Was he right? Was it simply easier to attribute all the recent good in my life to a phone booth rather than myself? I nodded. “Thank you. For the talk and the pie. Seems I really needed both.” I smiled and turned to leave, but then quickly spun back. “Oh, is it okay if I just freshen up in the back before dinner?”
“My Mimi’s es su Mimi’s. Have fun and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said as he scooted out of the booth.
I looked up at him, a flash of panic washing over me. I’d put in for that day off when he made up the schedule for this week! “No, remember? I took tomorrow off. I’m going to Vermont for a long weekend with Gabe.”
“Thaaaat’s right. Have a good time. When you get back, it’s full steam ahead on the audition prep, right?”
“Yup, I’ll be gone for just a long weekend, and then we can hit the ground running.”
“Sounds like a plan. Congrats again, BrAvery. Remember, you earned this.” He swiped our pie plates from the table and left me to get ready for my date with Gabe.
Chapter Thirty
Remembering just how tiny our favorite French bistro was, enough room for maybe ten or twelve tabletops, I rid myself of my jacket and tote at the coat check and squeezed past the bar and into the main dining room. Floating in the air were the sweet notes of “La Vie En Rose” played by the accordionist through the quaint, chic restaurant, the music competing for my attention against the scrumptious smells of browned butter, sautéed onions, and garlicky escargot. My mouth watered at the memory of the rich flavors, and I practically power-walked to find Gabe, who was already seated at our favorite booth—a private nook in the back, away from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.
He gave me a sweet wave and stood to greet me, kissing me on both cheeks playfully like we were real Parisians out for a night in Montmartre, a fun exchange we shared every time we’d come.
I raised my right eyebrow. “Our table?”
Gabe shrugged sheepishly. “I requested it when I made the reservation.”
I glanced around the restaurant, a flood of memories rushing back to me. The way the candles made the room glow with a pink hue as the light bounced off the crimson curtains. The way the sumptuous blue velvet banquettes felt against my skin where the hem of my dress stopped at my thighs. And the way Gabe tucked his napkin in his lap and opened the menu like he didn’t already know what we were going to order.
We always got the same thing, but I loved how he pretended like he might change his mind, and how he showed off his limited high school–level French to the waiter, which turned me on a little more than he knew.
A young server approached the table, filling our glasses with mineral water from a bright-blue bottle. “Bonsoir, monsieur and mademoiselle, would you like to hear tonight’s specials?”
We eyed one another, certain that whatever he said wouldn’t make much difference in changing our already set minds, but we asked him to continue anyway.
“Tonight the chef is featuring foie gras cream puffs with black truffle, canard montmorency, which is duckling topped with a cherry reduction, and finally, lamb chops with a cognac dijon cream sauce served with glazed rosemary carrots.”
“That all sounds très bien, but I think we are going to go with our usual: one order of moules frites, one saumon grillé, an order of escargots—tell the chef he can go heavy on the garlic—and an order of bouillabaisse, avec pain, s’il vous pla?t,” he said confidently, handing the waiter back the leather-bound menus. “Oh, and a bottle of . . . what do you think, Sancerre?”
“That sounds perfect.” I confirmed with a nod.
The waiter nodded too. “Oui, excellent. I’ll be right back with some bread and your wine.”
Once he was out of earshot, I couldn’t wait another second to tell Gabe about the callback. “I have to tell you—”
“I have some big news—” Gabe said simultaneously.
“Oh, okay. You go first,” I said, sure that my news would dominate the rest of the conversation once I shared it.
“Actually, I have some good news and some bad news,” he started.
“Okaaaaay,” I said, eyeing him through narrowed lids. “Bad news first, always.”
“Agreed. I canceled our bed-and-breakfast for this weekend in Vermont.” My stomach dropped at the declaration, certain I’d heard him wrong.
“Wait, what? We’ve been planning the trip for weeks. I took time off from work. What happened?” It was hard to conceal my disappointment, that old familiar feeling of coming in second to whatever was more important in his life at the moment slowly creeping back in.
“Well, I guess that brings me to my good news.” He reached around his seat and into his jacket pocket to pull out a folded-up piece of paper and handed it to me across the table.
I unfolded it skeptically and scanned it, still uncertain at what I was looking at and how it explained why we were no longer going to Vermont. “Um . . . Gabe, what is this?”
“Our flight itinerary. I figured this restaurant was the most appropriate place to tell you I booked us a last-minute trip to Paris, like we’d always talked about. Paris in the springtime . . . almost! Which, yes, I know is a bit of a cliché, but clichés are clichés for a reason, right?” He was positively beaming as he shared his news, all the while my stomach twisted in a tight knot.
“Wait? What? Paris? When? For how long? How?”
Gabe laughed at the fact he had clearly caught me so off guard I could only respond in the form of questions like a Jeopardy! contestant.
“Okay, let me see if I can answer all that. Yes, Paris. And that’s Paris, France. Not Paris, Texas, in case you were wondering,” he joked. “We leave tomorrow evening from Newark around seven p.m. and land at Charles de Gaulle around six thirty a.m. I traded in all my miles for our flights and managed to book an adorable B and B in Le Marais, right by the Georges Pompidou museum. I’ve read nothing but great things about the restaurants in that area. We’ll go to the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, and the catacombs, and I scheduled us a tour through the Versailles gardens, and a French cooking class at Le Cordon Bleu. Vermont will always be there. I wanted to do something special for you . . . well, for us . . . and Avery, it’s going to be incroyable.”
He barely came up for breath as he rattled off our jam-packed itinerary, every activity he listed drumming up more and more anxiety in me. I couldn’t possibly run away to Paris, especially now with the callback looming so close.
I wasn’t sure when it happened, but our wineglasses were suddenly full, and I was beyond grateful for the refill. I grabbed mine and chugged it down, not leaving a single drop behind. “How long would we be gone for?” I managed to choke out after swallowing the sweet, golden liquid.
“Five days. But don’t worry, you’ll only miss one shift at Mimi’s. I checked with Lyla and she’s happy to cover for you.”
“Wow, Gabe. This is so . . . unexpected. I . . . don’t know what to say.”
“Well, are you excited? We always talked about going. I mean, it’s Paris! Why do you look so . . .” He didn’t even finish his sentence, allowing his disappointment to be conveyed through the trailing off of his words.