Free Sleeping With Paris by Juliette Sobanet Page B

whiff of butter and tomato sauce wafted past me as his smiling face appeared in the doorway.
    “ Salut Charlotte ,” he said sweetly as he kissed my cheeks.
    Oh my gosh, Luc is so incredibly gorgeous. Maybe we can just skip dinner?
    “ Salut Luc ,” I said as I returned the kisses.
    Luc’s place was much roomier than mine. It was more like a studio apartment than a teeny dorm room. He had it sectioned off into two separate spaces, a living room with a couch and a small kitchen table, and then a bedroom area with a real bed (not a plastic cot mattress like the one I had). The bare walls and limited color scheme screamed bachelor pad, but it was clean and comfortable, and it smelled of basil, garlic and Luc’s cologne. I liked it.
    He poured me a glass of red wine and led me over to his miniature kitchen table to have a seat. He had made a dish of linguini, fresh tomatoes and mozzarella, a colorful salad and cheesy garlic bread. I was impressed. Most men had no idea what they were doing in the kitchen.
    “This looks delicious,” I said as I took in the smell of the meal. “I love Italian food.”
    “You do? You like zee, euh, pasta? I am so happy because I did not know what you liked, but I thought to myself today, this . . . this will be good.”  He raised his glass and clinked it with mine as he flashed a warm smile my way. He was such a sweet guy, not at all cocky or pretentious. I couldn’t have asked for a better rebound after my broken engagement disaster.
    “So, Charlotte, you have lived in France before?”
    “Yeah, I lived with a host family in Lyon for a semester in college.”
    “Really? I have family in Lyon. It is beautiful there, is it not?”
    “I loved every minute of it. I can’t wait to go back and visit this year . . . but I’m not sure when I’ll be able to go. This whole being a poor student thing doesn’t really lend to traveling around Europe.”
    “I know. I am a poor student too. I’m getting my master’s degree in education right now. I want to be a teacher, like you. That is the only reason why I live here in the dorm.”
    “You’ll love teaching, and I’m sure you’ll be really great at it. I did think you looked a little old to be living in a dorm though,” I poked at him.
    “Hey, hey. Well, yes, I guess I am kind of old.”
    “How old are you?” I asked as I savored a bite of linguini and basil.
    “I am twenty-nine. I will be thirty in March. And you?”
    “Haven’t you learned that rule? You can never ask a woman how old she is.”
    “That is a silly rule. Come on, tell me.”
    “I know, I’m just kidding. I think it’s silly too. I’m twenty-five.”
    “You are so young. Only twenty-five?”
    “What, did you think I was a lot older or something?”
    “No, no, it’s just that life was so different at twenty-five.” Luc stared off in the distance for a second.
    “What were you doing when you were twenty-five?” I asked him, curious to find out what he was thinking about.
    “Euh . . . well, I was living in a nice apartment in the 6th arrondissement,working in finance, and making a lot of good money.”
    “Sounds like fun. I bet you were going out a lot too—probably a heart-breaker,” I flirted as I took a sip of my plum-flavored wine.
    “Actually no, that was not the case.” Luc shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
    “No?” I was curious to see where this was heading.
    “No, I was married.”
    Now, there’s a conversation stopper. I wasn’t sure what to say to that. But, of course, being a girl, I wanted to know the whole story.
    “Oh, really?”
    “Yes.” Luc’s eyes darted around the room avoiding my glance.
    “Did . . . are you . . .still married?” I thought I’d throw that question out there just in case.
    “ Mais, non . Of course not.”
    Of course not, because all marriages end in divorce, that’s why.
    “Right. So, how long have you been on your own?”
    Luc got up from the table to grab the bottle of wine. “ Un peu plus