Paul gave a long sigh of relief.
“Of course! I should have known. You’ve been pulling my leg this whole time. The three of you probably planned it out together. Great, you got me. Bravo!” He applauded her. “All right, where are they hiding? You can tell them to come out. I admit defeat. And I gotta admit, it was a good one!”
Grinning, Paul scanned the restaurant for Arthur and Lauren. Mia kept looking toward the kitchen.
“Are you . . . really a writer?” she asked, her face tight with dismay.
“Of course I am,” he said, turning to face her again.
“Well, that must be it. Characters take hold of the author and end up becoming an actual part of his life. That’s not necessarily a bad thing—I suppose there’s even a kind of poetry to a gentle madness like that. And your message was charming. But now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to leave you with ‘them’ and go home.”
Message? “Remind me again what I said in this ‘message.’”
Mia took the sheet of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Paul.
“These are your words, correct?”
Paul read the text attentively and looked up at Mia, confused.
“It’s true I have a lot in common with this guy—I could have even written the same thing, more or less, to be honest—but the jig is up; quit messing around.”
“I am not messing around. A picture of you was on the profile!”
“What profile?”
“The profile you posted on the dating site, with your picture.”
“I’ve never been on a dating site in my life, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. The only plausible explanation is that we’re both supposed to be meeting someone else.”
“Look around. I don’t see your doppelganger anywhere.”
“Maybe we both got the wrong address?” Paul said, then instantly realized the absurdity of what he was suggesting.
“Unless . . . the man I had arranged a date with started this charade of mistaken identity . . . after a sudden change of heart when he saw what I looked like in person.”
“Impossible. He’d have to be blind.”
“Thank you for that, at least. I read so much honesty in your note. It’s a shame you’re not the same way in person.”
Mia stood up. Paul did the same, and took her hand.
“Hold on, wait. Please sit down. There’s got to be a logical explanation for all this, unless . . . No, there’s no way. They wouldn’t dream of pulling such a dirty trick.”
“Your invisible friends, you mean?”
“You don’t know the half of it. This is not the first time I’ve been left holding the bag for Lauren, and had to face the consequences.”
“Whatever you say. Now, I’m leaving. Promise you won’t . . . follow me?”
“Why on earth would I follow you?”
Mia shrugged. She was about to leave the table when the waitress appeared. The sea bream looked and smelled divine and Mia’s stomach began growling so loudly that the waitress smiled as she placed the dish in the middle of the table.
“Sounds like I arrived just in time!” she said. “Bon appétit.”
Paul sliced fillets from the fish and put two on Mia’s plate. He had received a message on his phone, and he paused to read it.
“Okay. This time, I really am apologizing to you—wholeheartedly and in all seriousness,” he said, placing his phone on the table.
“Apology accepted. But as soon as we’re done eating, I’m off.”
“Don’t you want to know what I’m apologizing for?”
“Not particularly, but I imagine I’m about to find out . . .”
“I admit, I actually thought you were the nutcase. Now I have proof that you’re not.”
“What a relief. Unfortunately, I can’t really say the same about you . . .”
Paul handed his phone to Mia.
Paul,
We wanted to give fate a little nudge and, as you’ll have guessed by now, we played a hell of a trick on you. I hope you managed to have a nice evening, all the same. I must admit that we’ve spent our night in a dizzying mix of guilt and hysterical laughter. Your revenge will have to wait, because we left for Honfleur this afternoon. In fact, I’m writing from the restaurant where we’re having dinner. The fish is excellent, the town is picture-postcard gorgeous, and Lauren totally fell in love with it. Plus, the inn we’re staying at tonight seems absolutely perfect. We’ll be back in a couple of days, maybe more, depending on how long it takes for you to forgive us. I’m sure you’re furious for the time being, but in a few years we’ll be laughing over this together, and who knows? If this Mia becomes the love of your life, you’ll be eternally grateful to us!
In light of all the pranks you’ve played on me . . . we’re even now. Well, almost . . .
Love,
Arthur and Lauren
Mia put the phone down on the table and drained her glass of wine in one go. Paul found this quite surprising, but he was getting used to the feeling.
“Well,” she said, “good news is: at least I’m not eating dinner with a lunatic.”
“What’s the bad news?” Paul asked.
“Your friends have a very twisted sense of humor, particularly for the victims of their jokes. This whole thing has been downright humiliating for me.”
“I beg to differ. If anyone looks like an ass right now, it’s me!”
“At least you didn’t actually join a dating site, though. I feel pathetic.”
“I have thought about it occasionally,” Paul admitted. “I promise that’s the truth—I’m not just saying that to be polite. I could have totally joined one.”
“But you didn’t.”
“It’s the thought that counts, right?”
Paul filled Mia’s glass and suggested a toast.
“And what exactly are we drinking to?”
“To a dinner that neither of us can ever tell a living soul about. That in itself makes it completely unique. I have a proposal for you—no strings attached.”
“If it’s dessert, count me in. This fish is not exactly filling.”
“Dessert. Absolutely!”
“But what did you have in mind?”
“Could you show me the message I was supposed to have written? I just want to reread part of it.”
Mia gave it to him.
“There, that’s the line. Let’s prove we’re braver than fictional characters. At least let’s have enough courage not to leave this table both feeling completely humiliated. Let’s erase everything that’s happened up until now, every word we’ve said. It’s easy—think of it like hitting a key on the computer and we go back and delete the text. Let’s rewrite the scene together, starting from the moment when you walked in.”
Mia smiled at these words.
“Well, I know one thing for sure—you certainly are a writer.”
“See? That’s a great opening sentence for a chapter. We could follow with your Truman Capote quote.”
“I thought writers were quite old,” she repeated.
“As long as they don’t die young, they all inevitably end up that way. So did you like the message I wrote?”
“There were things that appealed to me—enough to make me show up tonight.”
“It took me hours to write.”
“I’m sure it took me just as long to reply.”