The laughter subsides and we’re left in silence, each of us nurturing a strong alcohol buzz. I can see it in Freya’s constant smile and in Archer’s glazed-over eyes. It makes me feel better about my own diminished inhibitions.
Freya’s hand rests on the table, drumming her chipped, black-painted nails on the lacquer. She has a stunning emerald necklace around her neck, a faded gold chain with tiny diamonds set around a large green gem.
Without a sober mind to stop me, I reach out and run my finger over the emerald against her chest. She freezes, her gaze settled on my face.
“It’s my grandmother’s,” she says softly. Just the tender sound of her voice tugs on my heart. Each word she speaks about her family is laced with love, and it’s so obvious.
“It’s beautiful,” I reply. My middle finger draws tiny circles over the large emerald. The air between us feels heavier, loaded with something none of us can say.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I miss my family.”
“Where are they?”
“California, mostly. My grandmother, my parents, my brothers and sisters.”
“Big family,” Archer adds.
Freya nods with heavy emotion in her eyes as she keeps her eyes down on her hand, so I drift my touch from her necklace to fingers. I’ve noticed this look on her before. This deep contemplation, woven with longing and guilt. I wonder if she feels bad for leaving her family behind.
“Whyareyou here?” I ask.
“I got a job in a restaurant, a dream job, really. But then…I lost it.”
I sense Archer’s brows furrowing same as mine. “How?” he asks.
Freya takes a steadying breath. “The head chef didn’t like me very much.”
“Impossible,” he says, cutting her off.
Freya’s lips tug into a lopsided smirk. “He was a prick. A sexist, racist asshole who liked to shout at us and call us names, especially women and especially me. Like, I get that the kitchen can sometimes be…a volatile, high-stress environment, but I can’t stand it when that gives jerks like him a free pass to treat everyone like shit.”
The server delivers our new drinks, and we each bring them to our lips without hesitation. I don’t know who this guy is that she’s talking about, but I know plenty like him. She won’t tell us the name; I know that already. Because she knows we’d probably have it shut down in minutes.
“So anyway,” she says on a sigh, placing her glass back on the table. “I called him out on his bullshit, and it got me fired.”
“Fuck him,” Archer mutters.
“Yeah,” she replies. “Except now I’m struggling to stay in Paris, and as much as I miss my family, I don’t want to go home with my tail between my legs. This feels like my one chance. It’s all the more reason for me to open my own restaurant.”
“You will,” I mumble, reaching out and placing my hand on hers again.
“Fuck yeah, you will,” Archer says. Then, after a beat, he adds, “We’ll help you.”
Freya huffs. “You’ll help me open my restaurant in Paris? I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not help I need. It’s money.”
I already know the next words that will come out of his mouth before she even finishes her sentence, because I am thinking the same thing.
“Well, I have money,” Archer says, so matter-of-factly it makes her laugh.
“Rub it in, Arch,” she replies.
“No, I mean…let me invest in your restaurant.”
“Us,” I blurt out without a second thought. “Letusinvest in your restaurant.”
They both glance my way, and I spot the surprise in their expressions. They didn’t expect me to be as benevolent as Archer, and honestly, neither did I.
“Yeah…us,” Archer adds, sounding uncertain.
