Bonjour Cherie by Robin Thomas

Author:Robin Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Escape Publishing - Harlequin Enterprises Pty Ltd, Australia

Chapter Eight

My life sucked. Almost everyone at work was ignoring me, which made the days long. My social life was practically non-existent and my goal for getting to France seemed as far away as ever. If the week went by at a snail’s pace, the weekend seemed even slower. It was the weekend I could have been going to Derek’s cousin’s engagement party, if I had wanted. It showed how down I was when I even considered that preferable to my own company. Not even my French onion soup and Pear Belle Hélène made me feel better, even though they were made to perfection. I asked Lisa if she wanted to come over and share the meal with me, but apparently she was busy. Probably washing her hair or something equally important.

Finally, it was Tuesday again and time for French class, the highlight of my week. I wondered uncomfortably how Zach would behave towards me. I’d felt every kind of emotion since the night of our disastrous French lesson and what followed. I couldn’t blame Zach at all because, as he said, I was right there with him every step of the way—and that was what bothered me the most. I had wanted him all right, and if I was honest, I still did. He seemed to awaken every lustful feeling in me, but that was all it was—lust, and I needed more, but just not from Zach. It also bothered me that I’d probably hurt his feelings, or at least his ego. I hadn’t behaved well. In fact, I’d handled everything badly.

So, I entered the class feeling anxious and uneasy. For once, André seemed to acknowledge my presence with more enthusiasm than usual. He shot me a broad smile, which cheered me up enormously.

‘Bonjour, Beth. Comment allez-vous?’

‘Très bien, André,’ I answered enthusiastically.

‘It was so kind of you and your friend, Lisa, to share your table with us last week,’ he said, lapsing into English.

‘It was great seeing you there and meeting Paul,’ I said, crossing my fingers about that little white lie. I was determined to be kind. ‘Maybe we can do it again sometime,’ I added hopefully.

‘Bien sûr,’ he said, smiling politely and turning to greet a couple of other students who had arrived.

That was a promising start, but the rest of the lesson progressed slowly. I kept looking at the door, expecting to see Zach any minute, but he didn’t show. Perhaps I had put him off French for good. As we went through the months, seasons and special days, I couldn’t help feel even guiltier about my treatment of Zach. If a guy had done that to me, I wouldn’t speak to him again, ever. So why did I expect any different reaction from Zach?

By the end of the lesson I was back to my earlier feeling of depression. I didn’t even try to have a last few minutes of conversation with André, like I usually did. Driving home, I wondered if I should ring Zach and tell him I was sorry for the way I’d cut him off.

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