Page 8 of Blue Gold

“Oh, I’m so happy you came!” he gushed in French, and before I knew what was happening, he planted a kiss on each of my cheeks. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come.”

My heart hammered fast in my chest due to his sudden proximity, and I held my hand tightly behind my back to resist the urge to touch the spot he’d just kissed.

“Of course, you asked so nicely, and I assumed it would be rude to refuse.”

Elliot took a step back and stared at me for a good moment, a pleased smile on his face, before he snapped out of it and waved toward the chair. “Please sit down.” He quickly reached to take my coat from me.

“Are you sure it’s fine for me to be here?” I asked, looking around the almost empty restaurant.

“Yes, of course. I’m already done working for today.”

“You are?”

He hummed a yes. “You see, it’s a small place with low traffic, so it’s just Marrie and me working here. She’s with her grandchildren in the mornings, so I work then until she comes at the evening.”

That explains it.

“Do you want something to drink? Wine, maybe?” he asked.

“Wine would be nice.”

He nodded, then walked away with my coat and gloves. I watched him disappear to the back of the restaurant before I took my seat at the table and patiently waited for him to come back. My fingers tapped the tablecloth as anxiety nipped at my stomach. I couldn’t help but feel I was doing something wrong, but then again, this was only one dinner.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Elliot said as he practically waltzed back to the table and placed a glass in front of me. “This wine is from Provence.” He presented me with the bottle. “It’s where I’m from.”

“Oh, for some reason, I imagined you were from Paris,” I said while he poured me a taste.

“All Americans assume all French are from Paris.” He chuckled. “It’s quite a shame, considering how big and beautiful the rest of France is.” He nudged the glass closer to me. “Come on, monsieur, taste it.”

Monsieur.

Mister.

Charmed by this one word, my throat dried, and I hurried to sip the wine.

“So? How is it?”

I put down the glass.

“It’s delicious.”

Elliot’s smile grew wider, and joy glinted in his precious eyes. “I know! It’s my absolute favorite,” he said, filling my glass—a bit too much, if I may say so.

“Why don’t you drink, too?” I asked as I reached for the now filled glass. Taking a deep gulp, I savored the rich taste of the wine. Perhaps I should buy a bottle⁠—

“Apparently, I’m not old enough to drink in America,” he said, catching me off guard as I took another sip.

The wine went down the wrong pipe, and I began coughing like a complete fool.

He isn’t old enough to drink? That means he’s⁠—

“Daniel!” Elliot tapped on my back as I raised my hand to let him know I was fine before reaching for a napkin.

“J-just, how old are you?” I asked, my voice rough from coughing.

“Nineteen. Why? Do I look older?”

Oh, dear Lord… nineteen? That was even younger than my baby sister.