‘Why not now?’
‘I’d like some time to obsess over all the ways in which this could go wrong.’
She rolls her eyes dramatically. ‘One step forward, twenty-five back. Tell me as soon as you do!’
Once Geneviève takes her leave, I go over my orders and get them ready to post. I finish editing my latest newsletter and send that out to subscribers. On an online auction site, I bid on some special prayer books and pay for orders I’ve previously won. For the moment I have a healthy range of stock for Ephemera, but that’s subject to change. Finding long-lost treasures is the hardest part of the business, and I often worry what I’d do if supply dried up. Paris Cupid is a nice little side biz, and the future of that is looking promising indeed…
I’m keeping a close eye on Felix and debating whether this is a good idea or not. It doesn’t help I sense Pascale out the corner of my eye and wonder why he hasn’t complained about anything in weeks. When he leaves, stomping out without anau revoir, I take a deep calming breath and approach Felix’s stall.
‘Nearly done for the day?’ I ask as he glances up from his press.
‘Lilou! Sorry, I was miles away. I need to get this order finished up. Invitations for an engagement party.’ My heart almost stops when I notice they have a Cupid figure in the corner. The exact same as the one on my card, only smaller.
‘That’s a nice Cupid figure.’
‘The god of love. What’s not to like?’ He grins.
‘I think I’ve seen that same Cupid before actually but on a larger scale.’
‘You have? Where?’ His usually open face is suddenly blank and hard to read. Is he nervous that I’ve figured it out? That’s he’s my secret admirer?
‘On a hand-pressed card in a box of goods you took delivery for a while back, remember?’
‘Non, I don’t remember. I’m always taking your deliveries. And for the others too. I guess that’s what happens when I’m usually the first to arrive and last to leave.’
Why is he making this so hard? I lose my nerve to ask him on a date and then remind myself it’s more of a fact-finding mission. ‘Would you like to go on a date, Felix? With me?’ Oh boy, this is probably why I’m single. This issoawkward and feels all wrong.
‘A real date?’ He grins.
‘Ah, what other kind is there?’
He dusts his hands on his jeans. ‘Désolé, Lilou. I thought you knew? You’re not exactly my type.’
Please ground, swallow me up. I want to die of mortification. It’s a little shocking that he’s so blunt about me not being the one for him. I’d have expected Felix’s rejection to be a little more… gentle. But he seems quite certain I am not ‘his type’. ‘I – ah. Well, sorry to have interrupted you.’ I want to run far, far away. This is why I avoid mixing work with pleasure. I spin away but he grabs my wrist.
‘Lilou, wait. What I meant was, you’re not mytype. You know?’ Who’d have thought sweet, funny Felix really likes putting the boot in when you’re down.
‘Ah,oui, Felix. You’ve made that abundantly clear.’
He laughs. What on earth is wrong with this guy! I’m never asking another man out ever again!
‘I’m gay, Lilou. That’s why you’re not my type.’
‘Ooh!’ I slap a hand to my forehead. I did not see that coming. ‘That’s a relief!’
He cocks his head.
‘I mean…’
‘I know what you mean.’ We both dissolve into giggles. My first attempt at asking a guy out might have ended in a rejection, but this is a rejection I can handle. ‘How about that drink then?’
‘I’d love to.’
After a fun-filled evening sharing canapes and drinks with Felix, I text Geneviève.
One mystery solved – it’s not Felix. I’m not his type.
She replies a few minutes later.
