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I sighed again. What game was this he was playing at? I enjoyed spending time with him, and I assumed he felt the same way. Then he goes about making comments and making me feel inadequate. My insecurities, I get it. But no one had ever suggested to me I was too small. I was a size ten, for Christ’s sake.
I nodded at him and headed back toward the terminal. The airport was crowded and bustling with people trying to go here and there. Walks of all life were right here, trying to get to their destinations. Seats were filled, leaving not one available. People lined the walls, sitting on the floor waiting for an opportunity for a seat or to board their flights. Airline representatives talked on the loudspeakers, requesting passengers to approach the counter, calling off sections that were boarding, and the guy on the main speaker was telling you how to be safe in the airport.
Don’t leave your bags unattended. Don’t accept things from people you don’t know.
Did I want to listen to this for hours?
I turned and headed back to the restaurant, hoping that Raphael would be a better distraction than the airport sounds.
“I thought the French preferred thinner people,” I said as I approached his table.
Raphael smiled and stood up to pull out my chair. I sat down in it and scooted closer to the table.
“Maybe. I don’t, though.”
There was a glass of wine in front of him, and I shook my head. “It’s barely noon!”
“There was a point to that?”
“Your wine?”
“Ah! No, we don’t put a time on when wine is appropriate. As long as you’re not drunk or being inappropriate, there is no reason you can’t have a glass of wine in the middle of the day. It’s no different from drinking any other thing for lunch.”
The server appeared at that moment and I ordered an iced tea. There was no way that I was drinking wine at noon. Raphael ordered a meat, cheese, and fruit plate for us to share. He was in no rush and I understood. It’s not like we had anywhere to be. An hour later, we ordered actual food, and he talked me into having a glass of wine with him.
Raphael told me about Paris and how much he loved it. He told me about some sites and even showed me pictures on his phone, making the experience with him well rounded and personal. Intimate. I loved every bit.
“You should come to Paris sometime,” he said.
“It’s on my bucket list.”
“What else is on it?”
“Skydiving, water gliding, hot-air balloon, swimming with dolphins, going to Italy, touring London, visiting Alaska during the daytime months. There’s a lot on my list.”
“Yet, wine at noon isn’t?” Raphael chuckled.
“No, it’s not. What about you? Do you have a bucket list?”
“No, I don’t. Unless you count cherry gateau basque.” This smile was wickedly sexy. He was teasing me, and I couldn’t help but blush.
“That doesn’t count! You’ve already had it.”
“Yes, but it’s part of my coming home experience. It’s the one thing that proves that I am truly at home. Well, that and fresh bread.”
Our food arrived, and we spent the next hour eating and discussing some of our favorite things. It surprised me we stayed in the restaurant for four hours and the time just seemed to melt away. Raphael paid for everything, and we headed to our terminal. He stopped walking and pulled me into him suddenly.
“Do you hear that?”
I shook my head and listened, but could barely make out the music over the airport noise. Raphael pulled out his iPod and searched it for something. When he found it, his eyes lit up, and he put one earbud into my ear and one into his. The soulful sounds of Ed Sheeran played in my ear. I didn’t know the song, but it told the story of meeting someone perfect and falling in love.
Raphael placed his hand at my waist, drawing me closer as he rocked back and forth. I raised my hand to rest on his shoulder. And right there, in the middle of the hustling passengers, we slow danced to the most beautiful song. The way he watched me was as if he’d written each lyric himself. I knew better, though. It was a moment of vulnerability, but it meant nothing. He was sharing a song he liked and that would be the extent of it for him. For me, it was much more.
I felt perfect in his arms and he lead me through this dance as easily as breathing. I pretended he liked me just how I was and that he’d chosen this song just for me. Let’s forget that he’d heard it on the radio speakers first or that he didn’t believe in love. Because that wasn’t important. What was important was that the damn song continued to play over and over. Instead of ending it, he replayed the music to dance with ME.
The lines around his lips were tense, as if he wanted to kiss me but was fighting the need. I wanted him to. It would take this stolen moment to the next level. Was I falling for him? I don’t know. What I knew was that being around him was easy. Too easy. Him holding me was right. Too right. Someone could cart us away for suspected criminal involvement in some huge scam right here in this airport, and it could never destroy how things felt right now at this moment. Love, romance, fairy tales, heat, passion, forever… All of those things seemed possible. And it was all because of this moment with him.
When the song ended, it came on again and his steps never faltered. Mine didn’t either. He pulled me tighter, and I allowed it. I could dream, and I was learning to live in the moment. His eyes were clearer, less shaded, or haunted. They watched me carefully as if he thought I’d run. I didn’t. I stayed right there and focused my everything on him. The rhythm of the way his chest rose and fell. I mimicked. We became one the more we danced. His fingertips warmed my skin through my clothes, adding to the moment. I don’t know how long we stayed there before he finally removed the earbuds, breaking the trance we’d fallen into.
