What do I like? I like yoga. I enjoy journaling. I like books. I like anything old, anything vintage. We’ve already been to a flea market, and I’ve already been to Shakespeare & Company.
“What arrondissement is it in?” I ask, hoping to Google a Paris map and narrow it down.
He cocks a brow. “Twelfth, I think.”
I nod. Interesting. There’s not much in the twelfth, touristy wise. “Okay… one more question… is it entertainment? A show?”
He smiles. “Yes, sort of… there are shows, I think.”
“Have you ever been?” I ask.
He grins. “That’s your fourth question, my lady. But since I’ve never been to Paris, that one is pretty obvious. No, I’ve never been. I don’t quite know what to expect either.”
I eye him suspiciously. “You like to grind my gears, don’t you?”
He laughs. “Love it.”
I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible, Oscar Cohen.”
We strollto our secret destination. I’m glad I’ve worn a jacket — it’s a chilly night. I’m so glad it’s not raining, since my weather app called for it. I barely notice the beautiful scenery and architecture surrounding us, too consumed with where Oscar is taking me. I’ve always been a curious person, and this is killing me. I’d Google it on my phone, but my travel phone plan is not great. We’ll need to drop by a café for a snack — they all have free wifi.
We’re holding hands like an old couple. He smiles at me here and then. He looks sexy as sin tonight, dressed in all black, like me.
“We should stop by for a drink,” I tell him. “I’m parched.”
“Sure, next place we see.”
Since we’re walking the streets of Paris, approximately forty-five seconds later, we spot a cozy looking café — blue awning, blue bistro chairs, and not busy at all.
I welcome the warmth as soon as we step in. I order an iced tea and avocado toast.Avocat sur pain grillé, the menu on the chalkboard says. I’m confused… I thought avocat meant lawyer. Oscar orders a beer and nachos — such a guy.
As soon as we sit to eat, I eye the wifi password on the board, fish out my phone and get on Google.
“Were you even thirsty?” Oscar asks. “Was this all a pretext so you could go on your phone?”
“Sort of,” I admit, staring down at my phone. “I need to Google the 12th arrondissement.”
He smiles. “We’ll be there soon. Can’t you wait?”
I peruse the information. Residential neighborhood. Gardens…concert arena, retail chains… restaurants. Is he taking me to a concert? The place de la Bastille is also there, but he knows I’m no history buff. La Cinémathèque Francaise is there… classic movies and archives. Is he taking me to see a classic movie he won’t understand a word of? But he mentioned that there would be walking and cycling and outdoor time.
I’m still so confused.
He laughs. “Still can’t figure it out, can you?”
I scowl at him and bite into my avocado toast.
