“It’s perfect,” I say.“Merci.”
She pinches a bit of loose fabric at the waist. “I just need one small touch-up here.”
A little while later, Audrey and I each remove our costumes, careful of all the pins still stuck in them. Valérie tells us that they’ll come back next week for another fitting as they hang up our tutus. “Don’t lose any weight between nowand then,” she adds. “We know how stressed you girlsget.”
“Our daily dose of croissants won’t let that happen,” I say with a smile.
Audrey chuckles a little. We make our way through the now-deserted school. I pause when we reach the front door. “I have something to do, actually….I’ll see you later,” I say nervously.
“Oh,” Audrey replies, sounding not so surprised. “You’re going…”
“Out?” My voice sounds more on edge than I’d like it to be. But what else can I say?
“Hmm…,” she replies, arching one eyebrow.
“My aunt invited me to dinner,” I add. I try to keep a straight face, but I can feel my cheeks flush.
Audrey looks at me deadpan. “Your aunt, right.” Her tone is only a little snarky.
Note to self: never underestimate her. She’s not easily fooled.
“She’s…” I take a deep breath, ready to dig myself into a deeper lie, but something in Audrey’s eyes stop me. “I won’t be home late,” I continue. “And I’ll be just as ready to dance tomorrow morning.”
Audrey nods. “Have fun.”
Those might be the two strangest words Audrey has ever said to me.
“Really?” I ask her.
“Really,” she says.
And, maybe for the first time, we smile at each other.
There was no surprise this time, from him or from me. I didn’t feel nervous, and I refused to overthink it. I just finally found the courage to admit to myself what I wanted to do and simply texted Louis about taking him out on a date at his favorite restaurant. Which is why I’m standing on a hip street in the ninth arrondissement, underneath a neon sign that reads “Hôtel Amour.” That’s right, Louis chose a place called the “Love Hotel.” You can’t make that up. One thing I’ve learned about French people is that they’re not afraid to get romantic. When Americans do it, it can feel over-the-top, but Paris is swarming with oh-so-cool Cinderellas in Breton striped tops, lips stained in red, their tousled sun-kissed hair bouncing as they casually stroll down the street toward their knights in shining armor. Or on a shiny Vespa, in my case.
“Mia!” Louis says as soon as he removes his helmet. I don’t know if we’re going forla biseor if we’re kind of past that now, so I give him a hug, the American way.
“I’m sure no one has ever said this before,” he tells me as we make our way to the table I reserved in the lush garden at the back, with vines climbing up the walls, “but you danced so beautifully yesterday. We should celebrate your triumph!”
I laugh, but he seems determined as the waitress comes over.
“Deux coupes de champagne,”he orders. “My treat!” he says to me.
My eyes open wide. “Did you just order champagne?”
Louis shrugs. “You drank wine at your aunt’s place.”
While he has a good point, this feels different. It’s one thing to take a few sips at a family dinner. It’s quite another to be out on a date on a gorgeous terrace on a hot summer night, surrounded by Parisians, and drinking expensive sparkling wine. It seems a little too grown-up for me, like I’m playing the role of an older Mia Jenrow.
But then again, I feel like I’ve aged five years since I’ve been here. Until now, I had no idea how natural it would feel to take care of myself in a foreign city, but I’ve done okay so far. Better than okay, even.
The waitress comes back with two flutes that she fills with great ceremony after she places them in front of each of us.
“À toi!”Louis says, raising his.
I clink mine with it. “And to you,” I say.
“Okay, then, to us,” he adds, emphasizing the “us” and giving me a pointed look.
