Amanda's Guide to Love (13 page)

No way.

She shook her head. Amanda Roussel
had never been too squeamish to flatten a pest. Neither was she a touchy-feely
ninny who would naturally evolve into a crazy spider lady in her old age.

She had hesitated earlier only
because . . . because . . .

She loved her shoes.

* * *

“So I open the bathroom door and
peep in. I have my least favorite shoe in one hand and a dozen paper towels in
the other.” Amanda paused for effect.

“And?” Manon leaned forward.

“It wasn’t there. The little voyeur
was gone.”

“Good.” Manon sat back and drank
from her cup.

It was ten-thirty in the
morning—the quiet hour between the rushed breakfast grabbers and the boisterous
lunch crowd. During this lull, the servers gravitated toward the coziest corner
by the window for a coffee and a chat while Claude—the bistro’s legendary
chef—did his magic in the kitchen.

Amanda’s mouth watered as she read
the name of today’s special Jeanne had written on the chalkboard earlier in the
morning: sea bass
en papillote
. Mmm. Another hour, and the staff could
enjoy their complimentary serving before setting tables for the lunch guests.

Manon put her hand on her lower
abdomen and pulled a face. “I hate having my period. And this one is heavy.”

“Too much information.” Amanda
frowned before mellowing a little. “Tea is great for cramps. I can make you
some if you want.”

“Really?” Manon gave her a big-eyed
look, barely disguising her sarcasm. “You’d do that for me?”

“Oh, come on,” Jeanne said, sitting
down across from Manon. “Amanda’s not as bad as she seems.”

Amanda turned away and surveyed the
street. “What’s that weird building with the permanently shuttered windows?”

Jeanne followed Amanda’s gaze.
“It’s a Freemasons’ lodge. It’s called Le Grand Orient.”

“Can you believe it?” Manon chimed
in. “These guys didn’t allow the initiation of women up until a few years ago.”

“I have a rule,” Jeanne said,
looking Manon in the eye. “Anyone who joins a secret society must step down
from the headwaiter position and resign.”

Manon cocked her head. “You don’t
mean it.”

“Oh yes, I do.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly itching to
be initiated . . .” Manon pouted her pretty mouth. “But I did
toy with the idea. Their mission is to serve humanity.”

“Sorry, hon, but rules are rules.”
Jeanne shrugged. “You see, there’s a conflict of interest: you can’t serve
humanity and La Bohème patrons at the same time.”

Amanda snorted. “What other rules
do you have, Jeanne? I wouldn’t want to get fired over a gaffe.”

Jeanne took a deep breath before
opening her mouth. “Let’s see. You can’t check your cell phone during the
shift.”

“Unless you’re on your coffee
break,” Manon added helpfully.

Jeanne nodded. “Right. What else?
You can’t taste the guests’ wine, even when they’re offering.”

“The same applies to the food,
naturally,” Manon said.

“Naturally.” Amanda pulled out her
notebook and began to scribble, mumbling loudly enough for the other two women
to hear. “Note to self . . . Stop swiping . . . customers’
fries . . . or else, guillotine.”

“She does this to me all the time.”
Amar slumped next to Jeanne and turned to Amanda. “I never know if you’re
actually trying to learn something or just laughing at me.”

Jeanne patted his hand. “She’s
doing both, honey.”

“You think so?” Amar gave his boss
a hopeful look.

“I
know
.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” Amanda waved
her little notebook. “I use this for purely educational purposes. And for
taking orders.”

“As you should.” Amar nodded in
approval. “We all do—even Jeanne for complicated ones.” He paused before
adding, a note of admiration in his voice, “Only Manon never writes anything
down. She has a phenomenal memory.”

Amanda opened her mouth to say that
so did Kes, but shut it without uttering a sound.

“Thank you.” Manon smiled at Amar
and blushed a little.

Amar swallowed, his gaze shifting
between Manon’s eyes and mouth. Then he blinked and looked down. “It’s the
truth.”

“What’s the deal with you two?”
Amanda asked.

Manon coughed. “What do you mean?”

“Are you guys seeing each other in
secret because dating a coworker is against one of Jeanne’s many rules?”

“We aren’t seeing each other,”
Manon and Amar said in unison.

Manon’s cheeks were now flaming
red, and Amar looked like he wished he could disappear.

“Leave them alone,” Jeanne said to
Amanda. “And, FYI, I don’t have a no-dating rule. I’m happily engaged.”

Amanda frowned. “How are those two
facts connected?”

“I want everyone around me to find
their happiness, too.” She surveyed her three employees. “Especially the people
I care about.”

“How are the wedding preparations
coming along?” Manon asked.

Jeanne faked pulling her hair out.
“Thank God Mat’s mom is giving us a hand.” She wrinkled her brow. “No,
actually, it’s us giving her a hand.”

“Isn’t she a professional event
organizer?” Amar asked.

“She’s a PR consultant, so yes, she
does organize lots of events.” Jeanne smiled. “She showed me the invitations
this morning. They’re funky—you’ll see.”

Amar’s eyebrows rose. “Am I invited
to your wedding?”

“Of course you are!” Jeanne
narrowed her eyes. “I hope you guys have marked the date on your calendars
because it’ll be here soon.”

“Who else is coming?” Amanda asked,
trying to sound nonchalant.

“Our families and friends, some
close colleagues of Mat’s. Let’s see . . . Daniela—you know, my
next door neighbor who stops by with her kid sometimes?”

“Yes, I know Daniela,” Amanda said
impatiently, “but what I
really
want to know is whether Lena and Rob
confirmed they were coming.”

“They did.” Jeanne touched Amanda’s
arm. “Honey, Rob is Mat’s best man and Lena is my bridesmaid.”

“You can’t expect Lena and me to be
your bridesmaids at the same wedding.”

“I have no intention of getting
married a second time, so yes, that’s what I expect.” Jeanne sighed. “I hope
one day you’ll get over your animosity, and we can revive the old gang—”

Amanda’s gaze grew hard. “Not
everyone shares your nostalgia, Jeanne.”

“Even so. Your history with Rob is
ancient now,” Jeanne said. “Besides, you’ve told me you’re over him.”

“I am.”

“So, then? There’s no issue.”
Jeanne stared into Amanda’s eyes. “I’m warning you, Amanda, as your friend and
current boss—I’d be very,
very
upset if you didn’t show.”

“And I’d be very,
very
upset
if I didn’t get an invitation,” a vaguely familiar voice said above their
heads.

Amanda looked up. Next to their
table stood a short, impeccably dressed man with hair and eyes almost as dark
as Kes’s.

Jeanne sprang from her seat and
bellowed, “You!”

She nearly strangled the poor
fellow in a tight embrace.

Amanda struggled to place the
object of Jeanne’s enthusiasm. She knew him from their student days . . .
Somehow, he belonged here and yet he didn’t . . .

Pepe! The Spaniard who
had worked at La Bohème and hung out with the “gang” four years ago. She’d
never forget those days soaked in sunshine and possibility. She’d had even less
money than now and lived with Vivienne. But she believed she and Rob were
destined to form the most glamorous couple in Paris. She was happy . . .
until he grew obsessed with Lena and pushed Dad to number two on her top-ten
list of men who had let her down.

* * *

When Jeanne finally let go of Pepe,
his face was red with pleasure—and probably failure to draw a breath.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, a happy
grin on his face.

“Look at you! All grown up.” Jeanne
circled around him, still incredulous. “How long has it been?”

“No more than a year. You came to
Copenhagen for Freja’s christening, remember?”

“Of course I do. How is she? You
haven’t posted any pictures in a while.”

“She’s doing fine. Thank God Nana
works from home.” Pepe’s gaze met Amanda’s. “Look who’s here!”

Amanda stood to greet him.

“Wait a second—” Pepe surveyed her
uniform. “Are you
working
here?”

“Who, me?” Amanda widened her eyes,
feigning shock. “No way. I’m just cross-dressing as a waitress. Didn’t you
hear? It’s the
kink du jour
in hip circles all over Europe.”

Pepe’s eyebrows began to climb, and
his mouth started forming an
O
when Manon giggled and ruined the effect.

“As mean as ever.” Pepe glared at
Amanda.

“It’s good to see you, too,” she
said.

Once the introductions with Manon
and Amar were made, Pepe informed the group that he’d been transferred to Paris
to set up the local office of the real estate agency he was working for. Oh,
and he wasn’t just setting it up, he was going to
manage
it because,
well, he was going to be the local
manager
in charge of
managing
all the accounts.

“Well done, Pepe!” Jeanne patted
his back. “I’m happy they sent you here. Paris hasn’t been the same without
you.”

“I know.” Pepe grinned. “When my
bosses decided to open an office here, I told them I was the natural candidate
for the job. I speak perfect French, after all.”

“No, you don’t,” Amanda said. “Your
French sounds like Spanish.”

“None of my bosses in Copenhagen
speak a word of either language.” Pepe shrugged. “So who cares? Besides, I’ve
taught myself some Arabic and Chinese.”

“Really?” Amar asked, a sly smile
lurking behind his polite expression.

“I have big plans,” Pepe said. “I’m
going to target rich buyers from China and the Persian Gulf countries.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Amanda
said before draining her cup. “Let’s hope your Arabic is distinguishable from
your Chinese.”

“I haven’t had much practice with
either,” Pepe admitted, “but I’m hoping to find a tutor for private lessons.
I’ll start with Arabic.”

“I could teach you,” Amar offered.
“Forty euros an hour, here at La Bohème, nine to ten a.m.”

Pepe looked Amar up and down.
Amanda expected him to inquire about the waiter’s level of proficiency in
Arabic, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded and smiled, probably deciding that
Amar’s vaguely Middle Eastern features were enough of a qualification.

“It could work.” Pepe whipped out
his phone and checked something on it. “The agency I’ll be
managing
isn’t far, so I could stop here on my way to work. I’ll pay you twenty.”

They shook hands on
thirty.

On the métro ride to the Champ de
Mars, Amanda went over the events of the day and got stuck on Jeanne’s invitation.

She wasn’t going to the wedding.
Bridesmaid or not, she just couldn’t face Rob, Lena, and their cute baby boy—a
happy little family, all smiles and benevolence—while she was a failure in
every way. Amanda pictured herself at the wedding reception—a wallflower
dressed in a puffy-sleeved pastel monstrosity with no date to lean on.

She shuddered at the image.

So what if Jeanne was going to be
very,
very
upset? Big deal. She should be able to understand Amanda’s
problem, no? A year ago, she herself had been shunning social gatherings to
avoid the pain of seeing Mat with Cecile, his girlfriend at the time.

Not that Amanda expected to feel
pain anymore. She’d hurt for a year after Rob broke up with her, but her
prevailing emotion during that time wasn’t love. It was anger streaked with
humiliation and regret. Even now that she was completely over Rob, the regret
was still there. Rob was handsome, educated, and successful. The kind of man
she deserved. The kind of man that she, the nearly perfect French woman—and not
that mousy foreigner—should’ve ended up with.

What a shame they were all
connected through Jeanne!

Amanda had to endure Lena’s weekly
visits to La Bohème. The woman who’d stolen her Mr. Right didn’t mind crossing
the city with her laptop and baby in tow just to spend some time with her best
friend Jeanne. Amanda never failed to greet her—manners and all—but she always
let one of the other servers take care of her.

Lena would typically stay for about
an hour. She’d read and chat with Jeanne and some of the other waiters. If the
baby napped, she’d work on her translations.

Amanda grimaced.