Free The French War Bride by Robin Wells

between us, which isn’t very much. And just because I’m your friend is no reason I can’t be his friend, too.” She twirled a strand of hair. “I told him you wouldn’t mind. You don’t, do you?”
    I did, but I couldn’t say why. “It—it’s odd, is all.” I didn’t know how I felt. Strangely pushed aside, mostly. Maybe displaced. Definitely off-balance.
    Another thought occurred to me. “Do you write him about me? Did you write about the other night?”
    â€œNo, of course not! I can’t risk him telling your mother.”
    Thank heavens she hadn’t completely lost her head. “Please, please, please don’t tell him about Joshua!”
    â€œOh, I won’t. Don’t worry.” She grinned. “Your secrets are safe with me. And I hope mine still are with you?”
    â€œYes, of course. It’s just . . .”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWell, I would hate for you to lead him on and break his heart.”
    She laughed as if this were wildly funny. “As if I could!”
    â€œWell, I don’t think you should try.”
    â€œI wouldn’t! It’s nothing like that. It’s just a little long-distance flirtation, that is all. So tell me about your date with Joshua.”
    â€œIt wasn’t really a date. We met at the library and went for coffee.”
    â€œDid he pay for your coffee?”
    â€œYes, of course.”
    â€œThen it was a date! Tell me all about it.”
    So I did.
    â€œDo you think you will introduce him to your parents so you can truly date?”
    â€œI don’t know. What do you think they will say?”
    She gazed thoughtfully at the wall. “Your mother will not like that he’s an immigrant.”
    It was worse than that. I was fairly certain my mother would not take kindly to me seeing someone who wasn’t our religion. “My father would not think it matters. He would be impressed that Joshua speaks French very well even though Yiddish and German are his native languages. I think he would be impressed that Joshua is an engineering student with a bright future.”
    â€œYes, but your mother will want to know all about his family.” She gave me a wry grin. “You have met your mother, haven’t you?”
    â€œYes.” I sighed. Yvette was right; my mother could be a snob.
    â€”
    I sneaked out and met Joshua two days later—and continued to meet him two or three times a week as the winter wore on. We fell into apattern of walking and talking. He would hold my hand and he would give a quick peck on the cheek hello and good-bye, but he never really kissed me.
    Yvette peppered me about it after every outing. “Did it happen?”
    â€œNo. But he gazes at my lips, and he smells my hair.”
    â€œOh, that’s so romantic! He must be shy, though. You need to prompt him to make the first move.”
    After a couple of months of this, I made sure we were on a deserted side street when it was time to say good-bye, and I turned my face toward him as he went to kiss my cheek. His lips met mine. He stiffened, and I thought I had made a terrible miscalculation—but then his mouth moved over mine with an ardor that left me breathless. It was everything I had dreamed of, and more. It was a chocolate soufflé of a kiss—hot and melting and sweet.
    Too soon, Joshua groaned and pulled away.
    â€œDon’t stop,” I whispered.
    â€œI don’t want to start down a path where I may disrespect you.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t!”
    â€œI will probably try. A man’s desires—they are not honorable. It will become more and more difficult to stop, and before I know it, I might compromise you.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t,” I repeated.
    â€œYou might want me to.”
    â€œI just want you to kiss me again,” I murmured.
    I watched his Adam’s apple move. “I want that, too. You have no idea how