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Natalie
Well, aren't I just a pile of conflicting feelings?
I can tell from the little bit of light coming through the window that dawn is just beginning to break. I don't want to get out of bed. I was out late, enjoying Paris in the wee hours of the morning with my delightful company, Julien.
It was a relief to see everyone already asleep when I got home—or at least faking it—so I could sneak into my bunk and take in what had been a rather surprising night.
Is that coffee I smell? Oh, what I would do for a massive coffee right now. My head pounds as I take stock of the last twelve hours.
Olivier came to my door, my apartment that I share with five roommates, and he insisted that he neededmeof all people to help him save the restaurant. And then he got jealous on Julien's arrival. Even I could see what was happening.
It seems there's certain aspects of men that are international. And my word, Olivier’s eyes were blazing.
Why? He's the very one who said nothing could happen between us. If I go out on a harmless dinner date, it shouldn't make the slightest difference to him. Never mind all this business with Simone. Olivier is spoken for.
He wants to have his cake and eat it too. Marie Antoinette, she was French. Let them eat cake, she said. Why wouldn't Olivier want to just smash his whole face full of it?
Well, I suppose that wouldn't be very French…
There's more happening behind the scenes that I don't know about, but will I ever? Understanding the male species is hard enough without adding whole bundles of Frenchness to it.
And then there was Julien. He was so sweet. So lovely, so polite, so chivalrous… andsonot the guy for me. I think he felt it as quickly as I did, because we clicked into friend mode naturally, laughing and giggling about stupid stuff. At the end of the night there was nothing more than the typical kisses on the cheeks to say goodbye.
But what a fascinating dude. He works in the arts, the illumination arts, as he called it. He puts on light shows: pyrotechnics, spotlights, dancing ribbons of color. He had all kinds of ways of describing it, though it was hard to keep up. Sounds fantastic, though. He goes all around Paris, and sometimes abroad, to light up monuments and mark special occasions. Seems the French love their artistic lighting. Who knew?
Then again, every time I see the Eiffel Tower twinkle like a thousand stars, I understand the attraction. There’s nothing as beautiful as the Eiffel Tower, covered in thousands of twinkling lights. Julien’s shows take it to the next level, setting the whole thing to music. “A dance of light,” he said when he invited me to his next public gig in a couple months.
It feels good to make French friends, like I'm settling in here beyond just my old girls from home and my colleagues.
An undeniable aroma wafts in front of my face—
Coffee. I turn my head and there's Laura holding a steaming cup of java with my name all over it.
"I know you're going for coffee with Olivier," she whispers. "But I figured you could use one before then."
"You are not wrong," I whisper back, and take a delightfully long sip. "But you're up awfully early.”
Laura only gets up early when something's off. Sleep is her first victim when she's feeling stressed out. I've been so wrapped up in my own business I'd forgotten to pay attention to what's been happening with my best friend in the world.
"Come on," I say to her. "Tell me."
She waves me off. "It's nothing. Just this horrible colleague again."
"The dude with half your brains and triple the attitude?"
“That’s the one. He’s so infuriating that he’s even invaded my dreams." She takes a long sip of coffee. “He drives me absolutely bonkers. Yesterday he took my approach for contract negotiations and told the boss I had given him the ‘inspiration’. Inspiration. It was my idea! That man sure boils my blood.”
"What a super dweeb," I say and I hear the bunk above me stir. Laura puts a finger to her lips.
"It's no big deal," she whispers. "You're the one who has a big day ahead. How do you feel?"
"Like a monster-sized butterfly just laid a thousand eggs in my stomach, and they threaten to hatch at any moment."
"Ew," Laura grimaces. "Gross analogy. But I see what you mean. And I also know you've got nothing to worry about. You've handled this man like a champ so far. Whatever he throws at you next, you've got this. The worst has passed."
That's exactly what I'm worried about, but I don't tell Laura that. Every time I see Olivier looking downcast, my heart aches for him. There's more going on in me than I want to admit, but maybe it's just going to take time to get over this silly crush.
By the time I get dressed and skip down the stairs, Olivier is already waiting outside.
