What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) (6 page)

Lena found herself wishing she had a friend like
Jeanne—ballsy, witty, cool. She expected Jeanne to acknowledge Mat’s
enthusiasm, but the waitress walked right past him without a glance in his
direction.

Lena’s phone rang and Rob startled. His stomach clenched when he glimpsed
the caller ID.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” she said and moved away a little.

The conversation was hushed but not enough to be unintelligible. Lena
summarized her Geneva trip and said, “Daddy, how about I don’t go to Moscow in
July, and you visit me in Paris instead?”

Her father didn’t appear to have jumped at that idea, because Lena was
resorting to heavy artillery. “The climate here is great for my heart. And the
summer is much milder than in Moscow . . . Come on, Dad, please?
We can visit the Loire castles.”

Either the castles or the heart nailed it, because Lena beamed and said,
“You’re the best! And early August is perfect.”

Rob texted Boris an hour later, after Lena had gone
home.

Sounds
like Mr. M. will be visiting Lena in early August. They are planning to travel
in France. That’s all for now.

It wasn’t that difficult, after all, was it? He’d just made the fastest
money he’d ever made in his whole life.

If only he could get rid of the foul taste in his mouth.

Why now, so much affection?

These aren’t the first caresses

I’ve known, and lips I’ve tasted

Much
sweeter, my boy, than yours.

I’ve watched stars light up and
dwindle,

Why now, so much affection?—

I’ve seen eyes light up and
falter

Before my
still hopeful eyes.

Marina Tsvetaeva

The following morning Lena woke up with a sore throat. It was a bad sign.
Next, she’d begin to sneeze, by midafternoon she’d get a runny nose, and by the
evening she’d develop a fever. Which would lead to at least three days in bed,
as was her usual pattern. The problem this time was that she had no one like
Marta and Ivan to bring her chicken soup and make sure she didn’t run out of
tissues. This meant that, unlike in Geneva, her options now were either to
handle her cold alone, like the self-sufficient adult she was (hmm), or let her
dad fly over and take care of her.

But in the middle of her growing panic she remembered about Martha’s
favorite herbal remedy. It was a flower extract which, if taken early enough,
could thwart a cold. She needed to locate some in this city, pronto.

At the bistro, she greeted Jeanne, who often worked the morning shifts,
and ordered her usual breakfast. But she didn’t intend to linger. She had an
important mission to accomplish. The problem was she had no idea where to look.
Would a regular pharmacy carry echinacea extracts? Or would she need to find
one specialized in herbal remedies? Or maybe a health food store?

When Jeanne reappeared with her tea and buttered
tartine,
Lena
jumped on the occasion to ask a local. “Jeanne, would you happen to know where
I could find echinacea around here?”

“Ecki—what?”

“An herbal remedy for colds. Do pharmacies carry herbal remedies?” It
occurred to Lena that Jeanne didn’t look like someone who’d know about herbal
remedies.

But to her relief, Jeanne did. “There’s a huge parapharmacy not far the
Opéra
,
about a fifteen minute walk from here. They’ve got aisles and aisles filled
with every alternative medicine you could imagine.”

“That sounds great. Thank you so much, Jeanne. I’ll check it out as soon
as I’m finished here.”

“I’ll come along. My mom asked me to get her some kind of blood pressure
regulating bracelet. I’m not sure it will work, but if anyone sells that kind
of stuff in this city, it’ll be that pharmacy.” Jeanne looked at her watch. “My
morning shift ends at noon. Do you think your cold can wait until then?”

“Sure. My colds are famous for their patience.”

The pharmacy lived up to its reputation. A fresh-out-of-school technician
in a crisp white lab coat fetched the echinacea extract for Lena and the
bracelet for Jeanne.

“Can I get you anything else, ladies?” he asked, his shoulders back and
chin up.

“Actually, yes. I need some tampons, please,” Jeanne said.

The technician swallowed hard, blinked, opened his mouth, and closed it
again.

“Do you have any tampons?” Jeanne asked.

“Yes, we do.” The technician looked as if someone were pulling out his
fingernails. “I just need to know . . . Could you tell
me . . .” He stared at Jeanne, unable to utter another word as
his face and ears turned crimson.

Jeanne took pity on him. “Regular absorbency. I need the ones with two
water drops drawn on the box. Do you think you can get those for me, please? Or
maybe point to where they are and guide me by saying ‘colder’ and ‘warmer’?”

“I’ll get them.” The technician dashed off as if his life depended on it.
Lena and Jeanne looked at each other and burst out in laughter.

They were still chuckling as they walked out of the pharmacy.

“I need to find a place where I can have a glass of water for my first
dose of echinacea,” Lena said.

“It’s lunchtime and I’m hungry. Shall we grab something to eat and get
your water, too?” Jeanne asked.

“Back to
La Bohème
?”

Jeanne stopped in her tracks and took Lena’s hand. “I’m so sorry to
violate your innocence, but it’s time someone told you: There are other places
in this city that serve food and drink. Some of them even manage to serve
edible food and potable drink, and a few of those are still affordable. Come
on, I’ll take you to one not far from here.”

As it turned out, the place Jeanne had in mind no longer served anything
remotely edible or potable. It had been replaced, like so many other cafés over
the past years, by a trendy, color-block white, optometry boutique.

“I can’t believe it!” Jeanne said. “Do the math—one hundred percent
of Parisians need food and drink. Only ten percent, maybe twenty tops, need
eyeglasses. How come all my favorite cafés and restaurants get supplanted by
these lifeless concept stores that sell you a piece of plastic and glass for
three hundred euros?”

Jeanne shook her head and then narrowed her eyes as she glanced at Lena’s
elegant glasses. “Well, I guess it’s because there are enough people out there
prepared to pay three hundred euros for a piece of plastic and glass.”

Lena smiled apologetically. This probably wasn’t a good time to reveal
that her understated glasses with a logo so discrete it was invisible to the
naked eye, cost over eight hundred euros.

“Why don’t we go back to
La Bohème
for lunch? You can violate my
innocence some other time. I love the chef’s cooking, and I want to profit from
it while
La Bohème
still stands,” she said.

“Knock on wood. I hope
La Bohème
won’t go under anytime soon. In
all modesty, it’s one of the best bistros in Paris. I would throttle Pierre
with my bare hands if he ever decided to sell it to an optometrist.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were back at
La Bohème
, where the
lunch service was in full swing, with the suit-and-tie crowd dominating the
scene.

Lena held her palms out in dismay. “All the tables are taken.”

“Follow me,” Jeanne beckoned and led her to the backyard where a large
teak table had been laid for six. “We set this up last week as the staff’s
private summertime patio. Wait here, I’ll go get us food. If you’re lucky, I
may even return with some chicken broth.”

Lena sat down, poured herself a glass of water and counted thirty drops
of echinacea. As she drank the bitter-tasting potion, someone walked into the
backyard carrying a steaming plate. Without even looking up, Lena knew it was
Rob.

* * *

“Lena! What are you doing here?” Rob asked in a strangely coarse voice.
He sat down across from her and looked at her attentively.

Lena felt her heart quicken. The effect he had on her was disconcerting. “I
was going to have lunch with Jeanne,” she said, trying not to sound
self-conscious. “And there were no free tables out front, so she brought me
here.”

Thankfully, Jeanne showed up at that moment carrying Lena’s broth and a
plate of seafood and mashed potatoes for herself. “Oh, I see we have company.
What brings you to
La Bohème
at this early hour?”

Rob let out a heavy sigh. “Pepe is what. Or rather the absence thereof.
He was supposed to help out Didier and Laure this afternoon but his noble
intentions were thwarted by a plumbing emergency. At least that’s what he
claims.”

Jeanne rolled her eyes.

“Pierre didn’t really understand his complicated explanations on the
phone this morning. Anyway, your humble servant was called to the rescue and
accepted to lend a hand . . . once they told me Claude was
serving seared scallops as a lunch special.”

Jeanne put her hand over her heart and then wiped off an imaginary tear. “Your
generosity knows no limits, Rob. I feel so privileged to be working with you.”

“Can you write that down in Pierre’s guestbook?” Rob asked.

Jeanne raised an eyebrow. “I’m too shy. But sentiments aside, is Pepe
planning to show up at all today? I’d like to know if we’re going to be one man
short for the dinner service.”

“He swore on his great-aunt Dolores’s grave he’d be here by four. So I
wouldn’t worry,” Rob said, his tone earnest but his mouth twitching ever so
slightly.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Rob turned to Lena. “I’ve
been meaning to ask you for a while now. What brought you to Paris? You could’ve
written your thesis in Geneva, or Moscow, or . . . Bahamas, for
that matter.”

Lena put her bowl down. “I fell in love with this city during my first
visit a few years ago. So I guess I couldn’t resist its pull.”

Rob smirked. “People think they come to Paris because they’re in love
with it, but in truth, they come here because they want to fall in love. And
while they’re waiting for that to happen, they default to Paris.”

Jeanne looked dubitative. “Can you give us an example?”

“Take Pepe. He’s in love with Paris while waiting for his legendary
Scandinavian blonde to fall into his lap. Come to think of it, I wonder why
that genius came to Paris and not Helsinki, which is much richer in
blondes . . . On the other hand, I shouldn’t be surprised,
considering his IQ. But I’m digressing.”

“What happens if people don’t fall in love with someone here?” Lena
asked.

“Well, if they don’t, then they just stay on the default option, in the
same way a lot of people end up with the same iPhone ringtone. It’s elementary,
Watson,” Rob said.

“And what if they do fall in love with someone, but their heart gets
broken?” Lena surprised herself asking. That chicken broth must have gone right
to her head.

“Then Paris is still there to step in as a rebound lover.” Rob shrugged.
Then his eyes lit up and he turned to Jeanne. “Do you remember that old Marc
Lavoine song about Paris?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, come on! Jeanne, you must know it. It goes”—he cleared his
throat and belted out—“
The Eiffel Tower, she at least is faithful.
Ring any bells? No?”

“I see now why you never sing,” Jeanne said. “And I want to thank you for
that.”

Rob placed his fork and knife on his empty plate. “It’s true what Lavoine
says, you know. Once yours, it’ll always be yours.”

Jeanne nodded, but Lena looked confused. “I don’t understand. It’s also
everyone else’s—”

“We’re talking French faithful here. What counts is that it won’t leave
you, not how many others it will have,” Rob explained.

“Is that your idea of faithful, seeing as you’re French?” Lena hoped her
defiant tone and saucy smile concealed the quiver in her voice.

“My ancestors on both sides are from Brittany, which makes me a Frenchman
of Celtic descent. So I guess the word ‘faithful’ would have a couple more
implications for me.”

It was unsettling how happy his answer made her.

Later that day, Lena stopped by the bistro for another serving of broth
that Jeanne had set aside for her. As she hugged her comforting steamy bowl, it
occurred to her that she now had someone in Paris to give her chicken soup when
she was sick. Someone her age, fun, smart, and friendly. A friend?

She drank her soup slowly, looking forward to Rob turning up for their
now customary dose of banter. She was downing the last drops, when he finally
landed next to her with his coffee.

“I’m going to kill Pepe tonight. At precisely half past midnight,” he
said matter-of-factly.

Lena smiled. “Oh no, not again! What did he do this time?”

“Emptied a bowl of sugar into my espresso.”

“Which is a hanging offense in France, as everyone knows.”

He looked her in the eyes. “This guy’s been here for three months now,
and he still can’t remember I take my coffee black, no sugar. So, yeah, I’m
definitely killing him tonight.”

“I see. He pushed it too far, didn’t he?”

Rob bared his teeth.

“Well, that will definitely teach him a lesson.” She struggled to keep a
straight face. “For the afterlife.”

Rob took a sip from his cup and winced.

“By the way, why at precisely half past midnight?” Lena asked.

“It’s when my shift ends. You see, I can’t kill him while I’m working.
And I’m not coming here on my free time to rid humanity of this candidate for
Darwin Awards. I’m not as selfless as Jeanne seems to think, after all.”

Jeanne, who was wiping a table next to them, said, “Rob, you have to
understand that Pepe isn’t doing it on purpose. There’s no ill will whatsoever.
And it’s not because he’s stupid, either.”

Jeanne picked up the detergent and the dishrag and started for the
kitchen. She stopped in the doorway to solve the Pepe mystery for Rob. “He just
doesn’t give a shit about how you like your coffee, that’s all.”