Coffee, Sex and Law

by Avril Rose

  “Will you answer my questions?”

  “Zoe...”

  “Will you answer my questions, yes or no?”

  “Okay,” he says, surrendering.

  I can tell he’s fighting an internal battle, and I wonder what he’s trying to hide.

  “I close the coffee shop at 7:30.”

  “Perfect. I’ll come by to pick you up.”

  I walk out of the room without saying another word, close the door behind me, and lean against it for a second to catch my breath. How long was I holding my breath?

  I'm playing with fire by accepting his invitation. I know that for sure. I have to stay away from this man who awakens something in me, something new and dangerous. But I can't reason with myself when we’re in the same room.

  I’m going to go to this dinner, ask him the questions I’ve been obsessing over, and when I have proof that he’s exactly as I suspect, this will all be over. For good, this time.

  Tonight I’ll learn more about him, whether he likes it or not. My Mister 00S. But now he has a name. Liam.

  ***

  Lisa doesn't even have the courtesy of waiting until I’ve ordered a glass of Sancerre, my guilty pleasure, before she starts bombarding me with questions about 00S.

  "He invited you to dinner tonight? Yes-yes-yes!” she says excitedly.

  “What am I going to wear?” I ask, suddenly in a state of panic.

  “Will you have time to go home first?”

  “No!” I realize, horrified.

  “Relax, Zoe. Go like that. It’s perfect.”

  “Like this? Jeans and sneakers?”

  “Yes! He’s never seen you dressed any other way. So he must like your natural look. If I could give you one piece of advice, it’s to be yourself.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. In any case, I don’t have a choice, so...”

  I take a moment to neatly fold my fantasies up and put them away in a closet in my brain, then hurry to change the subject.

  “So, what did you think of Mister Delmotte?”

  I’ve barely finished my sentence before Lisa is off on an impassioned, euphoric monologue.

  “I'm veeeery satisfied. He seems like he knows what he’s doing and what he’s talking about. I understood all his advice and thought it was very good. He seems totally professional, serious, agreeable. Did you see how he was so tactful and discreet in the way he talked to me? Really, I’m quite pleased.”

  Quite, indeed!

  “It’s true that your case is extremely complicated and Mister Delmotte was able to display all of his skills!” I tease.

  "What? Why do you say that? And why are you giving me that look?” she says, surprised as I stare at her, wide-eyed.

  “No reason,” I respond, amused.

  7

  Liam

  I can’t believe I ran into her here, in my firm.

  I’ve been thinking about her non-stop for a whole week. I’ve called the coffee shop where she works multiple times and hung up before it rings. I can’t call her. I must not call her. I was supposed to forget about her. She was supposed to disappear and be wiped from my tortured mind forever. Instead, she’s set up camp there, more present than ever!

  My subconscious has been projecting scenes from our next encounter all week. Torrid scenes, of course.

  All week, I’ve been riddled with remorse over leaving like I did. Is she mad at me? Has she already forgotten me? What am I to her?

  Why do you even care?

  Since when do I worry what a conquest thinks of me?

  All week I’ve been wondering why she’s had this effect on me.

  And to see her right here! What a weird coincidence! Sometimes life is full of nice surprises.

  We’ve never talked, I don’t know her. And yet, I feel good when I’m around her. I feel like myself.

  I didn’t know it was possible to feel so many different emotions just thinking about one person. Some of them bother me, like emptiness, vulnerability, uncertainty. I’d rather not feel those things. I must not feel them.

  I need to get this over with. I’m convinced this whole thing is just a hiccup and that after tonight, everything will go back to normal.

  You already said that when you went to have sex with her.

  ***

  “Zoe?”

  “Coming!” she yells from the back of the shop.

  I’m tempted to go to her to replay the scene from our first kiss.

  I dissuade myself: I need to keep a clear head to night. I’m here to figure out who is hiding behind the object of my obsession. And only that.

  She interrupts my internal struggle.

  “Hey! I’m in my work clothes,” she apologizes. “Is that okay?” she asks, looking worried as she points to my suit.

  “Hi. Yeah, it’s fine. I’m in my work clothes, too,” I joke.

  We both keep our distance.

  “Do you like modern cuisine?”

  “Um, I think so.”

  I reserved a table at a Michelin-starred restaurant. I did it without even thinking. The choice is rather telling, it’s a place I usually only take my family or close friends. Basically, the people I love.

  I help her put on her coat and wait as she locks up the café.

  “I get the feeling you work a lot. Do you usually close up?” I ask, inviting her to follow me.

  “Yep, every day of the week! Except for our one late night – I let Victor take care of that one.”

  “You’re open late one night a week? I didn't realize that.”

  “Yeah, that was Victor’s idea. It’s every Thursday. He likes the night life. So those days I run the shop during the day and he takes the evening shift.”

  “You work seven days a week? Is that legal?”

  “Boss’s privilege,” she jokes.

  It takes me a few seconds to understand.

  “Wait, it’s your business?” I ask, not managing to hide my surprise.

  “Yes! Victor is my partner.”

  Partner? I could have sworn he was her boss.

  Now that I think about it, I’m not really surprised that she’s part-owner.

  The place is friendly, simple, and welcoming: it’s so her.

  I want to ask her a thousand questions about how she got here and what her plans are. But I decide it’s better to wait until we get to the restaurant. If we don’t know what to talk about, it’ll help us pass the time. Women hate long silences during a date, it makes them uncomfortable.

  “I’m parked here,” I say.

  “Nice car,” she replies.

  She gets into the passenger seat without giving me a chance to open the door for her.

  It’s so strange to see her sitting here next to me. And what’s weirder is how normal it feels. Too normal.

  She’s pensive, watching the Parisian lights through the windshield.

  I turn up the radio. Portishead is on.

  When we stop at a red light, I turn to look at her. Her eyes are closed as she relaxes to the enchanting voice of Beth Gibbons. Her facial features begin to relax, but the rest of her body is on high alert. I can see it in her nervous hands, fidgeting on her thighs.

  We drive all the way there in this restful silence.

  She doesn't try to make conversation. This girl is an alien.

  Despite the seemingly lighthearted atmosphere, the tension is thick. Being shut up in such a confined space with her is putting all my senses to the test. I’m aroused by the vanilla scent emanating from her neck, her slim fingers running across her lower lip, the softness of her skin that I remember so clearly.

  She turns her face toward me without saying a word. Her insistent stare is distracting, but I force myself to remain calm, focusing on the road.

  When the car stops at another red light, it’s my turn to undress her with my eyes. Time stands still
and my heart skips a beat. I lose myself in her big, hazel irises, hypnotized.

  Does she feel it too? I get my answer when she starts to chew on the flesh of her thumb.

  My walls come crashing down again, ignoring the warning signs telling me how dangerous this woman is for me.

  I’m tempted to unbuckle my seat belt and answer the call of her sensuous lips.

  And now the idiot behind me is beeping his horn. The light turned green. How long have I been sitting here?

  I park in front of the restaurant. I feel her watching me as I hand the keys over to the valet and then open her door. She doesn't get out.

  “Zoe? Are you coming?"

  “Wait... what’s this?” she says, suddenly in a panic.

  “It’s where we’re going to have dinner,” I say, confused.

  “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. I’m wearing sneakers! Are you joking?” she says gruffly.

  “I know the owner. Don’t worry about it. You’re gorgeous,” I say, trying to reassure her.

  “Le Cinq?! You want me to eat dinner at Le Cinq in my Stan Smith sneakers and jeans?” she says, incredulous.

  “Really, there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll see, no one will even notice.”

  I can tell she’s hesitant.

  “Come with me. If you don’t feel comfortable once we’re inside, we can leave, I promise.”

  She finally agrees.

  I take her hand and intertwine my fingers with hers. Without thinking. I watch for her reaction out of the corner of my eye as we walk. She tries to hide her smile.

  Holding her hand in mine gives me a feeling I can’t even describe. It’s so simple, and yet it’s completely new for me. I let the feeling of calm wash over me as her skin touches mine, forbidding myself from analyzing what that might mean. I’m much too scared to find out.

  We walk into the majestic hall where a hostess greets us.

  “Good evening. I reserved a table for two, the name is Desages,” I say.

  I lean over to Zoe as the hostess finds our reservation.

  “Your Stan Smiths match the marble floor perfectly,” I whisper, gently teasing.

  “You got what you deserve,” she replies, smiling.

  We’re quickly led to our table. No one even turns to look at us, which seems to put her at ease.

  We order two glasses of champagne to start.

  "So? Do you feel more comfortable now?”

  “Now that my sneakers are hidden under the table? Yes!”

  I smile when I hear her crystal-clear laughter.

  “I... I’m happy you accepted my invitation,” I confess. “I felt like it was about time we got to know each other a bit.”

  “Indeed! We kind of did things backward,” she says, laughing. “Ready for the inquisition?”

  I nod, amused, and ready to play along, as promised.

  “Why did you come into Temple Coffee that night?”

  I’m surprised. I didn’t think she’d be so direct and to the point.

  The maître d’ sets our glasses down in front of us with some amuse-bouches. He takes our order, giving me a moment of respite.

  “I’ll have the flatfish,” she decides.

  “Great choice. You’ll see, it’s delicious. And for me, the blue lobster. And we’ll continue with champagne. Thank you, Bruno.”

  “You have your routines, I see... So, why did you come back to Temple?” she asks again.

  I decide to be frank. I promised, and she accepted on that one condition. And something tells me she won’t give up until I answer her questions.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you since we kissed. I thought that if we made love, I would stop thinking about you and I could move on. And pick my life back up where I left it... before you.”

  “And?”

  “Here we are.”

  She’s quiet for a minute, processing the information. My answer had an effect on her, that’s for sure. Her cheeks are blushing bright red like a poppy and her eyes are twinkling joyfully. She’s trying not to show it, but her physical reactions let me read her like an open book. She’s even more beautiful when she’s flustered.

  We’re on a slippery slope here...

  “Is that new for you?” she finally asks shyly.

  "What?”

  “To think about a woman after you’ve had sex!” she whispers, glancing at the surrounding tables, worried they will hear our conversation.

  “Yes."

  She takes a deep breath.

  “But... why me?”

  I’m not sure if she’s asking me, or if it’s more a question to herself.

  “I have no idea, Zoe.”

  I lean my elbows on the table, hiding the bottom of my tensed up face with my closed fists.

  That’s just it. I have no fucking clue.

  “What... what are you afraid of?”

  “I'm not afraid of anything,” I say defensively.

  “So why do my questions make you uncomfortable, then?”

  Apparently she’s not the only one whose reactions can be read like an open book.

  “No... I... I promise, your questions don’t bother me.”

  I start searching for an emergency exit.

  “What are you afraid of, Liam?” she insists, determined to get an answer.

  But I’m stuck, the road of no return.

  What am I supposed to say to that?

  “I'm not afraid of anything. It’s just that...”

  I take a deep breath. She’s going to think I’m a bastard who just wants to sleep around.

  “I don’t want to get attached to you. Or to any woman,” I say.

  She’s quiet, waiting for the rest.

  “I... I know how it will end.”

  “And how will it end?”

  "Badly!”

  She wets her lips with the champagne, still maintaining eye contact.

  “What experience did you have that makes you think that?”

  How do I explain the tragedy that tore apart my family? How do I tell her that my only brother, my hero, the most steadfast man I ever knew, took his own life after being destroyed by the woman he believed to be the love of his life? How do I make her understand that my instinct for survival is incompatible with any loving emotions?

  I can’t explain it, she wouldn’t understand. No one can.

  “That’s not something I want to talk about. Not now.”

  Not now? Why did I say that?

  “Should we set a date to cover that topic, then?” she says jokingly. “Alright, I give up then...”

  I’m grateful that she doesn't insist.

  “For now, at least,” she adds provocatively.

  She takes a minute to admire the place before continuing the interrogation with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

  “Do you pull out all the stops like this for all the ladies you date?”

  “No.”

  “Am I an exception?”

  “Also no. You’re not the first woman I’ve invited to dinner, I’m not a pig!” I say, laughing.

  She laughs with me.

  “But you are an exception in other ways,” I hurry to add.

  I feel a deep need to reassure her. And then a deep desire to slap myself for it.

  “Oh yeah? What ways?”

  “You’re the first I’ve come looking for,” I begin, remembering my surprise visit to Temple Coffee that night. “Usually, I wait until they come to me.”

  She’s not surprised by this admission. It probably fits the idea she had about me already.

  “You... you’re the first person I wanted to see again,” I murmur, surprised by my honesty, but especially to hear my thoughts expressed out loud. My eyes don't leave hers. I have trouble maintaining her gaze.

  She smiles and rests her chin on her fists, waiting for the re
st.

  “And you’re the first one I’ve invited here.”

  “I’m flattered,” she says sincerely.

  She takes a drink of champagne.

  I take the opportunity to learn more about her.

  “That’s enough about me. I know nothing about you. How long have you owned Temple Coffee?”

  “I took over my dad’s share of the company about two years ago.”

  “Did your dad retire?”

  Sadness suddenly clouds her eyes as they lose their sparkle. I regret asking the question. We all have our issues and I just dug up one of hers.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up the past. Especially if it’s a painful one...”

  “My dad started the place. With Victor. When he died, I decided to continue what he built,” she says.

  “And your mom?” I ask.

  “My mom lives in Lille now, it’s where she’s from. My grandma still lives there, so my mom wanted to be closer to her. It was also the perfect excuse to get out of Paris. She was happy I took over Temple Coffee, because it’s what my dad would have wanted, but she can’t set foot in the place anymore. Too many memories.”

  Hearing her talk about her story is touching. I place my hand on hers without thinking. The contact with her skin electrifies me.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “I have a younger sister, Penelope. She’s seventeen. Lives with my mom.”

  I’m quiet as a waiter places two more glasses of champagne on the table. We clink our glasses together again, our eyes locked.

  "And you? How long have you been a lawyer?”

  “Four years.”

  “Do you like your work?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “Do you defend widows and orphans, or Al Capones?”

  “I advise businessmen.”

  “So, Al Capone.”

  “Not all businessmen are gangsters!” I smile, hearing her reductive analysis.

  “Well, that’s what it seems like to me. Why did you choose it?”

  Because my brother died, freeing up the position of the son that had to carry on our father’s legacy. My parents suffered so much, I owed them at least that. One less thing for them to worry about.

  I realize we’re not so different, really. Death led us both to make our career choices.

  “At first it wasn’t for the right reasons: I wanted to make my father happy. But I don’t regret it. I love what I do."