Chapter Five

Breakfast the next morning was one of the most surreal of Cam’s experience. Not even in the Army, when he had to eat on the go sometimes, had it ever been that...odd. For starters, he’d woken up way later than the time he normally did, apparently more tired than he realized. He had spent two weeks in Florida with his parents, soaking up the sun and running around all over the place with them. But the Florida sun was fierce, and his parents were the most energetic mid-seventies couple he knew. He had collapsed every night from exhaustion, which amused them to no end.

“When were you in the Army again?” his dad had teased two days ago. “Because you sure as hell aren’t up to scratch anymore.”

Cam had laughed and chucked his father in the shoulder. “Easy for you to say, Mr. Retiree. This is your ‘job’ now, running around entertaining yourself while I run around after other people’s children.”

“And you do a wonderful job with that, son,” his mother had chimed in. “We’re real proud of you.”

Apparently, he hadn’t gotten all that heat and those fun times out of his system, and a delayed flight had meant hours spent in the airport waiting on a hard seat. And the evening he’d spent in Jean-Paul’s company had been one of the most confusing and emotionally charged he’d spent with any man in a long, long time. Which no doubt also contributed to his being late...his subconscious didn’t want to have anything to do with the emotions that one evening with Jean-Paul had unleashed.

Now he was sipping too-hot black coffee—to wake him all the way up—while scrolling through his phone for the place where his class was to meet on campus and stuffing his mouth full of a croissant, which he would follow with a tartine slathered with butter and marmalade. Jean-Paul was more conservative, enjoying fruit with his croissant, and sipping on cafe au lait. They had not spoken to each other since he had rushed into the dining room, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder, ready to burn his throat on a cup of joe and rush away.

“Bonjour, Camden.”

Jean-Paul’s calm greeting had stopped him in his tracks. The Frenchman was sitting calmly having his breakfast as though it were not close to seven-thirty.

“Morning. Thought you were always out around this time.”

He knew he sounded harsh, but his heart had jumped at sight of the man he was sure had already left for work. Though why he would leave when Cam had no way of locking his front door escaped him for the moment. The sight of him, dressed in a neat dark blue suit with a light blue shirt and tie to match his suit made all sorts of funny things happen in Cam’s chest. He looked almost edible, so neat and pressed and debonair. 

“I was waiting for you.”

Jean-Paul cast him a sideways glance, keeping his expression shuttered, and Cam felt like a heel. Heat crept up his neck and he turned to put the laptop bag on the chair, allowing for time to get himself under control. Then he turned and found Jean-Paul had slid a plate in place and pushed the platter with the tartines and croissants closer to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t want you to be late because of me, though.” The least he could do was show he was grateful for the consideration.

“It is no matter. I will be on time.” Jean-Paul smiled at him. “I did not want you to leave without eating something.” He winked at Cam before adding, “So, how do you like your coffee?”

Cam’s body trembled in reaction to the wink and the teasing words. “Black, thanks.” And he sat down and scarfed a croissant, because he didn’t know what else to say.

Now he was finishing up his tartine and wiping his fingers on a napkin he’d pulled from the set on the table in the pretty holder. The coffee was strong and just right for what he needed. He wished he had had the foresight to bring a travel mug with him. He could make himself some to go. He’d find the college bookstore. They were sure to have coffee mugs. He’d get one so he could take coffee with him from tomorrow on.

They finished the meal in silence, and though Cam felt like he had to rush, Jean-Paul seemed quite content to rinse the things they had used and place them in the dishwasher. He disappeared for a minute, and when he returned, he had a black leather briefcase in his hand.

“Ready?”

Cam nodded, picked up his own bag and snagged an apple from the bowl on the table. It’d make a good snack. They walked out together, and Cam turned to head to the front to walk out.

“Why don’t I give you a lift this morning?”

Cam turned. “Sure, but you know you don’t have to, right? I don’t mind walking.” 

Jean-Paul turned and continued on his way down to the parking garage. He didn’t respond until they were up the ramp and on their way.

“I know I don’t have to, Camden, but I want to. I hope you don’t mind.”

Cam turned to look at him, catching only his profile as Jean-Paul looked resolutely ahead.

“Why would I mind?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“You didn’t seem to want me to feed you yesterday. I wasn’t sure whether or not this would also fall into the ‘independent American’ category, as well.”

Cam’s eyes widened in disbelief and shock. Jean-Paul kept his voice carefully neutral, and Cam couldn’t see his eyes to know what he might be feeling, but his hands on the steering wheel said he was tense. Shit! The last thing he wanted to do was offend the man who had offered him a place to stay free of charge for five days so he could go to his seminars. He had to correct the impression that he was an ill-mannered, ungrateful asshole.

“Hey, wait! I…” He didn’t even know what to say. “I didn’t mean to offend you, man. I just didn’t expect it. That’s all.”

Jean-Paul turned to look at him for a split second before turning back to watch the road. “I will forgive you, if you will forget to be independent for the rest of your stay. I will make breakfast for you and take you to the university in the mornings. We will explore the city a little bit together in the afternoons and have dinner together in the evenings. Will that be okay with you?”

Cam nodded, his voice abandoning him for the moment.

“The flowers yesterday were a wonderful surprise. Thank you, I appreciate it.”

His accent was heavier than usual, which Cam took to be another sign that Jean-Paul was not as cool and calm as he projected himself to be. And the thought thrilled him. He shunted it to the back of his mind at once. They were just becoming friends, that was all. But he would make sure to add something to their evening meal every day, because he liked the light in Jean-Paul’s eyes just now as he spoke his thanks. He liked it a whole lot.

“Well, here we are. I hope you have a pleasant first day.”

Cam smiled at Jean-Paul as he opened the door. “Thanks. You too, Jean-Paul.”

He climbed out and watched his host drive away. His watch said he had five minutes to get to the conference room where the seminars would be held each day. Fortunately, it was only a three-minute walk away from his current position, and he got there just in time. Apparently, the professor was a stickler for timeliness, and Cam made a note to set his phone alarm, to avoid oversleeping again.

“Bonjour, mesdames et messieurs. Bienvenue au séminaire sur l'immersion culturelle pour les apprenants avancés. Il me fait plaisir de vous accueillir cette semaine et j'espère qu'à la fin, vous aurez pu découvrir de nouvelles stratégies pour enseigner le français à vos élèves.”

Cam was sure he would learn a host of new strategies for teaching AP French Language and Culture to his seniors. And it would be good to sit in a room full of people who were as fluent in French as he was and bask in the elegant beauty of the language.

“This series of seminars will be presented bilingually, as we have student teachers here who are just beginning their careers and have not had the benefit of time immersed in the language than others have. So, bear with us as we negotiate bilingual instruction slash cultural immersion.”

The woman speaking was head of the department that was hosting the five-day event. She was a tall, thin woman, striking in appearance and commanding in presence. After her introductory remarks, she introduced the other professor who would be helping her run the workshops. Then introductions around the table followed.

“For our first exercise in cultural exchanges, I would like each of you to think of a way in which you think your life is different from the life of the average French citizen. Then, tell us one thing about yourself that your being here doesn’t already tell us, and then add that perceived difference in culture. Allons-y!”

As everyone else introduced his or herself, Cam thought about what he had experienced in France on his visit, realizing the one thing that most surprised him that he had never seen happen, was the existence of pharmacies which did not sell candy and cosmetics, like the ones in the States.

When it was his turn to speak, he said, “I’m Camden Archer. I’m a U. S Army vet. One cultural difference is that the French can’t buy candy in a pharmacy, because French pharmacies only sell medicine. American pharmacies are really mini department stores with a pharmacy section.”

Once the introductions were complete, people were invited to say which items they thought were real differences and which were not. As a first learning activity for students already familiar with French culture, it was a great icebreaker. Then the real work began, and for the next two and a half hours, with a fifteen-minute break, they worked on two readings, one of which would become the basis for a writing assignment in the afternoon.

They had forty-five minutes for lunch, and as Cam had already scoped out the places where he could eat cheaper than he was sure the university cafeteria was, he made his way to one such food court and bought himself a burger and fries and a bottle of water. He took his food back on campus and sat on a bench close to the place where the class was being held and ate quickly, taking in the lush greenery, the people passing, the sounds of traffic. Then he dumped his trash, made a pit stop in the men’s room, and was back in time for the afternoon session.

They wrote for most of the afternoon, and the homework was to polish the piece and print it for a roundtable review the next morning, to be followed by a discussion of how that task could be used in a high school classroom with differing levels of students. He packed up his laptop, shook a few hands and walked out to a golden afternoon.

The walk back would have to wait for an hour, until he felt sure Jean-Paul was home. In the meantime, he toured the neighborhood around the college for a bit until he found a shop selling travel mugs. He bought one, then wandered around some more, trying to decide what to take home for today’s gift.

He didn’t think he could go wrong with wine, but Jean-Paul was a sophisticated Frenchman, and Cam didn’t think he’d be too keen on the cheap stuff he occasionally bought for himself when he wanted something other than beer. Maybe he should buy a wine that would go well with a particular dish. Pausing outside a wine shop, he thought of what he could do to show his appreciation aside from buy flowers and wine. What if he cooked Jean-Paul a meal? His mother was no chef, but she had taught him some good staples, and he had mastered a few favorites which always went over well on the occasions when he had guests over for dinner.

He assumed Jean-Paul would like seafood, and he made a mean garlic butter shrimp. If he added a green salad some corn chowder, plus a bottle of sauvignon blanc—which he knew went well with shrimp dishes—he’d have a great French meal to share with his host. He’d have to remember to order a baguette when he called the concierge later to order the things he wanted, and check out the cheeses in Jean-Paul’s fridge. Satisfied with his decision, he walked into the store and asked for a wine that would go equally well with most dishes, since he didn’t know what Jean-Paul was planning for dinner this evening.

By the time he arrived back at the apartment building, it was four-thirty and Jean-Paul was walking in from the parking garage.

“Ah, well met, Camden!” he said, smiling widely. “I’m glad you didn’t have to wait on me. How was your first day?”

As they went up in the elevator, he told Jean-Paul about the things he had done, and that he had homework. The Frenchman chuckled.

“Getting a taste of your own medicine, eh?”

Cam grinned. “Something like that. But I did most of it while I was there, so it won’t take much to fix it up and get it ready for tomorrow. Do you have a printer, or do I need to come down to ask the concierge?”

He was mindful of Jean-Paul’s teasing that morning, when he had called him an independent American, as if it were some kind of curse. He would show him he could relax and ask for help.

“I do. It is in my office when you need it. I’ll just need to give you the password for my Internet connection.” They stepped out of the elevator as Jean-Paul asked, “Do you have a preference for dinner? I thought we might eat first and then take in the sights after dark. It is most beautiful then, and cooler.”

“I’ll eat anything,” he told him. “Need any help?” He walked in when Jean-Paul opened the door for him, and sat his laptop bag down.

“No, I am good. You might want to do your homework now, so when we return you can just go to bed if you wish. You were pretty tired yesterday.”

Somewhere in there, Jean-Paul was teasing him and it made his skin heat with awareness. He loved being teased by the Frenchman, even if he didn’t understand why.

He chuckled. “Running around after seventy-somethings is wearing on a guy,” he said. “My parents are like energizer bunnies. And Orlando was hot as hell.”

There was a small silence, during which Cam felt sure Jean-Paul was withdrawing, though nothing in his features changed. Had he said something wrong? He assumed his mother had passed, from the way Jean-Paul had talked about her. But maybe his father was also gone? And here he was, chuntering on about his parents like a fool. Geez! He cleared his throat and hurried on.

“I’ll just go put this away.”

“What have you got there?”

Jean-Paul followed his lead with alacrity, which made Cam feel better and worse at the same time. He pulled the bottle of wine out to show him.

“I figured we could have it with dinner one of these days.”

He bore Jean-Paul’s focused stare without flinching. He was not going to spend five days mooching off the Frenchman, no matter what he said. Finally, Jean-Paul nodded.

“It is a good choice. Thank you. The cooler is next to the refrigerator.”

He turned into his own room, leaving Cam in the hallway wondering if maybe he was taking things a bit too far. He didn’t want to insult him, but he knew what French culture demanded. He would rather err on the side of caution. Maybe he’d broach the idea of cooking for him today, so Jean-Paul would understand he just wanted to do his part. He put the wine in the cooler, making a mental note to get one of those for his parents, who also loved their wine, but usually kept them in a cupboard if they had more than one bottle, since their refrigerator was small. Then he went to retrieve his bag and went to change into something more comfortable.

He wondered what Jean-Paul had in mind for dinner, and decided, as he changed into jeans and a t-shirt, he would at least lay the table this evening before doing the homework he’d been assigned. He removed his shoes and padded out to the kitchen in his socks. He’d put on sneakers when they were ready to leave.

“So, where are the things to lay the table for dinner?”

He figured if he just asked for them, instead of asking for permission to help, Jean-Paul would be less inclined to argue. He didn’t miss the amused smirk that crossed the other man’s face as he glanced at him from where he was standing over the sink washing vegetables.

“If you wish to change the tablecloth, others are in the sideboard in the dining room. I use the plates in the cupboard there…” he pointed across from him, “and the glassware is in the one next to it. Cutlery is down here.” He pointed to a drawer to his left and went back to what he was doing.

Cam set the table, then got his laptop and went into Jean-Paul’s study. He worked for almost an hour on the draft he had, polishing it until it read the way he wanted it to. He went back into the kitchen to get the Wi-Fi password and found Jean-Paul plating their food.

“What do you need me to bring to the table?”

“The baguette, the cheese board, and the fruit preserves in the refrigerator. I’ll come back for the salad and the wine.”

Once they were settled in at the table, Jean-Paul poured the wine and Cam had a sip. It was sweet and light, just the way he liked it.

“Mmm, good. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

The food was simple and delicious. Jean-Paul had made coq au vin, and as soon he served up Cam’s portion, they began to eat. The chicken was tender and the sauce was creamy and delicious. Cam could taste the flavor of the wine without the kick of alcohol. He wiped his lips after swallowing a piece of bread he had dipped into the sauce and smiled at Jean-Paul.

“This is delicious! You really can cook, can’t you?”

Jean-Paul smiled. “It helps when you are a bachelor if you can fend for yourself. It’s less expensive than eating out every day.”

Cam nodded. “That’s certainly true. I cook for myself too, though most of what I do is not quite as fancy as this.”

Jean-Paul chuckled. “I am sure your food is as good as mine.” He paused, his wine glass to his lips, and gave Cam a speculative look. “Is this your way of telling me you wish to cook dinner for us one afternoon?”

The thought of doing it this way hadn’t occurred to Cam, but it had certainly been a good segue way into that, and since he had planned to offer to cook, he didn’t bother to deny it. He grinned instead and asked, “So, which day would you like to taste my cooking?”

“Whenever you choose.”

“Don’t expect it to be as polished as your cooking,” he cautioned him, but Jean-Paul waved his concern away.

“I am sure it will be perfect the way you make it, whatever it will be.”

After dinner, Cam cleared the table while Jean-Paul attended to the dishes, and then he went to put on his sneakers and wash his hands. Putting his wallet and phone in his pockets, he walked out to find Jean-Paul waiting by the door.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Where are we going today?”

“I thought we would start at the Lincoln Memorial. It is the closest for walking. It will be dark soon, so it might be nice to watch the sunset over the Reflecting Pool. We can walk around it to see the memorial and the Washington Monument.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Cam smiled and followed Jean-Paul out the door. They turned left out the front doors of the apartment building and strolled along while Jean-Paul showed him the eateries and wine shops along the way. They reached the Lincoln Memorial after a twenty-minute walk and sat on the top step, watching the sunset’s colors illuminating the waters of the reflecting pool. The building’s own stately structure with its elegant columns and the Washington Monument were both reflected in the calm waters between them.

“It’s beautiful,” Cam murmured, almost to himself. The lights reflected on the water were somehow calming to him. They seemed to represent the spirit of the place, and to radiate a quiet serenity and peacefulness.

“It is. I come here sometimes and just watch the sunset. It is a good place to think.”

Eventually, they moved around the pool to the Washington Monument, and Cam took a picture of the Lincoln Memorial all lit up. Then he turned to look at the imposing obelisk, also brilliantly lit up, a beacon in the night sky. He watched as people posed in front of it so pictures of their silhouettes could be snapped by their friends and relations. Jean-Paul moved into the frame, standing with his back to the monument in a pool of light, and Cam couldn’t resist snapping a few shots of him. He hoped the Frenchman would not suspect what he was doing and just assume he was taking pictures of the structure behind him.

Afterwards, they walked back to the apartment, and Jean-Paul pulled two beers from his refrigerator. They went to sit on the balcony, and Cam put his feet up on the ottoman and leaned his head against the back of the couch. His summer vacation was almost over, and though this was a working visit, right at the moment he felt as though he were staying in a fancy hotel chilling after dinner. His body was pleasantly tired, and the beer was giving him just the right feeling in his chest. He could live like this every day.

And he admitted, as he took another sip of beer, that he would happily live like this if Jean-Paul were in the picture with him. Which was a damned dangerous thing to admit. His time in DC was dwindling, as was Jean-Paul’s time in the States. He didn’t need to get used to feeling this contented around the man. It was a recipe for disaster. He would just need to keep reminding his heart of that whenever it got too hopeful.