We Will Always Have Paris

We Will Always Have Paris - 4

Julie

The rain had stopped drumming on the window, and I threw myself back on the bed.

François Martin has sent a friend request.

"François Martin," I whispered to myself. His name was so plain French that it had been nearly impossible to find him on f*******:, LinkedIn, or i********:. There were so many French François Martins, but he had found me. Right there he was in a smiling profile picture. I had not yet accepted his request. As soon as I clicked "confirm" I indicated an interest in him. What did I want? I got up and opened the small French door facing the street. The hotel room only had a French balcony, but it was better than nothing. I could have had a view of a dark alley or no windows at all.

"Je suis fou de toi."

I'm crazy about you. His voice sounded inside, and when I closed my eyes, I could both smell and hear his laughter. It hadn't just been arguments and fights. At first, it had been an all-consuming infatuation. The thought alone made my head spin. I didn't want to leave him not to begin with that's why I'd stayed.

"Et je suis folle de toi," I had replied.

My finger hovered over "accept" for a moment before I touched the screen.

"There you go." Done was done, and now I waited to see if he would write me. He had sent the request, and he was the one with the girlfriend, so the ball was in his court. In the minibar I found a small bottle of rosé, which I opened and poured into a wine glass. Glass in hand, I pulled a chair to the open balcony door and looked out onto the wet street where people were dancing and partying, even though it was raining. I clicked on his profile and almost forgot how good-looking he was. He was not typically French. His hair was more a delicious caramel color, and his eyes bright blue. Both his parents were French, but his mother was fair like him. The year we were together, we had been mistaken for Scandinavian tourists several times, and when he had opened his mouth and spoke fluent French, he had surprised quite a few people.

He was an antique dealer, I could see in his profile description, and his shop was not far from here.

Antiquités François Martin

I wonder if he lived nearby as well. He had been right here in the area all along. Could we have been friends if we had kept in touch? Or the question was, could we be friends? His profile indicated that he was single, which meant at least he wasn't married and that the relationship was probably relatively new. I found a picture of the woman on his profile, Aurélie Durand. She was a photographer and very pretty; petite compared to my 1.76 metres. It was strange how men could have such different tastes in women. My phone flashed with a message on Messenger, and my heart jumped. It was him, and he was writing in French.

François : Hi... I don't quite know how to start this message xD. Thanks for wanting to be friends. You're in Paris, crazy! I don't know why you ran. If you want to meet up, let me know. We could grab a drink. I don't know how long you'll be in Paris. Do you have your boyfriend/husband with you? You look like yourself, but it's crazy that it's been 10 years.

If you don't want to meet, that's fine.

Kisses

He signed with a kiss, which was more than friendly. It felt intimate, but it could also just be exactly what it was: friendly. It was so silly of me to have run, and I wanted to meet him, even if it was just to satisfy my curiosity about how he had ended up as an antique dealer.

Me: Dear François

Sorry, I ran away!!! I was so surprised to see you again after all these years and panicked. LOL. Not very mature. I'm alone in Paris and would like to meet you. I have 10 days left of my vacation. I hope you are well.

Best regards

Juliette

I hesitated for a moment and wrote Julie first, but decided on Juliette.

François: Tomorrow after work at 7 p.m. You are also welcome to drop by Antiquités François Martin, 32 Rue de Sèvres , and we can find a place to have dinner afterward. If you feel like it?

F

Me: I'll be there a little before 7.

J

François: Can't wait.

F.