Chapter Three
T atiana and I have the longest goodbyes. Even if we see each other every day, we always take the longest time closing the shop. It’s become a habit, staying by the door after closing and chatting about everything and nothing at the same time; it has been like this since day one.
After living in Paris for a year, without knowing anyone besides my rescue cat, I decided to sign up for an outdoor art class.
A beautiful spot in the Jardin des Tuileries, near the Louvre Museum. I arrived at 08:45 p.m. on a hot summer day, and Tatiana and I were the only ones there. We looked at each other without knowing if the other spoke English or not—in France, speaking English is not going to save you—so I gave my French a try and broke the ice.
" Tu es ici pour la classe ?" I thought my pronunciation of la classe might give me away—or the whole sentence itself.
"Oh, good lord, you speak English!" she bursted out, making me chuckle.
“It was my pronunciation, wasn’t it?”
“It was everything! I’m Tatiana. My French is not better than yours, by the way. I have a hard time getting out of my bubble,” she said.
We shook hands and spent the rest of the evening painting, talking, drinking cheap wine, and laughing—mostly laughing. I remember how we stayed there even after sunset and the class ended. We connected instantly, as if we were only waiting to find each other.
She became my emotional support for the rest of the time I was living in Paris; even with our busy schedules from the times when she was finishing her training to become a professional pastry chef and I was in my last year of business school. She was there to celebrate all my little victories, and I was there for her.
She stayed close, even when I was love-blinded with Antoine, my boyfriend of four years. She was there, sharing my happiness when he asked me to move in with him. She was there when he proposed to me, with the view of the Eiffel Tower behind sparkling at 10:00 p.m.—the total cliché that I cannot avoid loving. I'm going to love you until the end of time , he said, putting a ring on my finger, and I melted inside. Tatiana cried with me, sharing my joy.
Antoine . Where to begin? A dashing, sweet-talking man. His light brown eyes and flirty personality got me every time. Excellent English, with a sexy, yet sweet French accent. An amazing, soft heart who was positive about life. What’s not to love?
But I didn’t know everything would fall apart. That I would find myself crying, knocking on Tatiana’s door, asking if she would let me spend the night.
She was there holding my hand, stroking my hair when the love of my life admitted to cheating on me with a woman from work. But there’s nothing romantic about it, he said. It’s only sex, he said. Eventually, I went back to him, only to be disappointed again. And Tatiana was there, being the only constant in my life, being the family I needed. No judging or explanations asked.
She helped me pick up all my things from his apartment, and threw basically everything away. We took a vacation together. We left Paris, we left France. Five years in, we became more than friends. We became family, with a business and a tradition of Sunday’s brunch. A tradition I never miss—I might be late to it some days, but I never miss it. We are complete opposites, but we fit together. I admire her. She is remarkably talented and has such good taste. I would be lost without her in my life. Her strong yet kind character, her funny self that understands and shares my twisted humour. The best friend that found me, without me even searching.
There, by the already closed doors of the shop the next day, we linger. And after having our usual chat, we hug and say goodbye for one last time. I remind her that I’ll bring my famous pancakes and avocados for brunch tomorrow, and she nods before disappearing in the opposite direction.
I turn around and walk a couple of metres down the street, only to realize that I left my phone in the shop. I grunt to myself and head back. This is what I get for using my phone to play music over the speakers in the coffee shop. But it must be my phone and my playlist used, because last time Tatiana was in charge of it, I entered the shop to a reggaeton-Latin playlist at 10:00 a.m. And I swear to you, no one wants to drink their coffee nor read their book to the soothing melody of Maluma, baby.
I’m back in front of the door putting the key in with my back turned to the road. When I hear a low, “Hey!” It startles me, I jump in surprise and my keys fall onto the ground. I turn around to see the mysterious, golden man from yesterday.
“Oh...Adam, is it?” I ask, pretending I’ve forgotten his name and trying to get myself together from the sudden scare.
“Yes, I’m sorry if I scared you, it was not my intention,” he replies with an apologetic look in his eyes.
“It’s fine, I wasn’t ready, that’s all.” I pause. “I was not expecting anyone coming from the dark making conversation, though,” I say, finally meeting his dark brown eyes under the dimmed streetlights.
“You weren’t waiting for me? Let me guess, you don’t check your tips jar, do you?" he lets out, rather disappointed.
I decide to go further with the joke.
"Not really, and there are people who even put pieces of paper inside." I frown.
He touches the back of his head, nervously chuckling.
“Oh really? People nowadays don’t have any manners,” he continues. "Listen, I was passing by and?—"
"Adam," I interrupt him, and our eyes meet. "I saw your note, it'd be a pleasure to get to know you." I smile, watching how his expression evolves into a charming grin.
"Perfect...Olivia, is it?" he mocks, clearly playing the same game.
"Close!" I reply jokingly. "Want to come in? I forgot my phone inside, anyway."
"Sure!" I can sense the happiness in the tone of his voice.
We go inside, keeping the lights dimmed to avoid giving the impression of the shop being open.
“Get comfortable!” I point my hand toward our book nook, remembering how he appreciated this corner of the shop yesterday.
He removes his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack, making his way to the corner. While he takes a look at the books exposed, I go behind the counter to prepare a platter with some leftover cake, before boiling water to make some lemon tea.
“Olivia, would you mind if I take a couple of pictures of this?” he asks, pointing to my special collection of vintage books.
“Feel free to. Many people come here to take pictures, if I’m being honest,” I say, putting our cups of tea on the platter with two slices of cake.
“It’s beautiful! I’m an architect, but I’ve been doing a lot of interior designing.” He pauses. “My brother’s been asking me to design a place like this for him,” he says, looking in my direction behind the counter, “and these books are hard to find.”
“I know,” I say with a conceited smile. “Do I get a commission? You know, for giving you inspiration?”
“Seriously, if you ever need a job.” He looks at me, doing a call me sign with his right hand.
“Seriously, I own this place.”
I approach him with the platter in my hands and place it on the table.
"Whoa! Now this is VIP service," he says, impressed. "I didn’t expect to get some time with you and free cake at the same time." He takes a seat next to me, keeping a respectful distance between us.
"Who said it was free?" I respond with a serious expression that lasts five seconds, and we both laugh.
“So,” he says. “Olivia, who owns this place, what’s your story?” And there it is, his charming smile. His eyes not hesitating where to look, his full focus on me. I sip on my tea.
“My story? Well, I suppose?—”
“No, don’t suppose. Be natural. Be you .” He smiles confidently and leans back on the seat, sipping on his tea.
I smile back.
“Well, my name is Olivia, I’m thirty-one-years-old...I own a coffee shop,” I insist, and we laugh.
“I get it, you own this place.” He laughs. “Stop rubbing it in my face.”
I giggle.
“I love reading, I have a cat, I lived in France a couple of years?—”
“ Tu parles francais, alors ?” Adam interrupts me in perfect French, and it catches me by surprise.
“I do speak French. You too, by the sound of it. Did you live in France?” I ask, and he nods.
“Boarding school,” he admits. “My parents thought it was a good idea. Social and cultural purposes, and all.”
“That had to be interesting. Did you like it?” I ask, showing genuine interest.
“It had ups and downs, like mostly everything we do and every decision we make.” He sighs. “Some parts of it were great, and some others not so much. But it built a great part of me and shaped me into who I am today.” He continues, “I now do many things like the French do, to be honest.”
“ Ah bon? And what would that be?” I ask, my elbow against the table, my chin resting in my hand, my eyes showing real interest.
“You know, the basics: crêpes, sweet breakfasts, late dinners, wine, and…” he pauses shortly, “kissing.” He grins playfully. I laugh, and he leans back, trying to keep his cool.
“I saw that coming,” I say, “and I think you’re not even joking.”
“About the kissing?” he asks. “Yes, I go hardcore French on that.” He smirks, faking seriousness.
“Hey,” I catch his attention, laughing, “you’re funny.”
Our eyes lock for a moment, and we remain quiet. Looking into each other's eyes, time feels like it stops. The dimmed lights of the shop adds a hint of romanticism to it. The silence grows thick between us.
“We are having a moment right now, aren’t we? " he asks out of nowhere, promptly ending the moment .
“We were!” I burst out.
“God, I knew I felt something, you felt it too, right?” He chuckles. “Do you think I can shut up, and we go back to that moment?” he asks, his smile still plastered on his face.
“I think it’s already ruined.”
He laughs with me briefly and quiets again. I look at him, knowing what he’s trying to pull.
“Adam, don’t force it.”
“I had to try.” He smiles, shrugging his shoulders.
“Wait here,” I say, standing from my seat. I make my way into the corridor, to my tiny office in the back of the shop. I grab a bottle of wine that Tatiana and I keep in case we need to celebrate little victories, and two glasses from one of the drawers. I come back to our table by the book nook, placing the bottle and the glasses right in front of him.
“We keep the good stuff in the back, huh?” he asks jokingly, taking the bottle in his hands and reading the label. “ Chateau de Beaucastel .” He nods a few times in approval. “I think this definitely makes me a VIP.”
I laugh and shake my head.
“You’re so full of yourself.” I take the bottle from his hands to open it. He laughs and watches me skilfully remove the cork. I take our glasses and serve a reasonable amount of wine for both of us.
“Thank you,” he says.
“To the moment we almost had.” I laugh and lift my glass to him.
“ Santé !” he says, smiling. He tastes the wine, and by the look on his face, he really enjoys it. He winks at me. Such a flirt. I’m not complaining, though.
“So—” he says, but I interrupt.
“So, what’s your story, Adam? And don’t suppose, be natural, be you,” I say, quoting his words.
He laughs lightly.
“Ok—well, I’m thirty-four, I’m not married, I don’t have kids, even if I love them, and I don’t have pets.” He sighs. “Huh, I realize there are so many things I don’t have.” We both laugh, and he pauses.
“I’m even missing a kidney!” he admits so lightly I almost choke on my wine. I cough, my eyes wide in surprise.
“Wait—what?” I manage to say, holding a nervous laugh at the shock of his casual confession. “A missing kidney?” I set my glass down to collect myself.
Adam laughs, clearly amused at my reaction, and I shake my head playfully.
“No, seriously, are you okay? I mean, you’re sitting here casually sipping wine like that’s not a big deal!” My curiosity is piqued. “Now I need to know.”
“Oh, you actually want the details on that?” He sees me nod and continues, “Can I just say that it was a mix of bad luck and modern medicine? And a lot of love from my brother, too. He was my donor. I’m good now, I have a normal life, no further issues.” I take the hint that he doesn’t want to elaborate on the topic, so I don’t inquire further.
We spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing, though now with a deeper layer of shared vulnerability beneath the humour. Adam is funny, kind, creative, and smart. His passion for interior design is palpable.
The way he speaks with so much passion about art and culture is so captivating. He is so fun and easy to talk to, that I wish this time with him lasts a little longer. His company feels like fresh air to me. It’s been so long since I had this much fun with someone. I think Tatiana is right—getting to know him might not be the worst thing.
I enjoy this.
Time goes by quite fast. I look at my watch and it's already past midnight.
"Oh God, I think we better leave now. It’s past midnight."
"Oh no, quickly, before your dress turns into a dusty apron and your carriage in a pumpkin!" He jokes, covering his mouth in dramatic horror.
I can’t avoid laughing at his statement.
"I don’t know about the carriage, but the apron is happening." I look at our table. "I need to clean this before leaving."
"Please, allow me." He stands up from his chair, taking the empty tray from the table next to him. He comes to my side, offering his right hand to me.
"I can show you the world..." he sings theatrically, lifting my hand in the air. I hold back a laugh.
"I’m sorry, Aladdin, but you are in the wrong fairy tale," I say, taking the tray from his hand and place our cups and plates on it. I see him taking the wineglasses with one hand, and the half-empty bottle of wine with the other. He trails behind me as I walk toward the kitchen.
I leave the tray on the countertop and turn to glance at him rolling his sleeves up. I take a moment to appreciate the way he is dressed—white, long-sleeved formal shirt, slim cut, dark grey trousers that are adjustable on the side, no belt, black leather shoes, and a classic watch that he removes as soon as he rolled the sleeves up his arms.
His hair is dark and messy, maybe because of how many times he passes his hands through it—either to style it, to shake his nerves, or even eventual frustration. His classic yet messy look is close to perfection. God, he is panty-drop handsome.
I step out of my mind only to face him with an inquisitive look, as if he was waiting for an answer.
“I’m sorry what—what was that?” I shake my head lightly. He chuckles.
“I asked if you had somewhere to be later...today?"
A part of me realizes that he wants to see me again sooner than I thought. Would that be too bad? It would be a lie to say that I hadn’t considered it, too.
"As a matter of fact, I do,” I reply, while drying the glasses and cups with a towel.
He turns his head back to the sink and wipes it clean with the sponge.
"How about you? Got any plans?" I ask while putting everything back in the cupboard below the sink.
"I was expecting to, but apparently she has somewhere else to be," he says, drying his hands with a towel, a charming grin showing on his face.
His flirt game is on.
I can feel a soft flutter in my chest at his words, a warmth spreading through me that I hadn’t quite anticipated. I swallow, trying to keep my smile casual.
“Well, maybe she could change her plans,” I suggest. My tone is light, but the meaning beneath it unmistakable. He turns to face me fully, his grin growing wider.
“Is that so?” he asks, leaning back against the counter with a teasing glint in his eye. “And what could be so important that it would make her consider changing her plans?”
“Maybe...good company,” I reply, “or an unexpected adventure.” He nods thoughtfully, as if seriously contemplating my words.
“Good company is a rare thing,” he says finally, his voice a little softer, more earnest. “An adventure, though...that might be harder to find.”
“Maybe,” I agree, feeling the distance between us shrink a little more. “Or maybe not. I guess it depends on what kind of adventure you’re looking for.”
He leans in, his tone dropping.
“How about a walk? Nothing fancy. Just...more time before the clock strikes twelve again,” he adds with a wink, playing on our earlier joke. I smile, feeling the warmth of his suggestion seep through me.
“A walk sounds nice,” I agree.
He nods with a smile on his face. He really is enjoying himself, and I’m nicely surprised at how entertaining this evening is; genuine, funny, and so natural.
After one last look at the shop, I make sure I have my phone in my bag and close the door behind us.
“Thank you for a lovely evening." He smiles, looking at me.
"No, thank you, I had a great time!" I say, smiling back.
"So...if she really changes her plans, how would I know?" he asks, and I must admit that this is a creative way to ask for my number. I reach for my phone inside my bag to exchange our contact information.
I see him smile as he types and saves my number on his phone. What’s so funny?
"I'll see you later...maybe."
"Yes...maybe."
"Night, Cinderella ." He smiles.
It’s a twenty-minute walk to get to my apartment, located on the top floor inside an antique building. There’s no elevator, but who needs it? Even with the infinite stairs, I consider it my beautiful, small piece of heaven with a balcony the same size as the living area.
Sometimes while making my tea in the morning, I look at the place and realize how lucky I am. I’ve got this apartment in a perfect location that’s close to everything, even the shop, and at the best price possible. I still owe half of it to the bank, but eventually it’ll fully belong to me.
As soon as I open the door, there’s Juan Valdez, who greets me with purrs and poking his head to my feet. Juan Valdez is my rescued Siamese cat, who has dark coffee tones on his little face, ears, paws, and tail. I pet him on his head and behind his ears to greet him back. I remove my shoes and jump straight in the shower after feeding him. I don’t care what time it is, but I know I won’t be able to sleep unless I shower first.
While the water runs down my body, I think about this evening and I smile. I guess not everyone is set to hurt me, and this could be a good thing. I’m not convinced that Adam is the one, but his company was so refreshing. I can’t wait to meet him again.
A shade of disappointment crosses my thoughts as I think about all the time I’ve wasted, the people I pushed away. I reminisce about certain messages and late-night calls, the feel of that particular touch over me. How would that have gone if I hadn’t pulled back? But I guess we have moved on from that now, at least I think I have.