I looked around nervously before glancing at my watch for the
hundredth time. It looked the same as before, except that this time it read
9:05 instead of 9:04. I stared eagerly at each of the faces around me,
hoping that I had missed him or overlooked him. But eventually I knew that
I had to stop. That, yet again, Sam had stood me up and, like the sad
person I was, I had come running, putting my heart on the line yet again.
And so, standing up and next to tears, I grabbed my bag off of the bench I
was sitting on, and walked off in a huff to the nearest café to drown my
tears in a big coffee and biscotti.
Walking into the Café Americana I was hit with warm air that felt good after being in the chilly night air. The bell overhead tinkled softly, and I made my way through the sparsely filled café to a small single table by the window. I took off my jacket and draped it carefully across the back of the chair to avoid wrinkling it. Even in the saddest time I was a complete neat freak. I sat down and looked over a menu, trying desperately to decide what I wanted. When I looked up my eyes met with two of the sweetest brown eyes I had ever seen. I quickly diverted my eyes and glanced at my waiter's nametag. There, in big black letters, was the name Philippe. I realized that I had been staring too long when Philippe coughed a little and shifted his weight, waiting for me to say something. Like a nervous teenager, I felt myself getting chocked up at the thought of Josie Grosie talking to this cute, cute guy. But, I wasn't a teenager anymore and somehow I found the words.
"B-Bonjour."
"Bonjour Madame."
"I don't...I don't speak French."
"No French? I see. I speak, uh, I speak ok English. My name is Philippe. I am here to- to serve you, yes?"
"Yes. I'll take the Mocha and large biscotti."
"Ok. I- I get for you quickly. You'll not move, ok?"
"Ok. I promise."
I laughed to myself as this adorable, seemingly sweet French guy walked away, looking back over his shoulder to smile and wave at me. It was true, his English was truly horrible, but of course he was French. And as he brought back my coffee and biscotti, I noticed that he seemed to be ignoring all of his other customers, not that there were very many of them. I thought that I noticed a funny gleam in his eye, and my feeling grew just a little stronger when, after setting down my coffee, he pulled up a chair next to me and looked me in the eye, smiling.
"You are very beautiful."
"Thank you, Philippe."
"May I ask of you what you are called?"
"You mean my name?"
"Wee."
"My name is Josie."
"Ah, Josie. You are from America, wee?"
"Yes. I am from Chicago. I write for a newspaper there."
"May I ask of you a-a small question?"
"Of course."
"If it is my business, what has brought you to Paris?"
"I'm here to write a story for my paper back home. It's a story on teens overseas in Paris, as well as how they compare to teens in America."
"This is quite interesting. Mademoiselle Josie, if it is in my place, may I ask you one more question?"
"Of course, Philippe."
"If I am not wrong, I am sensing a little bit of heartbreak in mademoiselle's voice, no?"
"No. I mean, wee. I was supposed to meet someone here tonight in front of the Eiffel Tower, but he didn't show up. I am afraid I'm not surprised."
"Why is that?"
"Because I'm afraid that, unfortunately, I am usually the one that ends up hurt in a relationship and this time is no different."
"Well, if it means anything to you, I find you, how do I say....silly."
"Silly?!"
"Perhaps this is not the right word. What I mean to say is that I find you to be kind and nice, and funny."
"Oh I think you're looking for sweet."
"Sweet! Yes, this is the word! Like the cookie!"
And with that, I had to giggle.
"If it does not offend you, Madame, I would wish to give you my telephone number. If that is alright with you, of course."
"Alright Philippe."
So Philippe got up and rushed off, returning with a number on a napkin and a small flower, one he obviously picked up from the flower vendor next door. He handed me the rose and the number, smiling.
"My telephone number and a rose for the lovely American mademoiselle. I will hope that you will call me and that perhaps we could, how do you say, get to know each other?"
"I would like that very much Philippe."
"So would I, Madmoiselle Josie. Now, as much as I don not wish to, I must return to work for my boss is, as they say where you are from, breathing down my back."
"Its neck. Breathing down your NECK, Derek."
"Ah yes, of course. Well, I look forward to seeing you very soon, Madame. And until time has brought us to that point, Adieu."
And with that he kissed my hand and walked off in to the growing café crowd. I smiled and looked around. By that time both my coffee and biscotti were cold, and so throwing them both away I stood up and gathered my things, walking out in to the cold night air, clutching both the napkin and rose in my hand. When I got to my apartment, I set down my things and tried to think. It was hard to believe that I, Josie Gellar from Chicago had, in a matter of hours, gotten her heart broken yet again and still managed to walk away from the situation with the number of a very sweet, very smart, VERY cute Frenchman. It was hard to believe that, not for the first time, I had been given a second chance at something that I had completely botched.
Walking into the Café Americana I was hit with warm air that felt good after being in the chilly night air. The bell overhead tinkled softly, and I made my way through the sparsely filled café to a small single table by the window. I took off my jacket and draped it carefully across the back of the chair to avoid wrinkling it. Even in the saddest time I was a complete neat freak. I sat down and looked over a menu, trying desperately to decide what I wanted. When I looked up my eyes met with two of the sweetest brown eyes I had ever seen. I quickly diverted my eyes and glanced at my waiter's nametag. There, in big black letters, was the name Philippe. I realized that I had been staring too long when Philippe coughed a little and shifted his weight, waiting for me to say something. Like a nervous teenager, I felt myself getting chocked up at the thought of Josie Grosie talking to this cute, cute guy. But, I wasn't a teenager anymore and somehow I found the words.
"B-Bonjour."
"Bonjour Madame."
"I don't...I don't speak French."
"No French? I see. I speak, uh, I speak ok English. My name is Philippe. I am here to- to serve you, yes?"
"Yes. I'll take the Mocha and large biscotti."
"Ok. I- I get for you quickly. You'll not move, ok?"
"Ok. I promise."
I laughed to myself as this adorable, seemingly sweet French guy walked away, looking back over his shoulder to smile and wave at me. It was true, his English was truly horrible, but of course he was French. And as he brought back my coffee and biscotti, I noticed that he seemed to be ignoring all of his other customers, not that there were very many of them. I thought that I noticed a funny gleam in his eye, and my feeling grew just a little stronger when, after setting down my coffee, he pulled up a chair next to me and looked me in the eye, smiling.
"You are very beautiful."
"Thank you, Philippe."
"May I ask of you what you are called?"
"You mean my name?"
"Wee."
"My name is Josie."
"Ah, Josie. You are from America, wee?"
"Yes. I am from Chicago. I write for a newspaper there."
"May I ask of you a-a small question?"
"Of course."
"If it is my business, what has brought you to Paris?"
"I'm here to write a story for my paper back home. It's a story on teens overseas in Paris, as well as how they compare to teens in America."
"This is quite interesting. Mademoiselle Josie, if it is in my place, may I ask you one more question?"
"Of course, Philippe."
"If I am not wrong, I am sensing a little bit of heartbreak in mademoiselle's voice, no?"
"No. I mean, wee. I was supposed to meet someone here tonight in front of the Eiffel Tower, but he didn't show up. I am afraid I'm not surprised."
"Why is that?"
"Because I'm afraid that, unfortunately, I am usually the one that ends up hurt in a relationship and this time is no different."
"Well, if it means anything to you, I find you, how do I say....silly."
"Silly?!"
"Perhaps this is not the right word. What I mean to say is that I find you to be kind and nice, and funny."
"Oh I think you're looking for sweet."
"Sweet! Yes, this is the word! Like the cookie!"
And with that, I had to giggle.
"If it does not offend you, Madame, I would wish to give you my telephone number. If that is alright with you, of course."
"Alright Philippe."
So Philippe got up and rushed off, returning with a number on a napkin and a small flower, one he obviously picked up from the flower vendor next door. He handed me the rose and the number, smiling.
"My telephone number and a rose for the lovely American mademoiselle. I will hope that you will call me and that perhaps we could, how do you say, get to know each other?"
"I would like that very much Philippe."
"So would I, Madmoiselle Josie. Now, as much as I don not wish to, I must return to work for my boss is, as they say where you are from, breathing down my back."
"Its neck. Breathing down your NECK, Derek."
"Ah yes, of course. Well, I look forward to seeing you very soon, Madame. And until time has brought us to that point, Adieu."
And with that he kissed my hand and walked off in to the growing café crowd. I smiled and looked around. By that time both my coffee and biscotti were cold, and so throwing them both away I stood up and gathered my things, walking out in to the cold night air, clutching both the napkin and rose in my hand. When I got to my apartment, I set down my things and tried to think. It was hard to believe that I, Josie Gellar from Chicago had, in a matter of hours, gotten her heart broken yet again and still managed to walk away from the situation with the number of a very sweet, very smart, VERY cute Frenchman. It was hard to believe that, not for the first time, I had been given a second chance at something that I had completely botched.