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“I'm sorry, monsieur.” Oh look, words are finally coming out of my mouth. “The restaurant isn’t open yet. However, there are three cafes just over there—”
“I don’t want three cafes just over there.” He buries himself under the hat, sunglasses, and scarf. “I came here. And I’d like a coffee.”
I will not let his grumpiness rub off on me. In my donut selling days, I handled many men before their morning coffee. It's rarely a pretty sight.
Even if this man happens to be very pretty…
“That one,” I point at my personal favorite café in the neighborhood, “does a divine double latte, if that floats your boat.”
“Floats my boat?”
“It’s an American expression. You know, like—” of course, I can’t think of a single example. “—Yee-haw.”
That’s the example I give?
“I was told that this was one of Paris's best establishments,” he replies, shaking his head. “And you are sending me away with a ‘yee-haw’. All I want is to enjoy the newspaper with a coffee at this renowned restaurant. What a disappointment.”
Yikes. I was hired to give great customer service, that southern hospitality. For me, it’s not just lip service, it’s how I was raised. My Gram was especially particular about it. Southern hospitality is a way of life, she taught me, and it goes way beyond coffee. But if southern hospitality isn't bending over backward to get this man what he wants, then what is?
“I have an idea.” I lean in, the sunshine streaming into my eyes. “I’ll go over to the other café to get you a coffee. This way you can continue to enjoy your paper in the morning sun.”
He sighs and tears off his sunglasses, peering at me straight in the eye. “I travel across the country to come to one of Paris's finest restaurants, and I can't even get a morning espresso? This is quite shocking.”
Those eyes… Caribbean waterfalls… matched with the French accent is just…
Stay in the moment, Natalie. The restaurant’s reputation with this handsome and rich (and demanding and grumpy) man is depending on me.
“You know what?” I stand up tall, hands on hips in the I’m-going-to-make-an-important-statement way. “You’re right, monsieur. And at the Bouchon Noir, the customer is always right. I'm going to make you a coffee.” Gram would be so proud. I miss her.
He nods, replaces his sunglasses, and sticks his nose back in the newspaper.
Little known fact: I’ve never made coffee in France.
Day in and day out, I’ve seen people use that big machine to make those fancy little espressos. It can’t be that hard.
Marie, the baker, is already at work in the second kitchen. She's the only one who arrives at the restaurant before me, baking the restaurant’s own recipe of homemade bread. She’s also bilingual, very handy when trying to understand the boss and inconvenient when being snubbed by fellow staff.
This morning I only have time to wave her a quick hello. A very important espresso awaits my making.
It’s me against the machine. I find the power button; that’s always a good start. I place a minuscule mug under the spout.
“Here goes nothing…” I hit the button in the middle of the machine.
Miracle of miracles, brown liquid makes its way into the tiny glass mug.
I'm not going to deny that I'm feeling very pleased with myself as I gingerly place the coffee in front of Monsieur Grump.
“There you go, monsieur—” Don’t say grump out loud. “I hope you enjoy your coffee.”
He lifts a finger indicating I should wait. I don’t want to wait. This coffee drama has reminded me that even men who appear to have stepped out of my dreams can be total grouches, and I don’t want to upset my fantasy of romantic French men.
He closes his eyes—so sexy—and takes a sip from the tiny mug. My breath is shallow watching him lick his lips, and time slows down. He purses his lips, cheeks taut, and not in a good way. He sets the mug on the table and looks up at me.
“Mon dieu, what have you done?” he asks like I just stomped all over his strawberry patch. “This isn't coffee, it’s wastewater. Are you trying to insult me?”
My stomach drops. “Insult you? No, no, I promise you I turned on the machine and then pushed the button—”
“After you put new grounds into it, right?”
