“Because it’s the first. Would you want the people who come to your restaurant to judge you based on the first dish you ever cooked?”
“Friends don’t judge friends. They just gradually learn to understand them better.”
The waitress brought them two desserts.
“One lucuma-and-kalamansi éclair, and one fig tart withfromage blancice cream,” she announced. “Compliments of the chef.”
And she slipped away as quickly as she had arrived.
“What do you reckon lucuma and kalamansi are?”
“Clearly not part of your Provençal repertoire. One is a Peruvian fruit,” Paul explained. “The other is a citrus fruit, like a cross between a tangerine and a kumquat.”
“Impressive!”
“Truth is, I read it earlier, before you showed up. They explain it in the menu.”
Mia rolled her eyes.
“You should have been an actress,” said Paul.
“What makes you say that?”
“Your face is just . . . so expressive when you speak.”
“Do you like cinema?”
“I do. But I never go. It’s awful—I haven’t seen one movie since I moved to Paris. But I write at night, and going to the movies alone just isn’t much fun.”
“I like going to the cinema on my own, blending in with the audience, looking around the theatre . . .”
“Have you been single for a long time?”
“Since yesterday.”
“Wow. That is recent. So you weren’t even single when you joined the dating site?”
“I thought that part of our reworked scene had been cut out. Yesterday made it official. In reality, I’ve been single for a few months. What about you?”
“Well . . . strictly speaking, I’m not. The woman I’m involved with lives on the other side of the world. But to be honest, I don’t really know what we have anymore. So, to be fair, I guess I’ve been single since the last time she visited, six months ago.”
“Don’t you ever visit her?”
“I have a fear of flying.”
“Don’t people say that love gives you wings?”
“Yes, cheesy as that may be. No offense. The wings don’t seem to be working.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s a translator. In fact, she’s my translator, although I doubt that we’re exclusive in that sense. What about your other half—what does he do?”
“He’s a chef, like me. Well . . . more of a sous-chef, really.”
“Did you use to work together?”
“At times. Terrible idea.”
