LOVE IS IN DISGUISE: Verne Estate Series, Book 3

2. LORAINE

My love life is a series of disastrous first dates.

To each of them, I leave with a heart full of hope, inflated like a balloon. Yet this balloon never flies away. It ends up tirelessly withering gradually over the evening, even by exploding suddenly, as if a needle had suddenly pierced it.

As we finish our meals, I see that Frank’s eyes are scrutinising me. You will tell me, it’s a bit normal, we’re here to get to know each other, to discover if there’s chemistry between us… Except that here, I feel observed like a curious beast, and unfortunately, I know exactly what point of my physique catches his attention. And slowly, my balloon deflates until he finally opens his mouth:

“Has your nose been broken? How did you do it?”

This is certainly not the first time (and certainly not the last) that I have been asked this question. Suddenly, I answer in a jaded voice:

“It’s not broken.”

I just won the big genetics lottery.

I bring my glass to my lips and take a sip of water to give myself some composure since Frank doesn’t have the delicacy to bounce back on another subject. Besides, he’s watching me, his head tilted as if to determine if a detail hasn’t escaped him.

“Are you sure? Because it looks like…”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, annoyed.

What does he think? That I could have forgotten something like that?

His cruel lack of tact has just dramatically lowered my esteem. And as if that weren’t enough, he adds:

“Although, it must be practical in your job. You can pass for a real tough guy who’s not afraid to go a few rounds.”

He punctuates his sentence with a laugh, not in the least embarrassed by the fact that I don’t share his hilarity.

This is the moment when I should give him a heartfelt reply. He should look at himself with his baldness, not even 30 years old? What about his ridiculously small hands? Did I ask him if he bought his gloves in the children’s department?

But I’m quite incapable of putting him back in his place. Simply because I have a swelling lump in my throat and my eyes are burning. As a teenager, I had my fair share of taunts and ridiculous nicknames because of my nose. I’m not even talking about the number of times I’ve caught people looking at this detail of my body way too insistently. You might think that I’m used to it, at my age, and that I’m able to defend myself against anyone who attacks me on this point. But this isn’t the case. My nose is sort of my Achilles heel, and because it’s right in the middle of my face, it’s all the more exposed, and I’m vulnerable.

I see his mouth open to certainly add a layer under the guise of a joke that will only make him laugh.

“Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom,” I croaked, getting up suddenly.

My legs are wobbly. I try to escape as quickly as possible so that no one sees that I’m on the verge of bursting into tears. I know more than half of the people sitting in this place, I don’t want to be the subject of the village gossip for the next few days. It will teach me to meet men in a place that I go to all the time. I would have done better to meet him in another city.

Arriving in front of the bathroom door, I have to face the facts: they are occupied. Fortunately, the hand basin is accessible, so I take the opportunity to splash water on my face and try to calm myself down. I put my hands on either side of the sink, my head bowed, and sigh. When I straighten it up, my eyes meet my reflection in the mirror. I chuckle inwardly. It wasn’t worth trying to put on makeup, I just ruined everything in thirty seconds. And what did I think? That thanks to a little blush and mascara, I was suddenly going to become seductive?

I usually use little makeup, if at all. Firstly, because I don’t really know how to go about it. When you grow up without a mother or a sister to show you how: it’s complicated. In addition, I didn’t see much point in adolescence, my glasses obscured half of my face. When I started working, I thought it was more practical that way. Being the only woman in my squad, and having had to work twice as hard as my male colleagues to prove my worth, it’s true that I sometimes tended to put aside what differentiated me from them. I wanted to be one of the guys, so since they never took out their stick of lipstick to do a touch-up at the end of the shift, I told myself that I wouldn’t do it either.

I try as best I can to rub the black marks that have appeared under my eyes with my fingers. I won’t go back to the dining area with panda makeup. However, I’ll have to go back there, if only to tell Frank that I’m leaving. I’m going to have to do like those girls who fake a migraine or an emergency to slip away.

The bathroom door opens, a gorgeous blond comes out. I move to make room for her in front of the washbasin, pretending to rummage in my bag to prevent her from wondering what I’m doing standing there. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She’s perfect: from her red dress to the tips of her pumps. After washing her hands, she looks at herself in the mirror. She puffs up her blond curls, checks her makeup, then smiles. Yes, she smiles at her reflection! She looks happy with what she sees. She then leaves without a word, but with a confident walk as if she were going to conquer the world.

I’m therefore alone in this room with the greenish lighting. I move closer and look at my own face again, but I don’t feel like smiling. My brown eyes are ordinary, my mouth is too thin, and I’m not even talking about my nose... only my hair can put me in the category of pretty girls. My shoulders are too square, I’m too tall. No man likes to look up at a woman.

I sigh again and tell myself not to give up. I’m only 25 after all, I still have time to find someone who’ll appreciate me for who I am. The road will certainly be long, but as a certain princess sings: “One day my prince will come.” My friend Romy would joke by saying that he’s surely lost and that, as it’s a man, he refuses to ask for directions. It will eventually happen!

In the meantime, I must go and tell the frog that I want to leave. It’s a nasty thing to compare him to when I just got offended because he made fun of my looks.

But after all, he asked for it! How could I have thought for a second that he could be the one for me? And then, he ordered two colas for the aperitif! Who does that before a good meal?

Rejuvenated by this childish reflection, I leave the toilet, I go down the corridor towards the dining area, when I hear a voice. I stop dead.

This voice, I know it all too well. I shouldn’t, but I decided to stay there and listen to it for at least a few seconds. The tone is warm and serious. It gives me the effect of melted chocolate. Something soft and sensual at the same time, which makes me vibrate to the depths of my body.

Like an addict, I get closer. The door to the storeroom, which also serves as the office of the Café de la Place, is ajar. The voice comes from there.

At first, I think he must be on the phone, but I hear a second male voice:

“If you don’t pay me within ten days, I won’t be able to deliver to you.”

“I know, I know, I’m just asking you for a little extra time.”

“You know what the boss is going to say, my hands are tied. If it were up to me…”

“Yes, I know,” he cuts him off. “I’ll try to find a solution.”

This reply is followed by a long sigh.

I shouldn’t be eavesdropping. It wasn’t my intention. Well, yes, but not like this. I mean, I could listen to him recite the phone book just for the sake of hearing his voice. I didn’t expect to overhear an important conversation. But was it? I have the feeling that yes... And then, I must admit, now my curiosity is piqued. I approach two steps...

Suddenly, the door swings open and I almost take it in the face. But if I avoid the wooden door, I get struck by the man who comes out of the room. Or more precisely, by his shoulder.

“Ouch!”

I just got hit right in the face. The man barely turns around and mumbles a:

“Sorry.”

He then walks away without another word. But a second later, a second man comes out of the room and looks in my direction. Him, I know. This is the chef of the cafe bar-restaurant. He’s also the owner of the Velvet Voice and has a whole bunch of physical qualities that I just can’t appreciate right now since my hand is resting on my bruised face. I decide then that I prefer to suffer a little more by removing it, to be able to enjoy the view. Because if there’s one man that I never tire of looking at, it’s him: Mark Tuffin.

“Are you okay? What were you doing behind the door?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

A posture that has the consequence of drawing my gaze to his bare forearms and his biceps which stick out under his kitchen jacket. One of his arms is covered with tattoos whose patterns I would like to follow with the tip of my finger...

“Loraine?”

My name in his mouth is always a delight to hear, but the few neurons still active in my brain are screaming at me that he’s waiting for an answer.

“I was coming back from the toilet, I was looking at my phone, I didn’t see the door open.”

My empty hand makes my lie unreliable, but he doesn’t seem to pick it up. So I add to change the subject:

“Very good steak! Congratulations!”

It sounds like I just complimented him on the birth of his child.

You’re ridiculous Loraine...

A slight smile stretches his lips and he mumbles:

“Thank you.”

I notice he looks tired. His blue eyes surrounded by black look sad. His jet-black hair, usually styled to perfection, is neglected. He really needs to take a trip to the hairdresser. But I have to stop staring at him stupidly like this, so I open my mouth without thinking about what I’m going to say.

“Well, well… I… uh… I’m going to have to leave you. I have a date, you see. With a man… Well yes, of course, it’s a man. It could have been a woman. But you see, that’s not my thing…” 

“Yes, I think I understood,” he laughs.

“Okay, well... I better go.”

My cheeks are crimson, I can feel it. I walk around Mark, giving him a last look, and I run into the dining area. Why does the proximity of this man always make me nervous? Yet I have known him for a dozen years. And if I’m being honest, my little crush on him is just as old. But there’s nothing to do, in his presence, I’m as comfortable as a goldfish out of its bowl.

We have to face the facts, this is just one of the thousands of times I’ve made a fool of myself in front of him. And something tells me that it won’t be the last...

When I return to my table and see Frank quietly waiting for me, I realize that I’ll have to end this evening as quickly as possible. But even if he wasn’t very delicate with me, to say the least, I want to be polite.

“How are you?” he asks when I sit down.

It’s true that I was away for a long time, between spending time in the bathroom and spying on Mark.

“Yes, very well. I met someone I know, sorry I left you for so long.”

“Loraine…” he hesitates.

And since this isn’t my first rodeo, I know exactly what’s coming next. So I refrain from speaking, I let him excuse himself. After all, it’ll save me from doing it, and I almost want to say that he owes me that.

“Here you are, you’re very nice, you’re funny…”

I’m not even listening to the list of my alleged qualities that he’s enumerating. As if a few online messages and less than two hours of one-on-ones were enough to introduce him to who I really am.

“But the truth is, I’m still in love with my ex.”

Oh well! It had been a long time since they had given me that one!

I have no idea how true it is. Maybe he just hasn’t found a better excuse to take the tangent as quickly as possible tonight. But honestly? I don’t care.

He seems to be waiting for an answer, so I suggest without really thinking about it:

“Well, you should go tell her.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Do you think I should talk to her?”

Frank looks as relaxed as if he were in his dentist’s waiting room.

“Yes, if you’re sure of yourself, it’s the best thing to do. She might be very happy to know that. You should never miss an opportunity to tell people you love what’s in your heart.”

And here I am transformed into a life coach!

“You’re right,” he lights up. “I should go right away.”

“Right away,” I repeated with a smile as fake as Marie-Jo’s neon pink nails. “But we might ask for the bill first.”

Romantic, yes, but also pragmatic. No way I can let him escape without paying.

He takes two bills out of his pocket and throws them on the table as he gets up.

“Get the bill, it’s on me. Thank you for your advice, I’m going!”

And before I could reply that, as an independent adult, I’m quite capable of paying for myself, he disappeared.

I stare at the money in front of me for a second, then decide that the feminist in me could be outraged another day. After all, who knows? Maybe my advice will allow him to have a long and happy life with his sweetheart, then it’s well worth a meal at a restaurant! It’s kind of a consultation, in a way.

This idea makes me smile inside. That I, the girl who has a degree in love chess, single-player option, can help someone in their love life!

To celebrate, and since I have nothing better to do, I wave to Marie-Jo. But before I can ask for anything, she puts a huge ice cream under my nose with whipped cream and a chocolate sauce.

“Uh…”

“It’s compliments of the house,” she interrupts me.

Free?

I feel my smile spread across my face.

“Will you thank Mark for me?” I say enthusiastically, thinking how kind it is of him.

She shrugs her shoulders.

“Mark has nothing to do with it, we made a mistake with a customer’s order, so I had it on my hands and I saw that your date had left. I thought you must be the type of girl to drown her sorrows in ice cream.”

She gives her explanation with such coldness that I don’t quite know if I should thank her or throw the dessert in her face. But since I’m a well-behaved girl, I mumble a “thank you”. I’m sorry, but I never say no to ice cream.

“What was the excuse this time?” she asks as she clears Frank’s tableware.

My spoon, which I have just dipped into the ice cream, hangs in the air in front of my mouth.

“Sorry?”

“Your date, what pretext did he have to leave before dessert? A phone call from a friend having an emergency? Did he just remember he had left the oven on? It’s not you, it’s me?”

“Something like that. He suddenly realized that he was still in love with his ex.”

“Pfff,” she breathes. “Do you know the biggest problem with men?”

I have two or three ideas, but I keep them to myself.

“Uh, no?”

“They’re suffering from testosterone poisoning. That’s why they do stupid things all the time.”

With these words, she goes back to the kitchen and I stay to eat my ice cream, telling myself that, even if it hurts me, she may not be completely wrong.