Chapter Seven
After a group dinner at a brasserie near their hotel, George and Lou—who were sharing a room—were just getting ready to turn in when there was a knock at their door.
Lou shrugged and headed for the door. When he opened it, Cliff, the widower in the black beret, was standing there, dressed in slacks and a silky black shirt unbuttoned nearly to his navel, showing off more gray chest hair than George would have thought possible for anyone to possess.
“Hello, fellows,” Cliff said. “Want to join me for a night out on the town?”
“A night out on the town?” Lou repeated, like he couldn’t understand the words.
“Well, sure. Three eligible bachelors like us? Got to make the most of it, right?” He grinned and thrust his chest out, the gray hairs catching the light.
“I think you missed a button, Cliff,” Lou said.
“Me?” Cliff looked down, confused. “No, no, this is deliberate, Lou. Got to give the ladies a glimpse of the goods.”
Lou and George exchanged looks again. Impossibly, it appeared that Cliff was being entirely unironic.
“Right,” George said. “And the beret? Is that part of the seduction, too?”
Cliff touched his headwear. “This? No, this is just to fit in here in Paris. You two should get berets, too. You’ll look less like tourists.”
“Thanks, but I’m not much of a hat guy,” Lou said, and when George looked over at him, he could see his friend trying to keep a straight face.
“Me neither,” George said. “I just don’t have the head for it.”
“Hmm.” Cliff seemed to be examining the shape of George’s skull.
“I do see your point. Bit of a square noggin there, huh? Anyhow, I’m headed back to that Australian bar where we had lunch.
Pierre told me it’s quite the scene at night.
I think those two smokin’ Army nurses overheard, and so I’m going on the chance they might be there. ”
“Um, thanks for the invitation,” George said. “But actually, Lou and I were just about to go to sleep.”
Cliff looked him up and down, seeming to notice for the first time that George was in a pressed pair of button-down pajamas, Lou in an undershirt with sweatpants. “But it’s only ten.”
“Past my bedtime,” Lou said with a smile.
“Mine, too,” George added.
Cliff looked shocked. “But… you’re both single. How do you meet women if you’re in bed so early?”
“Believe it or not, Cliff, that hasn’t been much of a priority for me,” Lou said.
“Me neither,” George chimed in, and Lou smiled at him, holding his gaze.
George nodded as Cliff’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. But you’ll be missing out on a wild night in Paris.”
“I’m afraid it’s a chance we’ll have to take, Cliff,” Lou said. “Enjoy your evening, all right?”
“It’s your loss. You fellows sure? I don’t want to—” But the rest of Cliff’s sentence was cut off as Lou politely but firmly shut the door in his face.
George looked at Lou, who finally cracked a smile. “Too bad about that ‘square noggin’ of yours,” Lou said.
George began to laugh, and then Lou did, too, and before they knew it, they both had tears rolling down their faces, and they were holding their sides and trying to catch their breath. George couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard.
But when the laughter finally slowed and Lou went to brush his teeth, George felt a familiar sense of failure creep in as the silence settled around him. He’d had a million chances to change his circumstances, hadn’t he? And he’d chickened out of every one.
What was it about the American girl? Shelby. Russ couldn’t stop thinking of her and the way she’d looked so sad and vulnerable when she’d told him about her divorce.
Her friend had said they were going to get crepes, and he could think of at least two dozen places within a four-block radius that they might have decamped to.
He kept hoping they’d return, hopped up on Nutella and bananas and ready for another bottle of champagne, and each time the door to Le Maison Grog opened, he found himself looking up hopefully, expecting it to be her.
But as the hours ticked by and the bar filled up, she didn’t materialize, and he admitted to himself around midnight that she probably never would.
Even if he hadn’t imagined the spark between them, it wasn’t like she was in Paris looking for something serious.
What a strange day it had been. Between the Vietnam veterans and the divorce party, it had been an odd afternoon crowd, and on top of that, Jackson Quick had walked in and nursed a beer at the bar.
The Jackson Quick! Russ realized that he’d been so caught up in watching the door for Shelby that he’d forgotten to tell Benji.
“You’ll never guess who I poured a beer for this afternoon,” he said, as Benji grabbed a cocktail shaker for a round of lemon-drop shots. A group of twentysomething American girls at the far end of the bar was ordering them as if they were going out of style.
“Hey, mate, can you grab me some lemon wedges?” Benji replied without looking at Russ.
How could he when his eyes were glued to the tallest of the lemon-shot girls?
A statuesque, willowy blonde, she was just Benji’s type, and from the way she was batting her eyelashes at him, it seemed the feeling was mutual.
“A bit young, don’t you think?” Russ couldn’t resist saying as he slid a dozen lemon wedges into a rocks glass.
“Who, the American?” Benji asked innocently, shooting the blonde a dazzling smile before finally turning his attention back to Russ. “She’s legal; I asked.”
“Of course she’s American.” Benji rarely hooked up with anyone who wasn’t; the Australian accent was like catnip to the twentysomethings from the States who visited their bar. Russ himself turned down at least one overt and drunken proposition each night. “But what is she, twenty-five?”
Benji shrugged, giving the blonde a wink, which made her giggle and duck her head, a cascade of hair falling over her shoulder. She was undeniably beautiful, but also young enough to be Benji’s daughter. “Something like that.”
Russ groaned. That meant the girl was even younger. “Really, mate, do you ever think about dating someone your own age?”
Benji looked genuinely puzzled. “Who said anything about dating?”
And then he was off, turning his back to Russ and gallantly delivering the lemon-drop shots. The girls clinked glasses and threw the liquor back at the same time, and the blonde somehow maintained eye contact with Benji throughout.
Russ felt a sudden stab of sadness as he watched the flirtation play out. Benji did this nearly every night. He’d have a nice roll in the hay in the American’s hotel room, and then he’d never call her, never talk to her again.
Was Russ jealous? He didn’t think that was quite it.
Not that he would have minded a hookup now and then—certainly he’d had his share in his thirties—it was just that the older he got, the more he understood that it was rarely as simple as just a night together.
But Russ’s feelings had no place in a bar where, let’s face it, everyone was getting wasted and pairing up.
Russ had spent a decade and a half providing the drinks that were a precursor to meaningless sex.
Now, more and more, he found himself thinking about what the hell he was doing.
“I got her number,” Benji said, returning to stand beside Russ a moment later. “Damn, do you see those legs?” He turned to Russ. “You want to come out with her group of friends after we close?”
“No, thanks.”
Benji raised an eyebrow. “Must be boring to be a saint.”
“I suppose it is.” But at least Russ could live with himself.
“What were you going to tell me before?” Benji asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the blonde and focusing on Russ. “Someone you poured a coldie for today?”
Russ opened his mouth to tell Benji that Jackson Quick had been sitting at this very bar, but before the words were out of his mouth, the blonde called out to Benji, and Benji drifted away, seemingly without remembering that he’d been in the middle of a conversation.
Russ shook his head. The American rocker had seemed relieved when Russ had treated him normally.
What if he came back and Benji was the one to wait on him?
Benji would no doubt act like a starstruck moron while simultaneously pretending that he was too cool to care. No, it was better left unsaid.
“No one,” Russ said to the space where Benji had been a moment before. He looked at his watch. It was 1:45 in the morning. Nearly closing time. “Last call!” he said to those who were clustered around the bar. “Last call, everyone!”
Just then, the door to Le Maison Grog opened, and, backlit by the streetlamp just outside, there stood Shelby, dressed much more casually than she had been before, in jeans, a light sweater, and trainers, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
His stomach did a weird little flip as she searched the room, her eyes finally meeting his.
With a small smile, she hurried over to the bar.
“You’re back,” he said, ignoring all the other customers who were waving cash in his face and asking for one more beer or whiskey sour or shot before they closed.
“I’m back,” she said. She still looked vulnerable and sad, but there was something else there, too. As her gaze roamed to his jaw, to his mouth, and then back to his eyes, he realized with a start that what he was seeing was desire. For him? His heart beat a little more quickly.
“What happened to the divorce party?” he asked, the world narrowing to just the two of them. He had completely tuned out all the other customers, which probably meant his tips would be shit tonight, but he didn’t care.
“Somehow,” she said with a small roll of her eyes, “it turned into a mission for my two friends to hook up with French guys.”
“And you didn’t want to?” he asked, as her eyes roved his face again.
“No.” She lowered her gaze and then looked right at him. “The thing is, I’m interested in someone else.”
“Is that so?”
“I was, um, talking about you, in case that wasn’t clear.” Her cheeks went a bit pink as he laughed.
“Oh, yeah? Am I a rebound, then?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
Shelby hesitated before she answered. “Honestly? I don’t think I’m capable of anything beyond that right now.”
“I get it,” Russ said. What else was he supposed to say? She had gorgeous eyes, blue and bottomless. He knew in that moment that he’d take whatever she was willing to give.
“I do know that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all night,” she added, her tone softening.
“Yeah?” he asked.
She took a deep breath, then, before he saw it coming, she hopped up on her toes, leaned across the bar, and planted a quick kiss right on his lips.
“Yeah,” she said, pulling away with a smile as the bar patrons around them catcalled.
Her cheeks were flaming, which made her look even more adorable.
“God, I’m sorry, was that too much?” she asked. “I’m—I’m really bad at this.”
“Actually, it was perfect.” He glanced over at Benji, who was watching with amusement. “Close up without me?” Russ said. It wasn’t really a question.
Benji raised his eyebrows and nodded. Without another word, Russ crossed from behind the bar and stood beside Shelby, who was smiling up at him.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Russ whispered in her ear.
“Really?”
“If you want to.”
“I do.” And with that, Shelby grabbed his hand, lacing her warm fingers through his, and led the way out of the bar.