The waiter gave her a halfhearted smile, then left.
“I don’t think he likes us,” Nate said.
“This part of town, they think Americans only really know English.”
“But you speak excellent French.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I’d better. Three years in high school. Four years of undergrad. And two years here already. Oh, and I had a French boyfriend for a while, too.”
“In Paris?”
“No, back at Michigan State,” she said.
“What about now? No French boyfriend?”
She blurted out a laugh. “Not with my schedule.”
“You can’t be studying all the time,” he said.
“Wait until you start grad school. Then think what it would be like to write all your papers in two languages.”
“Seriously?”
“I think better in English, so it’s easier to write that way first. Then I have to translate it, and make sure it reads correctly.”
“Sounds like a pain in the ass. I’d pay someone to do the translation for me.”
“That would mean I had extra money lying around.”
Nate realized he’d stumbled into an area he really hadn’t meant to get into. Quinn had told him about the scholarship, but there was no way Andrew Cain would have that information. He decided to go with a more innocent approach. “How much do they cost?”
She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Why? You going to pay for it for me?”
He laughed. “That would be a big no. I’m probably just as poor as you.”
“But your father sounds like he has a bit of cash.”
“He might, but I don’t. He made it very clear as I was growing up that I wasn’t getting any kind of free ride.”
“Good for him.”
Nate felt a sense of relief as the waiter approached with their drinks.
After that the conversation turned back to the safer topic of life in Paris.
Before they realized it, it was starting to get dark. At Liz’s suggestion, they headed to the Latin Quarter to get some dinner.
The area was a maze of narrow cobbled streets closed off to most traffic and reserved, instead, for pedestrians. Along each road, restaurants and clubs vied for space and customers, some using touts and others lights and aromas.
Liz chose a cozy place that was about five times longer than it was wide. There they shared a cheese fondue and a bottle of wine.
By the time they got home it was after 9 p.m. Nate excused himself to use the bathroom, where he shot off two quick texts. Both were basically the same. To Quinn he wrote:
In for the night. All clear here.
And to Julien:
Done 4 today. Bed soon.
As Nate washed his hands, his phone buzzed once in his pocket. On the screen was a reply from Julien.
What? No late-night disco?
Nate texted back:
If you’re up for it, I can suggest it.
A few seconds later, Julien responded:
Do it.
Nate smiled, then tapped in one last message:
Good night, Julien.
When he returned to the living room, he half expected Liz to have already gone to bed. But she was sitting on the couch, an open bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table in front of her.
He joined her, sitting near but not too close. She poured wine into both of the glasses, then raised hers.
“To your first night in Paris,” she said.
“To making a new friend,” he countered. They touched glasses, then each took a drink.
