Two

I fidgeted at my desk all day, tapping my foot frantically and twirling my pencil like a ditzy school girl. Of course I always looked forward to the end of the work day (who doesn't?), but today was extra special. Since the night I had talked Greg into taking a vacation, he had been a tornado of energy and enthusiasm. When we weren't going through travel pamphlets that we had sent away for, we were surfing the web for cheap tickets. When I said vacation, I meant maybe a little three day excursion into the mountains where the two of us could be alone. Greg, however, was much more ambitious, and today was the day when all his hard work would pay off.

"Bonjour, madam!" I had been preoccupied at my work station, busily cleaning up discarded staples before Missy saw them, so I didn't see him approach. But you'd better believe that I heard him, what with that obnoxious French accent and snooty laugh.

I looked up to see Greg smiling down at me, a black beret atop his spiky hair and a fake mustache taped above his upper lip. I giggled and jumped up from my chair, my butt having left an indentation in the leather. How sad: I had been sitting there so long, I had formed an ass groove. I tried to give Greg a soft kiss on the lips, but that damn mustache kept tickling my nose. Making an executive decision, I reached for the fake patch of hair and yanked it off, hearing the tape peal off of Greg's skin.

"Ouch!" he said, rubbing his now red upper lip.

"Oh, sorry baby," I said mockingly, acting like a caring mother to a sick child. I planted a kiss on his upper lip, hoping it would make him feel better. Judging from his smile, I think it did.

"Now I don't look French," he whined, sticking out his bottom lip.

"You never looked French, Greg," I assured him. "You just looked stupid." He grinned and took off his beret, dropping it onto my head.

"Aren't you going to ask me what this is all about?" he questioned me. I could tell by the way he swayed back and forth that he was anxious to share his news. Whenever he had good news, especially involving a case at the lab, he would do a nervous jig like little kids that have to pee.

"Okay – what's this all about?" I repeated him, leaning against my desk. He smiled, feeling successful now that he had my attention.

"Well, my fair mademoiselle," he began, the French inflection seeping back into his voice. "You and I are going to France."

I must have stared at him for ten minutes, my jaw down on the floor in amazement. I couldn't think straight! Me? Us? Paris? Really? On your salary? On my salary? How freakin' romantic! I had so many questions to ask at once, and all of them wanted to escape my mouth. How ironic, then, that I was completely speechless.

"Well, what do ya think?" Greg asked, trying to read my expression.

"Is this a joke?" Knowing Greg, I couldn't help but wonder if this was just another great scheme of his.

"No, not at all," he responded, suddenly getting serious. The grin left his face, and a look of hurt filled his eyes. God, I was such a jerk. Greg does something great – even amazing – for me, and I accuse him of having an ulterior motive.

"Sorry," I apologized. "I just had to make sure. I mean, France?! Greg, I thought a vacation would do both of us good, but this is huge! You really didn't have to go this far."

"Nah, it's no problem," he brushed my comments off like he had just bought me nothing more than a mere Snickers bar – though I rarely find any Snickers bar to be mere. Yum.

"I've wanted to go to France forever," he continued. "When you mentioned a vacation, this is the first place I thought of."

"Can you afford this?" After seeing Greg's apartment for the first time, I had been curious as to how large the gap in our salaries was. Now I know for sure that it's an enormous difference.

"Of course," he reassured me. "All I had to do was sell my ultra rare 'Star Trek' collectibles." I smiled, knowing that Greg wouldn't be caught dead with any sort of "Star Trek" memorabilia; he was a "Star Wars" fan all the way.

I suppressed the rest of my inquiries, knowing that now was not the time to question Greg but rather to thank him shamelessly. After showering him with kisses (and whispering a few sweet nothings in his ear), I made my rounds in the lab, bragging to everyone. Normally, I wouldn't be the kind of girl to rub other people's noses in my good fortune, but this was an exception. I had never been out of the country before; I didn't even have a passport! Yet now, not only was I going to one of the most romantic places in the world, but I was going with my wonderful, funny, smart, obviously well paid boyfriend.

Nothing could go wrong…