A few days later, Brigitte was once again distracted by Bobby. She was straddling his lap, kissing him urgently as his hands slid around her. They were in his car with the top down, near the meadow where they were supposed to be having a picnic on that Sunday afternoon. However, they had become distracted with each other before they could actually exit the car, leading to their current arrangement.

The sun warmed her skin through the light summer dress she wore and she felt Bobby's hand trace around her ribs and then up toward her breast. The sensations of the sun and his touch thrilled her and she leaned back, creating room between them for his hands to continue their exploration. Brigitte moaned as his hand reached her breast. She leaned back just a little further then shrieked at the sudden explosion of noise as her rear end came firmly in contact with the horn of the car. Brigitte jumped forward and Bobby grabbed her to keep them both from toppling over. After the shock wore off she looked down at Bobby, just then noticing he was giggling. At first she was angered by his reaction, laughing at her, but one look at his face washed that anger away and she joined him in laughing.

Bobby grinned up at her. "We finally have privacy. I did not know that even the car would try to keep us apart."

Brigitte smiled and leaned back in, kissing him softly. "You know, if I just had my tools, I could just take this damn thing off," she said, still chuckling a little at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"The… the steering wheel?' Bobby asked incredulously, taking a moment to remember the French word. He was getting much better, Brigitte thought distractedly.

"I'd put it back when we were done." She smiled at him and leaned back in for a kiss. He grinned back, sliding his hands into her hair. Unfortunately, the steering wheel hadn't gone anywhere. After running up against it again, she tried to shift in his lap, but to no avail. Frustrated, she started to move off of him but Bobby grabbed her by the hips.

"Brigitte…"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Bobby, just sit in the damn passenger seat where there isn't a wheel poking me in the ass!"

Bobby looked up at her apologetically. "Um, okay, sure." He started trying to scoot over, but found it difficult between Brigitte, the steering wheel, and the gear shift.

"Just get out of the car and walk around. There is really no need to make this more difficult."

"If I am going to get out of the car, we should just lay out on the blanket," Bobby challenged, still trying to scoot over.

"Bobby, are you going to argue with me or are you just going to hurry up and sit in this seat so we can get back to making out?"

"I am…" Bobby grunted as he tried to untangle his leg. "I am going to kiss you so hard once I get over there!"

Brigitte laughed and moved to sit up on the collapsed roof to allow Bobby more room to maneuver. Finally in the passenger seat, Bobby grabbed Brigitte and pulled her back down onto his lap. Returning her attention to Bobby's mouth, she felt him groan when her full lips met his. Meanwhile, his hands were busy exploring other parts of her body. Brigitte shivered as he slid his hand slowly up her thigh, pushing her skirt higher as he went. His fingertips dragged over her stockings, the friction tugging slightly at her skin. About halfway up her thigh, his fingers finally met her bare skin and her breath caught in her throat. He traced the hem of the stocking, sliding his fingers over the top and underneath.

The kiss ended as Brigitte grew too distracted by Bobby's hand to continue. Their eyes met, and Bobby fumbled blindly with her stocking. Finally unclasping it successfully, Bobby pulled the stocking down to her knee and slid his hand back up her thigh. His hand came to rest near the top of her thigh and Brigitte gasped as he drew soft circles with his thumb on her inner thigh.

Bobby slid his other hand up her spine, pulling her to him and resuming the kiss. Brigitte moaned softly against his mouth. His thumb moved a little higher and she moaned louder. Her breathing was getting faster and she felt a warmth building in her belly. She instinctively started moving her hips against him.

All of a sudden, Bobby's fingers brushed the front of her underwear and Brigitte froze. She swallowed, drawing away from him and trying to calm her breathing.

"Bobby… that's…" She wasn't quite sure how to tell him that that was further than she wanted right now, but her hesitation came through clearly.

"Sorry…" he whispered in English. He removed his hand from under her skirt and tried to pull it back down as much as he could, considering that she was still straddling him. He then said in French, "I want what you want."

She smiled and he saw the tension melt from her. He closed his eyes as she stroked his face and softly kissed him. His hands slid around her back and held her close. The feel of her body pushed against his, of her skin under his hands, the taste of her lips... It was all threatening to overwhelm him. Bobby felt himself straining against his pants, and he shifted slightly to try to relive the pressure. He couldn't tell if Brigitte had noticed it, but he desperately wanted her to touch him.

Keeping one hand on the small of her back, he reached with the other to take one of her hands from around his neck. He hesitantly guided it down to his crotch and looked at her questioningly, his eyes asking if she wanted to proceed. She nodded and he groaned involuntarily when her hand slid over his erection.

Brigitte sat back slightly and looked down at where her hand rested on him. Although she had come in contact with it the other night, this was the first time she had actually felt it. She looked at him hesitantly, unsure of what exactly he wanted her to do now that she had him in her hand.

"Brigitte," Bobby began hesitantly, "Can I open my pants? I want…" he trailed off, unsure of how to explain to her what he wanted.

Brigitte looked hesitant for a moment, but then nodded as she unbuttoned his trousers. Moving the fabric aside, she could see the shape of him through the white underwear. Running her fingers along him she heard him gasp. Brigitte was surprised by how hard this part of his body felt and wrapped her hand around him experimentally.

Bobby had leaned back and closed his eyes, overcome by the feeling of Brigitte's hand on him, even with his underwear still in the way. She squeezed slightly and he moaned, but then… nothing. Opening his eyes he saw her looking at him, asking him with her eyes what he wanted her to do. Realizing that his French wasn't going to save him now, he put his hand over hers, trying to show her how to stroke it. Brigitte obliged, staring at him curiously as she did so.

Bobby leaned back and another moan escaped his lips. He couldn't believe how good this felt, significantly better than when he did it to himself. He was totally immersed in the sensation when he felt her finger accidently slip through the opening in his underwear. Although she immediately retracted her hand, when her finger came in contact with his hot skin for the first time, everything rocketed out of control. His hips moved suddenly and a strangled groan escaped his lips.

Brigitte watched as Bobby's expression went from one of absolute rapture, to surprise, to a kind of disappointed embarrassment. Unsure of what just happened, she continued stroking over his shorts until he grabbed her hand to stop her.

"Stop…" Bobby murmured again automatically in English.

Still confused, Brigitte asked, "What happened?"

"I…" Bobby realized that he didn't know any French words to describe it. "I do not know how to say it," he explained. "I… I finished? Do you understand?"

"Oh. You, uh, had an orgasm."

Bobby let out a laugh at hearing the word that sounded exactly like the English version. "You know, we use the same word in English. I should have just said that. You would have known exactly what I meant."

Brigitte smiled and slid off of Bobby, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "It's okay, I understand now. Do you want to eat?" Brigitte said, trying to change the subject.

"Um, I would like to, uh, clean up." Bobby said hesitantly. "I will go over by those bushes… can you get the food? Is that okay?"

"Yes, of course, go ahead."

After a few minutes they reconvened for a lunch of leftover roast chicken, white bean salad, and bread that Brigitte had provided. Sitting down next to her, Bobby gave her a kiss on the cheek as she poured him a glass of wine. "I am sorry about that," he said as she handed him the beverage.

"Don't worry about it. I was getting hungry anyway."

Bobby knew she was telling only half the truth, but appreciated her gesture nonetheless. After dishing some salad onto his plate, he took a bite. "Wow, this is really good. You made it?"

"No, my mama made it."

"Your mama is a very good cook. Has she taught you?" Bobby asked.

"She tries, but I'm typically not very interested. I guess I will need to learn so I can feed myself one day."

"Or marry a man who can cook."

"Can you cook?"

"You want to marry me?"

Brigitte flushed. "Well, it's a little early for that… but I like to keep my options open. Consider this part of the application process," she retorted with a flirty grin.

Bobby laughed. "I can cook a little. At home we have someone who cooks for us. But one summer I got interested and she taught me how to make some dishes."

"You have a cook?" Brigitte said, a bit surprised.

"Yeah. My mom grew up with one, so she cannot cook. But when my dad found out I was helping in the kitchen… I was in so much trouble."

"For helping? I can't imagine I would ever get in trouble for helping," Brigitte replied, taking in a mouth full of bean salad.

"My dad… he has ideas about what is right for his son. For example, women are in the kitchen and men work. That is why I got in trouble."

Brigitte let out a snort. "Oh. He probably doesn't approve of me working on cars then, does he?"

"I do not know. I have not told him."

"Have you told him anything about me?" Brigitte asked, trying to hide the hurt in her voice.

Bobby paused, wondering how to explain that it was not a reflection of his feelings for Brigitte that he had not told his father about her, but rather a reflection of what a total asshole his father was. "He is not interested in my life, unless it has to do with work. He… does not want to hear about these things."

A silence fell over them and they finished eating, only interrupted by the chirping of birds in the distance. Bobby collected their dishes and put them back in the basket before stretching out on the blanket. Lying down next to him, Brigitte placed her head on his shoulder and idly traced shapes on his belly.

"I was thinking, after what happened earlier, there are a lot of words I do not know in French that I may need to know now that we are dating," Bobby said, breaking the silence.

"What, like 'carburetor'?" Brigitte asked.

"No, no, I mean words they do not teach you in school."

"They taught you 'carburetor'?"

Bobby laughed. "No… that is a cognate. But that is not what I meant." He leaned in close to her, his mouth only inches from her. "I know this," he whispered as he closed the distance between them and kissed her softly, "is a kiss,"

Brigitte smiled at him. "Correct."

"But there are other things I don't know." He ran his hands along her stomach and then up over her ribs to cup the mounds on her chest. "What do you call these?"

"There are many words. But the proper word is 'breasts'," she replied with a smile, yet again enjoying the feel of his hands on her.

"And this?" he said motioning to the area between her legs.

A little embarrassed, she replied, "Vagina. But it also has many names."

"It's interesting, that is true in English too. For example, penis, do you know this word?"

"Yes, it's the same in French," Brigitte replied, again looking a little embarrassed before saying the word for him with the proper accent.

"Well, the penis had many names, cock, dick, schlong..."

"Schlong?" Brigitte laughed. "That sounds like the German word for snake!"

"It is Yiddish I think… " Bobby watched as Brigitte continued to laugh. Feeling something well up in him at that sound, he ran his hand along her face and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I did not know you speak German," he said, finally pulling his attention away from her smiling face and back to her words.

"Some. We have to learn it in school."

"So you learned English and German in school?" he questioned.

"And Latin." She paused for a moment, "Oh, and I also know Spanish because it is my mama's first language."

Bobby was surprised by this. "Wow. I just learned French. And not very well."

"Your French is better than any of my languages. Well, except maybe Spanish, but that's because that's what my mama uses half the time, so I have a lot of practice."

"Well, now I have a very good reason to practice French." He smiled at her and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.

"Well, by that logic I should be more motivated to speak English," Brigitte replied, snuggling closer, trying to bring herself in as much contact with him as possible.

"Do you want to practice English?" Bobby asked.

"Maybe. A lot of scientific papers are written in English and in German, so it would be good if I could read and write well in both languages. I think I am going to take some courses at university to try to improve my proficiency."

"Well, if you want to speak in English, I can help you." He then laughed and turned to look back up at the sky. "You have suffered with my French."

Brigitte got up on her elbow and took Bobby's face in her hands. "Stop doubting yourself. Your French is beautiful. I love listening to you speak French."

A smile slowly spread across Bobby's face. "Thank you. And I want to hear more of your English."

"One day we will try talking only in English and see how it goes, how about that?" Brigitte asked, settling back down into his arms. "If nothing else, it will be good practice for my exam."

"Okay. However, I have another vocabulary question."

"Okay."

"How do you say… what men and women do… when they are in bed? It is called sex in English." The moment he said the word in English Brigitte pulled away from him.

"Bobby…" Brigitte said warningly.

"I am not suggesting anything! It was just a question. And I assume the word is the same in French."

Still not looking very pleased, Brigitte replied, "It's the same."

"Come here," Bobby said and pulled her back into his arms. "One more question."

"What is it now?"

"I wanted to know if you wanted to…" he paused until she looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed suspiciously. Once he had her full attention he continued, "If you wanted to kiss me."

Her face suddenly shifted into an annoyed grin and she shoved him playfully. "You pig!" she laughed, before pressing her lips to his.

It was past eleven when Bobby softly closed the front door of his house. After his time with Brigitte in the countryside, they'd returned to her house to grab her books and spend a few hours studying history in a café while sharing a late dinner. Bobby chuckled as he recalled Brigitte's consternation at his not allowing her to pay for her half of the meal. Didn't she know the man was supposed to pay?

He'd dropped her off at her house a bit before ten, but it had taken them over half an hour to say goodbye… and then there was the drive back to his house.

Bobby could see the light coming from his father's study and hoped that if he was just quiet enough, he could get upstairs and his father wouldn't realize he was only now coming home. As Bobby creeped across the foyer, he realized he hadn't really told his father where he was going, or even that he was going out.

But he also thought he'd be home much earlier.

He was almost up the stairs when he heard it.

"Get your ass down here! Where the hell have you been!?"

Slowly turning, he saw his father's silhouette standing in the doorway to his study. As he moved back down the stairs, Bobby responded, "Um, I was in town."

"You were in town? Until after eleven? What on Earth were you doing?"

"I…" Bobby stammered, not really sure how much he wanted to tell his dad. He hadn't yet mentioned Brigitte to him, both due to a lack of opportunity and not knowing how his father would take him getting involved with a local girl.

Before Bobby could continue, his father cut in. "Spit it out, boy! What were you doing? Getting into trouble? I swear, you are the poster child for 'idle hands are the devil's workshop'!"

With that, Bobby lost his patience. He yelled back, "No, Dad! I wasn't getting into trouble! I was with my girlfriend." Girlfriend? he thought, only in that moment realizing that she was indeed his girlfriend… not just some girl he was seeing.

Robert rolled his eyes. "Bobby, we've been here a month and you already have a girlfriend?"

"Yes. Her name's Brigitte."

In the dim light, he saw his father shake his head. "When the hell did you meet 'Brigitte'?"

"When I got the flat tire repaired several weeks ago. Her father owns the mechanic's shop."

"You're dating the daughter of a mechanic?"

"Is that a problem?" Bobby asked, a little defensively.

"Look, Bobby, I don't care. If it makes you happy, fine. But don't let your dick get in the way of business."

Slightly stunned, Bobby opened and shut his mouth a couple times, not really knowing how to respond. However a response was made unnecessary when his father continued. "Maybe I haven't been strict enough with you. You are expected home every night by ten. You are to be to work every morning at eight and to stay at work until five. Do you understand?"

Trying to stand tall, Bobby responded with a simple, "Yes."

"Alright, get to bed." Bobby turned and had begun up the stairs when he heard his father mutter to himself. "But for the love of God, don't get her pregnant."

"Hello?" Bobby called out in French as he entered the garage. It was a warm Thursday evening and although he knew he was officially here to help Brigitte study history again, he hoped that they might be able to take a walk along the river when they were done. "Hello? Brigitte?" he called out again, having received no answer to his first greeting.

"She's inside getting cleaned up," a disembodied male voice responded. Bobby knew immediately that it was Brigitte's father. He blushed automatically, recalling that the only time he'd heard the man's voice before, Bobby had had his hand on Brigitte's ass.

Phillippe came out from the office, wiping his hands on a red rag. "Bobby, right?" he asked, offering a hand.

"Yes, sir." Bobby responded, grasping Phillippe's hand firmly, but really having no idea where to take the conversation from there. Truth be told, he had never gotten far enough along in the dating process to have to 'meet the parents.'

Fortunately, Phillippe didn't seem too interesting in grilling him. "What do you two have planned for tonight?"

"I am going to help Brigitte study for the history exam, sir."

Phillippe chuckled slightly. "She sure does hate history, doesn't she?"

"It is not a favorite," Bobby replied, still not feeling terribly at ease.

Luckily, he was rescued by the appearance of Brigitte. "Bobby!" She had a big grin on her face and her school bag slung over her shoulder.

"Not studying here?" Phillippe asked.

"No, we are going to La Note so we aren't in Mama's way in the kitchen," Brigitte said as she motioned for Bobby to follow her out of the garage.

"Okay," her father replied with a small laugh. "Well, make sure you get some studying done and be home by ten!" Phillippe called after them.

Once they were out of earshot, Bobby said, "Just so there is no argument, I am paying again."

Brigitte narrowed her eyes. "I can pay for myself, you know."

Bobby smiled in the face of her cool stare. "I know. I like to…" He paused and searched for the phrase in French. "Treat you."

He watched as her glare slowly turned into a grin. "Alright, but someday you'll let me pay, okay?"

"No, not okay," he replied. "Your company… that is what I want."

Brigitte laughed. "You men, having to control us women with your money…"

Bobby was a little taken aback, not knowing if she was serious. "I-" he started to defend himself but she raised her hand, stopping him.

"It's fine. I won't offer to pay anymore. I don't want to hurt your manly pride any further."

For a moment Bobby was silent as they continued to head to the café. Was she mad? It wasn't entirely clear to him what was going through her head. He looked over at her and she didn't look mad… so he ventured, "What are you doing this weekend?"

"No firm plans yet," she replied.

"I have an idea, to help you study." This got her attention, and she turned to face him. "Saturday is the fourth of July."

Brigitte's eyebrows furrowed, obviously confused. "Um, yes, I think it is."

Bobby was also confused for a moment until he realized that that meant nothing to Brigitte. "Oh, sorry. The fourth of July is the American Independence Day."

"Okay. I still don't understand why that's important here in France," Brigitte responded. "Or how it helps me study."

"Well, I thought we could speak English that day. We could cook outside. And I could teach you about America."

Brigitte slowly nodded, seeming to take it all in. "Bobby, I don't know…"

"Please?" he implored. "I really like helping you with history. I want to help with English too. And I want to teach you about my home. You have taught me a lot about yours."

Brigitte was silent again, and Bobby didn't understand her hesitation. It would be fun!

"You like helping me with history?" Brigitte's voice cut through his thoughts of grilling, catching him off guard.

Bobby smiled. "I do. Besides, you said you wanted to practice your English skills…" Brigitte still looked a little skeptical, so he continued. "Why do you doubt me? I like helping you… I want to see you succeed. To be 'Engineer Bernard'. After all, one of us should be happy with our work."

Brigitte suddenly stopped. "Are you really that unhappy with what you do with your father?" Brigitte asked.

Bobby took a deep breath. Yes, he thought, but replied, "Only sometimes. But it's okay. Now, about the fourth of July?" Bobby hoped the quick change of subject would distract her.

"Okay, fine we can celebrate and speak in English on Saturday."

Bobby gave her a kiss on the cheek and they resumed their walk to the café.

"Happy fourth of July!" Bobby exclaimed in English as she approached the car. Giving her a quick kiss, he handed her a stick attached to a piece of rectangular paper. Studying the object, Brigitte noted the white paper has been colored red and blue and vaguely resembled an American flag.

"Did you make it?" Brigitte asked, also in English.

"Yes! I didn't think I could find the ol' Stars and Stripes in France, so I made my own. See," he said, pointing to the flag, "thirteen stripes for the original colonies and forty eight stars, one for each state… although the stars are supposed to be white on a blue field, but blue on white was easier. However, I did get all forty eight on there."

"Ah," Brigitte nodded, trying, and failing, to keep up with Bobby's quick English. They were only five minutes into 'English Day,' as Bobby had coined it, and her head already hurt. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt, as it became all too real for her how Bobby must have felt over the last month, as she would get excited in French or make a joke he didn't understand. Although she had been reluctant when the idea was first mentioned last weekend, she was now glad that they were spending this Saturday speaking only Bobby's native tongue. Although she still found it a bit odd that Bobby wanted to show her how to celebrate the American Independence Day… while they were in France.

"It is… nice," Brigitte said, still looking at the flag.

"You're supposed to wave it around like this," he said, grasping her hand and shaking it back and forth.

She shot him a look. "Bobby… we have flags in France."

He momentarily looked abashed. "I, uh, suppose you do. Well, anyway, ready to go?"

"Yes," she replied, stepping into the car after Bobby opened the door for her.

On the drive into the countryside, Bobby talked nonstop. Brigitte had always thought he was chatty, but it seemed like today he was trying to get in as many English words as possible before he had to go back to French. He gave her a brief overview of the Revolutionary War, followed by a description of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. He was reciting the preamble to the latter document when she started tuning him out, the English having completely overwhelmed her.

They quickly reached their destination, a grassy hillside, and Bobby began hauling items out of the trunk, all while still talking. Brigitte sat quietly on a blanket as Bobby went about preparing a small grill.

As he lit the charcoal, Bobby was about to launch into a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner when he realized that Brigitte wasn't listening anymore. "Brigitte? Are you okay?" he asked, trying to catch her attention again.

"Yes," came her short reply.

"Then why aren't you saying anything?" he asked as he sat next to her, his preparation momentarily forgotten.

"Because…" he heard Brigitte take a deep breath. "I cannot understand. You talk too fast."

"Oh," Bobby said, slightly chagrined. "You can tell me to slow down."

"I know. You are excited. I did not want to... um…" Suddenly, Brigitte burst out in French, "This was a dumb idea. I don't speak English well enough to do this. You speak French much better. Let's just speak in French."

Bobby took a breath. "Brigitte… please? Just for today. I want…" he trailed off before taking her hand in his. "I want you to hear my thoughts as I think them, not as I have to change them to fit my vocabulary. I know that you have a harder time with English than I do with French but… just for one day. Please."

Brigitte still looked skeptical.

"It is practice for your exam, remember?"

Brigitte huffed, unable to argue with his logic. She spoke again in English. "Do you promise to speak slow and use simple words?"

"I promise."

"And can I say a word in French if I do not know it in English?"

"Speak all the Frenglish you want."

Brigitte closed her eyes and looked like she was about to smack him. "The what?"

"Frenglish… French and English. Put the words together and you get Frenglish."

"That is dumb," Brigitte replied.

"Well, I didn't make it up," he said, rising and returning to the grill.

Brigitte harrumphed before asking, "What do we eat?"

A huge grin broke out over Bobby's face. "I have potato salad, macaroni salad, and hamburgers… although I couldn't find proper buns so I have baguette. And s'mores for dessert."

Brigitte's face scrunched up. "Some more baguette for dessert?"

Bobby returned her confused expression before he suddenly burst out laughing. "I… I can't believe… we are like a bad comedy duo."

"I do not understand," Brigitte said, wondering if Bobby was actually laughing at her English skills.

"Sorry," he said, clearing his throat as he recovered. "S'mores," he said, this time enunciating, before spelling out the word, "are the name of the dessert. It is a contraction of some more-"

"Like Frenglish?" Brigitte cut in.

"Kind of. Anyway, they are marshmallow and chocolate between two plain cookies."

"Marshmallow?" Brigitte said, not recognizing the word.

"Um, they are sweet… puffy and white?"

"Meringue?" Brigitte asked.

"No… hold on." Bobby dug through his bag of food and quickly revealed the food item in question. "This."

"Ah! I know it," Brigitte said before providing the French word.

Putting the marshmallow back, Bobby continued, "So anyway, you roast the marshmallow over a fire and put it with the chocolate and the cookie and eat it like a sandwich."

"Um, interesting," Brigitte said, leaning back on her elbows as Bobby returned to the grill.

The sun had begun to set, the sky awash with deep reds and purples as it slowly sank in the distance. Soon the burgers were grilled and the salads doled out. After dinner was consumed, Bobby pulled out some rods and instructed Brigitte on proper marshmallow roasting techniques. As he spoke, Brigitte considered Bobby's outline, as he appeared to be nothing more than a dark shadow set against the colorful sky. However, too soon the sun sank away, leaving them in darkness as dusk settled across the landscape, only the coals of the grill left as light.

Nibbling on a cookie, having decided that the s'more was too sweet for her tastes, Brigitte shivered slightly. Bobby must have taken note, as moments later she felt his jacket fall across her shoulders.

"Will you get cold?" she asked, even while wrapping herself in the coat.

"If I do, I'll just join you under there."

Smiling, Brigitte laid down. "Come here," she motioned. He lay down next to her and she threw the coat over them both. Snuggling against him, she whispered, "There, now we both are warm."

"You are oh so smart," Bobby responded softly, lightly kissing down her neck as she stared up at the night sky.

"Bobby, do you like the stars?"

Bobby stopped his kissing, turning his attention skyward as well. "I suppose. What do you mean?"

"When I was a little girl, my papa showed me the stars." She pointed to the sky. "He showed me the… constellations." She provided the final word in French, hoping Bobby would know it.

"Cognate," Bobby simply said.

"Ah. There," she said, pointing to the northwest, "is the big… casserole? It is part of the big bear."

"Ah…" Bobby said, finally understanding. "The big dipper and Ursa Major."

"That is Latin. You call it by the Latin name?" Brigitte said, the surprise evident in her voice.

Bobby let out a little chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose. We say all the zodiac ones in Latin, like Capricorn, Virgo, Leo… Hey, what's your sign?"

"My 'sign'?" Brigitte asked and, despite the blackness, Bobby knew that her eyebrows were currently drawn together, in the way they always were when he confused her.

"Yeah, like, I'm a Pisces… I was born March eighteenth. What are you?"

"Oh. Um, May fifteen. The Latin is Taurus."

Bobby ran his hand along her stomach, stopping just short of her breast, while dropping light kisses on her neck. "I guess we will have to look up our horoscope to see if we are good together."

"I don't know what that is."

Bobby paused his ministrations and thought about how to describe the word, not knowing it in French. "Well, it's in the newspaper… it tells you based on your sign how things will be for you. Like a fortune."

"Oh! Yes, I know it." Brigitte rolled slightly to give Bobby a kiss before continuing, "I do not need it to know we are compatible."

"That's a fancy word there."

"Cognate," she said simply, her hand tracing a similar path on his body as Bobby's were on her.

"Ah yes, I love all the cognates."

"Me too."

They drunk in the calm of the night sky and the warmth of each other. Their small kisses soon settled into a calm stillness, as they huddled together, eyes on the night sky. Brigitte broke the silence. "When we were little, Simone and I… played… like we went to the moon."

"Oh?"

"Yes. We ran and jumped in the air… like we could jump high enough. And when we got there, we met the moon people."

"Were the moon people nice?" Bobby asked.

"Of course. Why pretend mean people?" Brigitte responded, turning slightly towards him.

"I don't know. Maybe to have a space battle?" Bobby suggested, imagining a small ship zipping around space, shooting between larger vessels, evading their weapons fire.

"No, the moon people are nice. But we need air on the moon, so I thought a… tube… with a pump. So my papa gave us an old one to play with."

"Sounds like fun." Bobby smiled, imagining a tiny dark haired Brigitte running around with her equally blonde cousin, launching themselves off any and everything available in their small garden, breathing through an old hose and talking to imaginary moon men.

His thoughts were interrupted when Brigitte's wistful words met his ear. "When you are young, everything is fun."

"You don't have fun anymore?" Bobby questioned.

"I do. Different fun. I do not pretend to go to the moon anymore," Brigitte said with a chuckle.

"Maybe one day you can go for real."

"I hope one day. If I go, would you miss me?" Brigitte asked playfully.

"I would come with you if you were going to be there for very long," Bobby returned.

Suddenly Bobby felt Brigitte stiffen and the mood of the moment become solemn. "I will miss you when you go home."

"I don't like to think about that. Let's just live in the moment and worry about that later."

Bobby felt her nuzzle him again and he wrapped his arms tight, holding her as close as possible for as long as possible.

Above them, only the stars and a sliver of the moon bore witness.

Robert Davis looked up from his ledger when he heard the front door quietly close. A moment later, the grandfather clock in the foyer struck ten. He sighed and shook his head. As usual, his boy was doing just enough to keep from getting in trouble, rather than actually listening to his father's words.

Ever since the night that Bobby had come home so late, Robert had started watching him. He showed up at work on time and left when he was supposed to, but mentally, his son was always somewhere else. And he always seemed to be with that girl… Bridget or something.

The daughter of a fucking mechanic.

Robert heard his son cross the foyer and head to the stairs. He wondered where he had gone wrong with the boy. When Bobby was a child they used to get on so well. They would play catch in the yard or wrestle. But the last few years it was like he had lost his son. Bobby was moody and irresponsible. Robert kept hoping that in the end, he would get the boy he remembered back. And not this man he currently saw before him.

And this girl was just the latest in a string of poor choices.

Why couldn't Bobby see this girl was only after his money? Even if that wasn't the case… she had nothing to offer him. No family connections. No money. All she could do was give him bastard children, because he was sure it would be over his wife's dead body that Bobby married some common French girl.

He needed to set Bobby straight… but he was unsure how to do it. Anytime Robert tried to talk to him, one of them ended up yelling. He loved his son immensely... he just didn't want to see him get into a situation.

Resolved, Robert stood. As he approached the dimly lit foyer, he could see that Bobby had already made it up the stairs and was stepping into his room. "Bobby!" he called out, stopping his son short.

He watched as Bobby slowly turned to face him. "I made it home by ten."

"I know… come back down. Let's get something to eat in the kitchen."

Although the light was dim, he could see the confusion on his son's face. "Um, okay."

As Bobby began down the stairs, Robert said, "I wanted to talk to you… About Bridget."

"Brigitte," Bobby corrected.

Robert waved his hand. It didn't really matter. He continued as they walked to the kitchen. "I just… I want to make sure you understand your options. Your mother has plenty of young women at home for you to meet-"

Much to Robert's surprise, Bobby cut him off. "Dad, I've been on dates with the women that Mom sets me up with. I'm not interested. They're… vapid."

"And your mechanic's daughter isn't?"

"No! She's… amazing and brilliant." Robert watched as his son actually became what he could only describe as 'dreamy eyed'. Oh Lord…

Pushing the door open, Robert said to his son, "Bobby, I'm sure she's great, but that doesn't change the facts. The women back home are more appropriate. You'll have a fiancée of good standing in no time if you just put your mind to it.

"Alice, Bread and cheese… and a coffee," Robert said to the kitchen maid in French, wanting to make sure he actually got what he wanted. The maid headed to the larder while Robert watched Bobby pour himself a glass of sparkling water. He's really gone native, he thought as the carbonated beverage sparkled and popped in Bobby's glass.

Bobby let out a childlike sigh. "But Dad, you don't understand. I don't want them. I want Brigitte!"

Robert couldn't take it anymore. Why wouldn't his son see reason? "Bobby! Get your head out of your ass! You can't marry that girl. She's a poor mechanic's daughter! You need to think of your standing and your family when you marry!"

"I don't want to marry for standing!" Bobby shouted back.

"It doesn't matter what you want!"

Robert watched his son slam down his glass before he replied, "You've made that quite clear." Bobby charged out of the kitchen and Robert let him go, knowing that talking to him any more tonight would be useless. With a sigh, he decided to return to the study. There was still work to be done.

Leaving Alice to return to an empty kitchen.