“We are just getting started,” he said. He put his cigarette out and took a sip of water. Then, inching closer to me, he pressed his lips to mine. Even though I could still taste tobacco on his breath, I kissed him back, spurred on by the food, the wine, the starry night, and the romance of it all. He pulled me closer and parted my lips with his tongue, threading one hand tenderly through my hair and stroking the side of my face with the other. It was perfect. I didn’t want the moment to end.
I cracked my eyes open as he kissed me and looked up at the night sky with the Eiffel Tower glowing ethereally white in the background. It was a quintessential moment of French romance—exactly what I needed. As I kissed back, I thought about Brett and all I’d left behind in Florida. These last few days, I’d been missing him—and my old life—a lot less. Somehow, Swanson frozen meals eaten in front of the TV while Brett watched Fox News didn’t compare to picnicking on a bridge over the Seine while a handsome Frenchman gazed into my eyes and made me feel like the only woman in the world.
I was just falling into the kiss when a ringing sound jolted me out of the moment.
“Is that yours?” Edouard asked after a moment, between hungry kisses.
“Is that my what?” I whispered back, wondering who could have been rude enough to leave their cell phone volume up on a bridge meant for picnickers and lovers.
“Is that your phone?” Edouard asked, kissing me again and biting my lower lip gently. I shuddered.
“My phone?” I asked vaguely. Then I sat straight up. “Oh, no, it is my phone!”
I’d forgotten that I’d left it on. I could feel heat rising to my cheeks.
Just then, the ringing stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Do you need to see who was calling?” Edouard asked.
“No,” I whispered back. “I’m sure it’s not important.” All I wanted was for him to kiss me again. Fortunately, he acquiesced. Unfortunately, whoever was calling me apparently had different plans for the evening.
“Do you think you’d better answer?” Edouard asked on the fifth series of rings. People around us were starting to stare.
I heaved a sigh and pulled myself reluctantly away from him. I groped in my purse until I found my phone, then flipped it open. Poppy’s name was on my caller ID. I gritted my teeth. “This had better be important,” I said as I answered.
“I am so sorry to interrupt your date,” she said hurriedly. “But I need your help, Emma. Guillaume has done it again!”
My heart sank. I glanced at Edouard, who was still lying on his side on the picnic blanket, gazing at me hopefully. “Done what?” I asked.
Poppy sighed. “All I know is he’s hanging from a rope between two apartment buildings in the seventeenth.”
I swore under my breath. “You’re kidding. Right?” I asked hopefully. Maybe this was her idea of a joke.
Poppy was silent for a moment. “I wish I was,” she said. “Seriously, Emma, could he make our lives any more difficult? His launch is barely a week away!”
I glanced at Edouard again. “Poppy,” I whispered, turning away from him a bit. “I’m on a date with Edouard!”
“I’m sure he’ll understand,” she said quickly. “Just explain it to him. Tell him you have to go for work.”
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. I jotted down the address and promised to meet her there as soon as I could.
“Everything okay?” Edouard asked as I hung up.
I took a deep breath. “No,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. There’s a work emergency I have to help take care of.”
Edouard just stared at me.
“You are leaving?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry.” I glanced around at the remnants of the perfect picnic. “Really,” I said. “You have no idea how disappointed I am.”
He stared at me for another moment then shook his head. He stood up without another word and started grabbing empty dishes and tossing them back into the picnic basket, muttering under his breath.
“Edouard?” He was obviously upset, and I couldn’t blame him, especially after all the effort he had gone to.
“It’s just not natural,” he grumbled as he tossed the last of the dishes back into the basket.
“What’s not natural?” I asked, confused.
“This,” he said, shaking his head. “In our country, women do not leave dates early to go to work. Perhaps things are different in America, but here the women are women and the men are men.”
“What?” I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. What did being women and men have to do with anything?
He studied me for another moment then shook his head. “It’s too late. We shall go. Let’s go to the car.”
“I can find a taxi . . .”
“Nonsense.” His voice was stiff. “I will drive you.”
He gathered up the blanket, threw out the empty wine bottle, and began striding quickly, picnic supplies in hand, back toward the Left Bank, away from our perfect little spot on the perfect little bridge. With Edouard puffing aggressively away on a series of cigarettes, we drove in uncomfortable silence to the seventeenth, where he found his way to the address on a side street off Avenue Niel that Poppy had given me.