn't enough for you. That hurt.”
