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“Are your parents still alive?”
Damn it. Now I’m committed to sharing personal details. I walked right into this.
“No.”
“Any siblings?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s an odd answer.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you knew my family.”
“I see. A tortured soul. Figures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not an insult. A mere observation, if you will.”
Emily walks over to the table. She’s holding two plates in her hands. She gives me one.
“Roast chicken. I thought you said you only cooked spaghetti bolognaise.”
“No. I said that’s the only dish I do well. It remains to be seen if this is worth celebrating.”
“Okay. Got it.”
“Bon appetit.”
“Merci beaucoup.”
“Do you speak French?”
“A little. You?”
“I do, yes. It was either French or drama at school. There were no decent looking boys to play Romeo, so I chose French.”
I can’t help laughing. Emily’s sense of humor is wickedly good.
“You’re going to be an excellent traveling partner, then.”
“Yup. I’ll be sure to order the hell out of those croissants and French wine.”
“Black card?”
“Black card.”
I smile and take a bite of the chicken.
“This is delicious. It would seem that you’re rapidly expanding your cooking repertoire.”
“How nice for me.”
“How long will we be staying in Paris?”
“Six days. I will be busy during the day, but we can use the evenings to do some exploring.”
“Where are we staying?”