24 Hours in Paris

Chapter Five

"Okay," she said, giving herself a moment to take it all in. "Here goes." She held the cup in both hands and slowly brought it to her lips.

Jake seemed unimpressed. "Would you just drink it already?"

Blocking out his cynicism, she closed her eyes and officially took the first monumental sip. She let the hot espresso and frothy milk mingle on her tongue, hoping her taste buds would carry her away. A second later she opened her eyes. "Huh."

Jake's cup was raised to his lips but now he seemed uncertain. "Is the milk rotten or something?"

"No, nothing like that." She set the cup back down. "It's just . . . I guess . . ." She was struggling to articulate the feeling. "It basically tastes like your average run-of-the-mill café crème, like the one we had in the crowded square by La Comédie Française." She looked to him for confirmation. "Remember?"

"Not even one percent."

Mira should've known he wouldn't remember. He'd taken no less than three work calls while they'd been at that café, on what was supposed to have been a nice break between meetings. It seemed that when he wasn't busy being the star of every conversation, he was busy being an actual salesman. Frank had been thrilled by his dedication, but Mira had found it annoying. It was one thing to be on a business trip, but to be so oblivious to the beauty of Paris? It was criminal. There was the architecture, the charming little shops, the food—which incidentally made up half her bucket list—and he hadn't cared about any of it, until the crêpes, that is.

Mira stared into her café crème. "I just thought it would be better." She sighed. "Like this is the place where they filmed a cinematic classic." She gestured around to the bar top and the lighting and the patterned tiles. "Why doesn't the coffee reflect that?"

"Is that what happened in the scene?"

Mira barely heard his question; she was too distracted, willing her coffee to somehow taste better with the second sip. It didn't work. She finally noticed him staring. "What?"

"The scenes from the movie that were filmed here," he said. "Did the main character come here and have a cup of coffee that blew her mind? Is that why she melted into a puddle on the floor? Was she just so turned on by the espresso beans?"

As Mira watched him mime a person getting horny from coffee, she realized her problem was bordering on ridiculous. "Actually, the quality of the café crème never came up in the movie."

"Then everything's fine, don't you think?"

"It's true," she admitted. "Nothing's wrong at all. I guess I just thought that after hitting a home run with that amazing crêpe place, the hits would keep on coming." She studied his reaction. "You can laugh at me now."

"I'm not going to laugh at you. I save my laughter for things like Pack 'n' Go fanny packs." He started laughing. "Ah man, still so good."

She let him have his mockery; he'd made a good point after all. "Are you done?"

He switched gears to a solemn demeanor, joining his hands in a prayer pose. "First, let me give you my philosophical advice."

She couldn't help but feel a little intrigued. "Okay . . ."

"Even the best baseball player doesn't always hit home runs." His voice sounded weighty and significant. "Or even get hits at all, for that matter."

She scrunched her nose. "A baseball analogy? Really?"

"You were the one who started the baseball analogy."

"I guess I did." She quickly decided she hated when he was right.