The waitress is staring at her.
Emily Barnes tucks a strand of hair behind one ear, glancing towards the woman. She’s adorable; her uniform’s short cherry red skirt highlights her long legs, and the white blouse has a red bow at the front, just above her breasts.
Her name is Fiona, according to the tag on her shirt, and her smile is intoxicating.
This is the last weekend that Emily is going to be in Paris. She’s found herself a little diner where the staff speaks a pleasant blend of English and French, and everyone is very used to people like Emily, that is, American tourists, showing up like this.
When the meal is over, Fiona comes back to check on her. Emily pays her tab and then flashes the waitress a smile, asking, “do I have something on my face?”
Fiona laughs. “I thought that I was being secret about it.”
“Not really. So, I’m curious. Is there a reason that you’ve been staring at me?”
“You are just so - “A pause, Fiona clucks her tongue and makes a gesture through the air with one hand. “Pretty” is the word she finally settles on. “I have been marveling at how pretty you are. It is a compliment, yes?”
Emily laughs, her cheeks going bright red. “Yeah, it’s a compliment.” And then, being honest about it but still feeling a little awkward over it, “You’re gorgeous, too.”
“Pretty enough for you to get coffee with me? Not here. Elsewhere. Not coffee either,” corrects Fiona, jabbering. Her French accent is heavier now that she’s talking more animatedly. “A drink. Liquor, alcohol. Wine, beer, mixed. You tell me, and I’ll get you a drink.”
Emily lets out a laugh, surprised by the offer. “You want to get a drink with me?”
Fiona presses a hand against the top of the diner table and leans close. The top of her blouse slides down, going from ‘some cleavage’ to an ‘ample’ amount of cleavage. Her creamy pale skin is more attractive than Emily is expecting it to be. She gives a little, half nervous laugh.
Fiona reaches out with her free hand, tapping the table just in front of Emily. “Oi,” says Fiona. “Oi, I want to take you out for a drink. Tonight. You are not leaving today, no?”
“I’m not,” says Emily. She thinks about it for a moment and concludes that she doesn’t actually have anything going on that evening. “How about I give you my number, and then you can give me a text with the place?”
Fiona smiles, and it’s sun bright and beautiful. “That sounds good to me. I will text you. We will see each other tonight.”
They meet up at a bar with a name that Emily can’t pronounce. Fiona is wearing a short black skirt and a tight pink top, and she looks charming in a way that Emily can’t really understand. They end up getting a few drinks and talking. It’s not until Fiona leans over and places her hand over the top of Emily’s own hand that she realizes it’s not just a friendly get-together.
“A date,” blurts Emily.
Fiona raises her eyebrows. “Pardon?”
“This,” says Emily, her cheeks going bright red. “This is a date, isn’t it?”
Fiona lets out a laugh. “You are just now realizing this? I thought that I was being very obvious.” She tilts her head to the side, gazes mischievous. She thankfully looks more amused than anything else. “Perhaps it was – a miscommunication?”
“I just – didn’t realize,” says Emily, a little stilted. She quickly picks her drink back up, sipping from it. The sharp blue tang of the fruity mixed beverage makes the back of her throat heat up. “That was probably me. Sorry.”
“Sorry,” says Fiona. Her expression falls a little bit. Then, she questions, “Is this you saying – no to the date?”
Emily purses her lips together. Her first instinct is to say no, but… Fiona is beautiful, and she’s a lot of fun to be around, too. And even though Emily has never considered being with a woman before – it’s not as though this is a committed event. If it really is a date, it’s clearly the sort that’s going to end with a toss in the sheets and a parting of ways.
Fiona raises her brows. Her mouth tilts up, painted lips twisting into the start of a smile. “You are not saying it is not a date.”
“I’ve never done something like this before,” admits Emily.
Fiona questions, “dating?”
“No, I mean – being with - “Emily gestures at Fiona.
Realization and understanding spark in Fiona’s gaze. “Ah. With a woman. That is okay. I do not mind being the first. I can show you the true beauty found in French women.”
It’s a really, really tempting thought.
Emily decides that she’s not opposed to this being a date after all.
They do end up back at Fiona’s house. It’s like any other one-night stand that Emily has ever been on, and totally different all at the same time. Something is stunning about the fact that Fiona is just so soft.
Emily can’t claim to be anything more than straight. She’s never even considered the fact that she could be a lesbian.
But when Fiona’s shirt finally comes off and hits the floor, revealing a swath of creamy smooth skin and soft, soft breasts just barely covered by a sleek, lacy black bra, Emily finds herself questioning that opinion.
At least in Paris, she thinks, it might be time for a lesbian romance.