What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) (15 page)

Lena smiled apologetically. “Unlike most new graduates, I can afford to
experiment. After all, being a minigarch does offer a few perks.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Thanks for letting me use your laptop.” He
stood and ran his hand through his hair. “Lena, I need to go to my place
tonight . . .”

“Yes, sure.”

He took a step toward her. “Would you like to come with me? I know you’re
tired
.” He grinned smugly. “But we could have a
quiet
evening at
my place, just watching TV. Mat is out of town, so I have the apartment to
myself.”

Lena silently counted to five before answering. “OK,
let’s see what your lair looks like.”

The lair was reasonably neat for a place inhabited by two young men. On
the way upstairs, Rob picked up the mail and went through it, separating the
junk.

“I have a letter from my grandfather. He’s the only member of my family
who still writes letters using pen and paper. Now that I think of it, he’s the
only person I know who still does that.” He waved a small envelope addressed to
him.

“I know. A vanishing art . . . On the other hand, look at
the bright side—all the trees that weren’t cut, animals that weren’t
deprived of their habitat, indigenous tribes that weren’t displaced.”

“I see your point, but when I read this letter”—he pointed at the
two densely filled pages he was holding—“I can relate to the person who
wrote it in a different way than when I read a three line e-mail with no caps.”

She smiled. “You have a nostalgic side!”

“I hope you still like me.” He led her to the kitchen that had a small
dining table, a bookshelf, and a wall-mounted TV. “What would you like to
drink?”

“Tea would be good.”

He turned on the electric kettle and put teabags into their mugs. “You
know, my grandfather is the family’s maverick. He never wanted to be a farmer,
had big dreams when he was young.”

“Did he pursue them?”

Rob shook his head. “He gave up on them to stay in the village and marry
my grandmother. I think he spent his every waking hour ever since regretting
that decision.”

“But didn’t he love your grandma? Didn’t they raise kids together? Live a
tranquil life in a beautiful setting?” Lena was inexplicably disturbed by Rob’s
comment on his grandfather’s choice.

“They produced my dad, and then Grand-maman died of cancer. After that,
Grand-papa had a pretty long bout of depression. I’m not sure about the
specifics, but my father says Grand-papa became too cozy in his depressed state
to get out there and face the world.”

The kettle started beeping, and Rob interrupted his story to finish
making their tea. He placed a steaming mug in front of Lena.

“Thank you. But, please, let me do this next time. I may suck at cooking,
but I do know how to make tea and coffee. Isn’t it enough that you bring me
food and beverages when I’m at
La Bohème
?”

“At
La Bohème
, I’m
paid
to bring you food and beverages. So
it doesn’t count. Whereas here, I’m free to do as I please, and it pleases me
to make you tea.” Rob sat down next to Lena and added, “Since I can’t very well
go and hunt a saber-toothed tiger for you.”

Lena raised her eyebrows.

“Because I
would
, you know, if you wanted one. Had they not been
extinct.” He wiped imaginary sweat off his forehead and blew out his cheeks. “Thank
God.”

Lena giggled. But she still wanted to hear the rest of his grandfather’s
story. “Did your Grandpa recover from his depression?”

“Kind of. After my dad took over the farm and married my mom, Grand-papa
rented a little studio apartment and developed a routine that still keeps him
going. He starts every day with a little exercise session.”

“Good for him.”

“He also makes sure to always have company for his meals. Usually, it’s
one of his bridge club or chess club buddies. Sometimes, my sister. Then he
goes for a long walk in the afternoon. And then he goes over to my parents’
place for dinner.”

“This doesn’t sound like an unhappy life to me,” Lena said.

“It doesn’t sound like it, but to him it is.” Rob took a sip from his
mug. “You see, he measures what he’s got against his unfulfilled dreams. He
wanted to go to college, travel the world, be a movie
director . . . He didn’t do any of that, hence the regret.”

“He could’ve at least traveled once your dad was a grown man, couldn’t
he?”

“He was broke.” Rob gave Lena a strange look, then said, “You see, when
you’re eighteen and you hitchhike your way around the world, you’re an
explorer. When you do it at sixty-eight, you’re a tramp.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the evening quietly in front of the TV, just as
planned. The night turned out to be a lot less quiet.

In the morning, when they sat down to coffee and toast in the kitchen,
Lena thought it was lucky that Mat was out of town. She would have been too
embarrassed to face him now, considering all the commotion she and Rob made
during the night.

“You bring me luck!” Rob interrupted her thoughts, turning his phone to
Lena.

The company he’d interviewed with the day before had requested a
follow-up interview.

“Who knew that having slept for only three hours before a job interview
would work for me?” Then his tone became more serious. “This is my first
follow-up, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

“I’m so happy for you.” She gave him a playful wink. “Must’ve been the
jeans and server’s shirt combo that did the trick.”

“How about my superior intelligence and leadership potential? Anyway, I
don’t want to get my hopes too high yet. It’s just a follow-up interview, not a
job offer.”

Lena was about to ask what and, especially, where the job in question
was, when Rob clapped his hand to his forehead. “I almost forgot to tell you: I’ll
be visiting my family this weekend. Their farm is in a small village called
Saint-Fontain, next to Besançon. Have you ever been there?”

“On the Swiss side of the Jura Mountains, yes, but not in French Jura.”

“It’s the July Fourteenth, so there’ll be lots of festivities. Amanda and
Mat are coming. I asked my parents if I could bring a third friend, and they
said the more the merrier. So, if you don’t have better plans for your
weekend . . .”

Lena noted Rob’s use of the term “friend” to describe her and it rattled
her. On a rational level, she knew he couldn’t possibly have referred to her as
his girlfriend, considering that they had been together for only two days. She
also knew that if she had to mention Rob to her dad, a “friend” would be the
word she’d use. But to her dismay, insecurity was once again clouding her
judgment, making her doubt herself and others. She was aware of it, yet she
couldn’t help it.

Rob misinterpreted her frown. “Lena, if you’re not too excited about
spending the weekend with a bunch of village folk, drinking and making merry, I
won’t blame you.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m actually quite curious to get a glimpse of French
rural life. It was just unexpected.” She fidgeted with her watch strap. “And . . .
you don’t need to invite me just to be polite. I can have a perfectly fine
weekend here or go visit friends in Geneva while you’re away.”

“But I
want
you to come,” he said, taking her hand. “Once you know
me better, you’ll see I don’t do things just to be polite. I’m inviting you
because I’d like you to come with me to Saint-Fontain.”

She searched his eyes.

“Besides, the Swiss side of Jura is a pale sham compared to the French
side. Our forests are greener, our skies are bluer, and our mountains are
taller.”

“Watch out—I may bring my measuring tape.”

“Does it mean you’re coming?”

“I guess it does.”

“Great! You’ll see—it’s going to be fun.”

Lena nodded, trying to ignore her gut feeling that a weekend in Amanda’s
company was likely to be anything but fun.

My buzzing city is asleep—tight,

I’ve walked away into the dim—light,

I may be someone’s mother, wife,
child,—

But I
remember only this—night.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Jura was beautiful, with its green forests, blue lakes, majestic
mountains, and cobalt blue skies. The air was so pure Lena quickly became drunk
on it. As they reached Saint-Fontain, she admired the village’s central square.
As any self-respecting heart of a
commune
, it had a town hall with the
tricolor flapping in the wind, a church and a bakery. The streets went up and
down, offering breathtaking views, and
every
house had red, pink or
white geraniums in its windows.

Rob’s parents and little sister greeted them on the porch, distributing
warm hugs, handshakes, and kisses. His grandfather, who had picked them up from
the station, positively glowed.

“Amanda, you’ve grown even prettier than the last time I saw you,” Rob’s
mom said, making Amanda color with pleasure. “And you are Lena, right? My name
is Rose Dumont—please call me Rose. This is my husband, Jacques, and my
daughter Caroline. We are very pleased to meet you.”

Her smile was warm and friendly, and Lena relaxed a little. “Thank you so
much for inviting me. I hope I haven’t caused any last-minute rearrangements.”

“Nonsense. The farmhouse is big enough to host a football team—unlike
the Parisian shoeboxes you’re used to.” Rose ushered everyone in. “I’ll let you
freshen up, and then you can join us for some refreshments in the garden.”

She led the girls to their rooms, while Mat followed Rob to the opposite
end of the house.

When Lena came back outside, she followed animated voices and laughter to
the back of the house, where everyone was already seated around a big table
under a sprawling tree. The garden was as pretty and well-kept as the house.

Rob pulled out a chair for her and filled her glass. “You’ve got to taste
this. It’s the best lemonade in the universe, produced here at the Dumont Farm
by Madame Dumont herself.”

Rob’s dad pushed a bowl with blueberries toward Lena. “Taste these, too.
Organically grown in this very garden. And the cheese cubes in that bowl on
your left are cut from the best Comté in the region, produced by your humble
servant.”

He waited for Lena to taste the berries and the cheese and emit
appreciative noises, then continued. “As I was telling your friends, tomorrow
night we’re having a big event in the village—the Firemen’s Ball. Have
you heard of it?”

Lena shook her head to humor him.

Monsieur Dumont’s eyes lit up at the prospect of educating a foreigner
about the French ways. “The Firemen’s Ball is held annually all over France to
celebrate the Bastille Day and to support local fire brigades. This year, we
made a special effort. We’re going to have a professional rock band from Lyon,
and we’re expecting the party to go on until the morning.”

Amanda clapped her hands. “How exciting!”

“Jacques, why aren’t you telling them there’s also going to be madam the
mayor making long speeches, Monsieur Pascal playing the accordion. and the
Moreau children with their flutes?” Rob’s grandfather asked, looking innocent.

Rob snorted, nearly spilling his lemonade.

“Aren’t we supposed to buy tickets for the ball, Monsieur Dumont?” Amanda
asked, skillfully diverting the conversation.

He cocked his head. “Do I look like someone who lets his guests pay for
anything? As far as I know you and Mat are currently unemployed. I am told Lena
is a fresh graduate as well, so I guess she, too, lives on pasta and water.”

Lena braced herself for a mean remark from Amanda, but the latter took a
pass for some unfathomable reason.

Monsieur Dumont turned to Rob. “And as for my son here, he’d rather
depend on the crumbs those cheapskate Parisians leave him than return home,
take his rightful place at the farm and have a future.”

“Jacques, I think these young people are well aware of their financial
situations and don’t need you to remind them,” Rose admonished her husband
before turning to Amanda. “So, my dear, I hope you brought a cocktail dress for
tomorrow night, so you don’t end up having to wear one of my ancient
prepregnancy gowns like last year?”

“And what a beautiful gown it was,” Amanda said, and then added with a
mysterious smile, “But yes, Rose, this time round I’ve come well prepared.”

* * *

Madame the mayor’s speech was longish but inspired. The Moreau children,
however, turned out to be far worse than Lena had imagined. It was an ordeal to
listen to them massacre one tune after another, encouraged by the sympathetic
applause of the villagers. Lena began plotting how she could sneak out for a
while, when the children finally exhausted themselves and bowed to the
audience. The villagers gave them a particularly enthusiastic round of applause—no
doubt, out of immense gratitude for having ended their torture.

Compared to the flute players, Monsieur Pascal’s accordion wasn’t half
bad. As a matter of fact, Lena quite enjoyed the classic Piaf and Aznavour
tunes Monsieur Pascal spiced up with a hint of rock ‘n’ roll.

Before the second part of the program began, the fire brigade’s courtyard
was rearranged for the rock band. The enthusiastic audience dimmed the lights,
pushed chairs to the walls, and filled their stomachs with the requisite amount
of beer.

“Have you heard of this band before?” Amanda asked Rob.

She wore a shimmering little black dress and strappy high heels. Her
golden hair cascaded over her shoulders in artful coils. She was Parisian
glamor personified.

Rob shook his head. “Nope. But then again, I haven’t lived around here
the past six years. My cousin tells me they’re big in Lyon and the entire
southeast.”

The band arrived appropriately late, set their equipment up, and began to
play. Their music was rocky, sexy, and loud. The youth raved along in total
abandon, while the older audience made a huge dent in the local alcohol
reserves.