3. Anne
Chapter 3
Anne
I walk around the Louvre, fully immersed in the guided tour. The guide takes our small group all around the museum to see the different masterpieces. It’s crowded and warm.
Thank goodness I wore comfortable sandals with my sundress today.
We hit the tourist highlights such as “Venus de Milo,” “The Winged Victory of Samothrace,” “Mona Lisa,” “The Raft of the Medusa,” and so many other paintings. But my eyes can’t help but stay glued to the marbled figures. My favorite piece is the statue “Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss.” I want a monumental love like the one portrayed in front of me. The softness and care you can see by their embrace. The way the artist captured the intense feelings of love. The emotion depicted in marble is breath taking. Statues have always been my favorite type of art. To think about all the time, the strength, the lack of errors that go into creating these masterpieces, it’s truly astounding.
I know my whole trip is about me enjoying new experiences and enjoying time alone, but as I stand here, surrounded by all this fantastic art, I can’t help but wish I had someone next to me. It’s been a long time since my ex-husband and I had anything even remotely like the ideal relationship I had always dreamed of having in life. Relationships take work, but they shouldn’t be hard.
As I stare at the “The Three Running Fates and The Triumph of Truth,” I can’t help but feel as if things wouldn’t have happened the way they did unless they were meant to be.
I want a love like the ones these artists depict. I won’t accept anything less.
The tour continues, and I can’t help but remind myself of all the reasons why I got divorced. Which reminds me to text my mother and sister that I finally made it to the Louvre. Their responses are what I expected: jabs about how I’m wasting my precious time looking at art when I should be back home, working.
At the end of the tour, I still have time before I meet up with Alexandre so I wander around a bit more, taking in the various artworks. Finally, I head out to the Tuileries Garden to find the café. The sun is warm against my skin, and I’m thankful I packed my sunglasses today. I spot Alexandre sitting at a small metal table. He’s wearing jeans and a simple navy tee. His biceps are highlighted as he sits with his arms crossed.
I wonder how much he works out.
He spots me and stands up almost immediately.
Alexandre is a sight to behold. I greet him, and he leans down to lightly kiss both of my cheeks. I can feel my face warm beneath his touch.
“ Tu es plus belle que l'?uvre d'art, ” Alexandre whispers in my ear. My French is limited to mostly pastry terms, but I know he called me beautiful.
And what a way to guarantee my blush is fully taking over my face now. I look away briefly, unsure of how to respond.
“Have you been waiting long?” I ask him as I return his gaze. His crooked smile is adorable, the way one side is slightly higher. It suits him well.
“Not at all. Would you like to get some coffee? My treat.”
“Yes, please. The tour was great but I’m desperate for a caffeine pick-me-up.”
Alexandre leads me to the little window to order. I decide that I want to attempt to order in French. I don’t know why I am longing to impress him, but I also can’t get our kiss out of my head. He places his order and gestures to me.
“ Je voudrais un café chaud et des frites, s'il vous pla?t ,” I say with gusto and am met with two people looking utterly confused. The worker says something in French, too quickly for me to follow. I don’t know what’s wrong. I said please; I used the formal register that native speakers use to illustrate politeness and professionalism. And I don’t know what they said in return. I look at Alexandre with wide eyes and ask for help.
Alexandre’s head tilts and he asks me if I mean to order French fries. This stand doesn’t even have fries on their menu. I close my eyes. Of course, my pronunciation is wrong. Fries and fruit are so close.
“I meant fruit, not fries,” I say meekly, eyes cast down.
This coffee date is not going well.
I smooth the skirt of my dress while Alexandre talks to the café worker in very fast French. He takes my hand and lightly squeezes it.
“Problem solved. If you want fries later, let me know. There’s a great crêperie I can take you to that serves fries so fresh you’ll burn your tongue.” He releases my hand as we collect our goodies and find an empty table in the shade.
“I wouldn’t want to burn my tongue,” I reply automatically.
“I’d kiss it and make it better,” he retorts as we sit down. Thank goodness I’m not drinking my coffee. I would have snorted hot coffee all over the place.
“Dually noted.” I blow on my coffee as an excuse to not make eye contact right now.
I need to get this date back on track. I don’t want to be embarrassed or make another language mistake. I want to wow him. But more than anything, I want to kiss Alexandre again. I want to feel his lips on mine once more.
Alexandre
I’ve known Anne less than a day and already, I know how easily flustered she can be. She’s so open to new experiences, to trying new things. It’s courageous to be that outgoing, even with risking embarrassment.
Plus, her blushing cheeks are adorable.
Despite her lightly tanned skin, that little dash of red only showcases her heart-shaped lips. She has a slight pout now as she sits with her hot coffee. I didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable. I want this date to go well.
“Did you enjoy your tour?” Anne replies with a nod. I’ve caught her mid chew; she covers her mouth with her hand as she munches. “What was your favorite artwork?”
“That’s such a difficult question, but if I had to choose, it’d be the statue of Psyche and Cupid. Do you know it?” I love the way her eyes light up when she speaks; the tiny flecks of gold sparkle in any light.
“Yes. It’s a beautiful moment of love captured by marble. Stunning piece.”
“I couldn’t agree more. All in all, it was an amazing experience. I’m glad I did the guided tour. The museum is massive. I was there for hours and didn’t even make it to every room.” She covers her grin with her coffee. I wonder why she wavers between being brave and outgoing with these moments of bashfulness. As if afraid to be visibly happy.
“You’re not the first one to say that.” I chuckle. “What else do you have planned for today?”
“The Musée de l'Orangerie is next.” She looks at her watch and then back to me. “Are you able to join me?”
“Of course. I am here to be your personal guide, mon chérie . Shall we head there now?”
“Yes, please.”
We both toss our trash and start to walk through the garden over to the museum. It’s a beautiful summer day, and I’m thankful to be spending it with Anne. I want to hold her hand, but I don’t want to be too forward. Though we did already kiss. And quite passionately, too.
I don’t want Anne to feel like I’m just wooing her because she’s a tourist. It’s unspoken, but we’re both aware there’s an expiration date. Although I’m starting to feel like these two weeks are going to be over just as soon as they began. It’s odd, I haven’t felt this way about anyone in years.
Before I can make up my mind about holding her hand, Anne takes my hand in hers and points to some trees nearby.
“Do you see that tiny bird? It’s adorable.” She doesn’t let go of my hand. I can feel my pulse quicken as we continue to walk and chat about the scenery.
I tell her some small bits of information about the fountain and the surrounding area. We reach the museum and pay separately. Once inside the first room, I watch Anne as she starts to soak it in. I think you can tell a lot about a person by how they approach art. What draws them in and what exactly makes them linger in front of each piece? These sorts of things.
This museum is one of my favorite places in Paris. The way they’ve set up the rooms to showcase Monet’s waterlilies on the walls takes your breath away. The rooms are curved and there’s seating in the middle. But it’s the lighting in each room that makes it my favorite. No matter the weather, it’s as if daylight streams in and floods the room. It makes me feel as if I’m right there with Monet as I gaze at the paintings.
As we enter the second room, Anne lets out an audible gasp. I squeeze her hand and lead her to one of the benches. Her brows are raised. Her eyes seem to soften as she parts her lips and sighs. Her shoulders slump as she leans her head on my shoulder. I gently kiss her head. It’s such a natural reaction. It happens before I can second guess it. She doesn’t move. We stay seated in silence as we take in the artwork in front of us.
“It’s beautiful,” Anne whispers. “I’ve never felt more at ease than right now. Do you think Monet would like this exhibit?”
“Yes, I think he’d love it.” I want to kiss her strawberry-colored lips, to push her up against the wall and feel her chest pressed against mine. But we’re in a museum full of people, so I think about dull things instead and try to calm the desire that seems to be bubbling up.
Scrubbing dishes.
Deboning a fish.
Cleaning up vomit from a drunk chef.
I breathe deeply, letting the desire dim, and ask Anne if she’d like to continue through the other rooms and exhibits. We make small chitchat as we meander through each room. I can’t get enough of the way her face lights up when she finds a piece of art she likes. Or the way her voice quickens as she explains something she already knew. It’s sexy, seeing her so confident.
As we exit the museum, my phone rings. I excuse myself when I see that it’s Fran?ois calling me. After a quick chat, I explain to Anne that I need to cut our date short.
“Unfortunately, one of the line guys is sick, and I need to go in at my regular time.” I give her cheek a quick peck. “Which means I need to leave now to get there. I’m so sorry, Anne. I wanted to take you for a walk along the Seine later.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” Her lips quiver as she speaks.
“Let me show you around another day.” She starts to say something but I cut her off. “Please, Anne. I want to show you the real Paris.”
“Okay, Alexandre.” I can feel my shoulders relax as she agrees. “What messaging app do you use? You can let me know where to meet you.” We exchange numbers.
“ Je pense que je tombe amoureux ,” I murmur as I kiss her forehead once more.
She looks at me quizzically, with one brow raised, but she doesn’t question me on what I said. I linger before I say goodbye and promise to text her later tonight about tomorrow.
As I walk to the closest metro station, I think about how much I actually know about Anne. She’s divorced, she came to France for a pastry conference for work, and she lives in Maine. I know she likes French food, or at least everything she ate yesterday at the restaurant. She drinks her coffee black and her eyes light up when she looks at art. Plus, she looks amazing in a sundress.
I know her lips are soft and she’s full of passion.
I know that I want to learn everything about her that I can.
And I know that I may be falling in love.