She inhales a breath and stares at me. “Yeah, okay. I’m sure there’s enough room.”
It’s a king bed. Of course there’s enough room. But I don’t plan on giving her half the mattress. This isn’t a pillow divide type situation. I like Clare.
Hell, I want her.
And just as importantly, I like the bedroom cold when I sleep, and I fully intend to turn the air conditioning on, make the room chilly, and force her to curl up against me if she wants any covers.
I’m wicked and a grumphole, just like she said. I may as well wear the badge with pride. It’s an honor.
We cruise past a few restaurants, viewing their menus outside. All the English menus look quite similar, and I can’t tell if they have different items on the French menu that aren’t being shown to us.
I’ve been to France a few times, not for work, but it’s been years. My French is more than a little rusty. It’s stone age, archaic.
Clare doesn’t seem to speak or read French either, and while we both try a little to be polite, I’m sure we butcher even the simplest of phrases.
I order duck on the menu, Clare orders chicken, and I get Amelia spaghetti. She can try my meal if she wants, but I’m not sure how adventurous she is with new foods.
My phone interrupts us after we order, and I pull it from my pocket with a heavy groan. My mother. I contemplate not answering it, but how much longer can I avoid speaking with her?
“Hello, Mom.” I feel two sets of eyes on me, and I have half a mind to get up from the table and excuse myself.
“Levi, how are you?”
“I’m fine. I have some news,” I say, smiling at Amelia. I’m sure that’s why my mother is calling. She doesn’t just call out of the blue unless I make the headlines, or she wants to set me up with one of her church friends.
I’d sooner drown myself than go on one of her blind dates. How come she doesn’t harass Connor?
“I know, your brother told me,” she says, sounding disappointed. “How old’s the child?”
“Five,” I say. “She’ll be six on Halloween.” I haven’t even thought about what to do to celebrate her birthday, but it’s only a couple of weeks away. I’ll have to do something memorable for her.
“Connor told me you hired a nanny.”
What didn’t Connor tell her? I rub the back of my neck, this conversation already making me itchy and uncomfortable. Fidgety.
“I did. She’s here with me right now, helping with Amelia. Listen, Mom. I hate to do this, but I have to go. We’re at a restaurant, and dinner will be served any moment.”
“Of course, dear,” she says, and I get the feeling she’s not happy that I’m ending the call. “Do let me know when you’re back home. I’d like to meet my granddaughter before her twenty-first birthday.”
I grimace. “And you will.”
“I could have come to Paris to help with the child, Levi. You didn’t have to bring a nanny with you.”
“She’s five, Mom. I know you mean well, but there’s no way you can keep up with her bubbly energy.”
“I’ll choose not to be offended by that remark.”
“I need to go. Dinner is coming.”
“Very well. Call me when you get home.”
I end the call and am relieved that the worst is over. I’m not sure if I should thank Connor for shoving me in front of traffic or not. It isn’t easy to deal with Mom, but the longer I wait, it won’t get any better.
Clare glances at her cell phone, and the minute I’m off my call, she shoves her phone into her purse.
“Everything okay?” she asks, her voice higher than usual. Like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Is she looking for a date? Trying to swipe right? Or is it left? I never remember which way you’re supposed to swipe when you like someone. I prefer meeting women in person, where they’re not out to catfish you.