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“Than French Onion soup?” I asked, stunned. “How about anything?”
“But we’re in France. Here it’s just called onion soup.”
I looked at him and shook my head. He was so clueless that it was adorable. And as I ate what had to be the most incredible soup of my life, I was entertained watching the big baby seated across from me pout.
He was still pouting as we left the restaurant and headed for dessert.
“You okay there?” I asked, taking his hand again.
“Did you see how much cheese I added to the soup? I’m not pretentious. I couldn’t be more basic if I tried.”
“Remy, you asked for a side of Gruyère,” I pointed out.
“And? That’s the cheese they put in Onion soup.”
I laughed. “Remy, you’re pretentious. Accept it. Why does it even bother you?”
“Because I don’t want there to be a distance between us.”
“A distance? What do you mean?”
“I don’t want there to be a part of my life that you don’t feel comfortable in,” he said, drawing my hand around his arm.
“Maybe it’s okay if we aren’t exactly the same. Maybe our differences are what the other needs. And by being our true selves with each other, we’ll each reach a place we couldn’t by ourselves,” I said vulnerably.
“So, you’re saying there’s a “we”?” Remy replied, cockily.
“Did you not hear anything else I just said?”
“Nope! But I’ve confirmed there is a “we”. Did you say anything after that?” he asked, pleased with himself.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Men!”
“Don’t you love ’em?” Remy teased.
“Barely!” I joked.
Getting a sampling of desserts, we dipped in and out of the street lights, finding our way back to the Seine. Walking the cobblestones next to the river as the din of the city faded into the background, the two of us lost ourselves exploring the sweets. Each was better than the next. And by the time it was all gone, we were both full and quiet.
“I couldn’t have imagined a better day,” I told him as the street lights twinkled on the rippling water.
“This might be my favorite day ever,” Remy admitted, not looking at me as he did.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him, pulling his arm against me.
“We should head back. There are places I want to take you in the morning and neither of us has had much sleep.”
“I’m not sure that sleep is in my future anytime soon. Are you sure you don’t want to stop at a bar for a sampling of French wine?” I asked, not wanting the day to end.
He turned to look at me. Sadness filled his eyes. I didn’t understand. Where was the endless flirt who had driven me crazy all day?
“No. We should call it a night. But, tomorrow,” he said with melancholy.
“Sure,” I said, hiding my disappointment.
Was it happening again? Had he made me fall for him before pulling the rug out from under me?
No. I wasn’t going to go there. There was more to Remy than a flirt or tease. Over the past few months, he had done more for me than I could dream of. If his mood had changed, or if he decided that he no longer wanted to be with me, there had to be a good reason for it.
