From JFK to Charles de Gaulle [pt 4/??]
anonymous
August 13 2011, 03:57:52 UTC
The pastry was the perfect combination of nutty chewiness and flaky crunchiness, the brightly colored macaroon sweet but not too sweet, and he had no idea what flavored the last cake, but whatever it was, it tasted fantastic.
“How were they?” the waitress asked.
Barely remembering to swallow his food before speaking, Alfred exclaimed, “Fantastic! I love them, really, I do.”
With another brilliant smile, she leaned down and whispered, “Those are my absolute favorites to make. I am glad you decided to try them.”
Alfred stared after her as she glided away to help another patron. His cheeks felt hot, his heart was doing crazy Olympic-level leaps and jumps in his chest, and his stomach was telling the rest of his organs, to their agreement, that this was the girl, and if he let her get away, they were all going to commit mutiny against him.
Well, Alfred wasn’t going to let either of those things happen.
Even though he had to meet up with his class at the Louvre soon, he figured he could spare a few minutes to speak with Madamoiselle Waitress. When she came back with the bill, Alfred made a show of inspecting it as he pulled out an assortment of euros.
“Merci beaucoup… Angelina?”
“Oh, no, that is the café’s name, sir. My name is Marianne.”
Jumping on this opportunity, he said, “Merci, Marianne! Je suis Alfred F. Jones. Err, from America.”
Alfred held out his hand to her, and she took it, expecting a firm handshake after the American custom, but he instead squeezed her fingers lightly, placing his other hand over hers. Marianne had to smile as she drew her hand back, charmed by such sweet impulsiveness.
“I have to get back to the museum now,” he told her, “but I’d really like to see you again, Marianne, if that’s all right.”
She seemed to think about it, blue eyes sparkling with amusement, and then nodded. “I will be in the kitchens tomorrow, Alfred F. Jones, but the day after tomorrow I will be waiting tables again.”
“Great, so I can see you then?” He stood up, almost stumbling over himself as he scooted out of the booth but recovering immediately. “Goodbye, I mean, au revoir!”
Marianne watched him leave, laughing when she saw him press his face up against the window, and gave him a small wave goodbye.
“How was Angelina’s, Al?” his roommate D.C. asked. “We couldn’t get a table big enough for everyone, so we ate at the other café.”
“Oh, it was great,” Alfred replied vaguely.
“Huh. I figured it must be, since you didn’t call us until after you were heading our way.”
As D.C. didn’t seem to contribute anything else after that, Alfred went to his room and flopped onto his bed, tired after touring the Louvre, meeting Marianne, and trying to find his classmates again. Distracted by thoughts of the beautiful French waitress, he had filled several pages of his sketchbook with fanciful drawings of her, which made him laugh out loud when he realized what he was doing. Just like in the movies, he thought to himself, still grinning as he set his sketchbook aside.
Rummaging through the papers on his desk, Alfred retrieved the neglected phrasebook and started to read from where he had last stopped.
Re: From JFK to Charles de Gaulle [pt 4/??]
anonymous
August 13 2011, 12:30:44 UTC
haha, I'll admit that I had this silly smile on me the whole time I read this. There's just something so sweet and cute about this story and it's only just the beginning. Anyway, I can't wait to read more of this.
“How were they?” the waitress asked.
Barely remembering to swallow his food before speaking, Alfred exclaimed, “Fantastic! I love them, really, I do.”
With another brilliant smile, she leaned down and whispered, “Those are my absolute favorites to make. I am glad you decided to try them.”
Alfred stared after her as she glided away to help another patron. His cheeks felt hot, his heart was doing crazy Olympic-level leaps and jumps in his chest, and his stomach was telling the rest of his organs, to their agreement, that this was the girl, and if he let her get away, they were all going to commit mutiny against him.
Well, Alfred wasn’t going to let either of those things happen.
Even though he had to meet up with his class at the Louvre soon, he figured he could spare a few minutes to speak with Madamoiselle Waitress. When she came back with the bill, Alfred made a show of inspecting it as he pulled out an assortment of euros.
“Merci beaucoup… Angelina?”
“Oh, no, that is the café’s name, sir. My name is Marianne.”
Jumping on this opportunity, he said, “Merci, Marianne! Je suis Alfred F. Jones. Err, from America.”
Alfred held out his hand to her, and she took it, expecting a firm handshake after the American custom, but he instead squeezed her fingers lightly, placing his other hand over hers. Marianne had to smile as she drew her hand back, charmed by such sweet impulsiveness.
“I have to get back to the museum now,” he told her, “but I’d really like to see you again, Marianne, if that’s all right.”
She seemed to think about it, blue eyes sparkling with amusement, and then nodded. “I will be in the kitchens tomorrow, Alfred F. Jones, but the day after tomorrow I will be waiting tables again.”
“Great, so I can see you then?” He stood up, almost stumbling over himself as he scooted out of the booth but recovering immediately. “Goodbye, I mean, au revoir!”
Marianne watched him leave, laughing when she saw him press his face up against the window, and gave him a small wave goodbye.
“How was Angelina’s, Al?” his roommate D.C. asked. “We couldn’t get a table big enough for everyone, so we ate at the other café.”
“Oh, it was great,” Alfred replied vaguely.
“Huh. I figured it must be, since you didn’t call us until after you were heading our way.”
As D.C. didn’t seem to contribute anything else after that, Alfred went to his room and flopped onto his bed, tired after touring the Louvre, meeting Marianne, and trying to find his classmates again. Distracted by thoughts of the beautiful French waitress, he had filled several pages of his sketchbook with fanciful drawings of her, which made him laugh out loud when he realized what he was doing. Just like in the movies, he thought to himself, still grinning as he set his sketchbook aside.
Rummaging through the papers on his desk, Alfred retrieved the neglected phrasebook and started to read from where he had last stopped.
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Your Alfred is really sweet and I am happy that you didn't make Marianne snobby.
I am looking forward to more :3
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