Paris Crush by Melody James

collar.
    Sam grins. ‘Smooth.’
    Other diners are starting to stare. I fight a blush.
    ‘I’m guessing you didn’t train with Houdini, Gem,’ Sam teases, as I try to wriggle my way out of my jacket.
    ‘
Who
-dini?’ Barbara gently moves Rupert aside, takes one end of my sleeve and helps me slide my hand out.
    David sits down. ‘He was an escapologist,’ he explains.
    ‘Don’t they study insects?’ Cindy asks.
    ‘That’s an
entym
olo—’ Sam’s about to correct her, but sees her smile. The Ice Queen is actually joking.
    I didn’t know she could. Paris
must
be magical! I pop free from my jacket. It’s going to be fine. If Paris can thaw out the Ice Queen, David and Barbara are bound to fall in
love, just like Jessica predicted.
    I decide to give the stars a helping hand. ‘Why don’t you sit here, Barbara?’ I lean over and move the chair beside David’s. ‘You’ll get a good view out of
the window.’
    ‘Sam, you sit beside me.’ Cindy pats a chair.
    As I sit down, Rupert parks himself next to me.
    All around us, diners are talking in French. It feels weird. Imagine living your whole life in a totally different language.
    ‘These people actually
think
in French.’ The words slip out of my mouth before I can file them in the
Thoughts Only
section of my brain.
    ‘They dream in French too.’ Sam passes me a menu.
    Blushing, I look at the long list of dishes, searching for words I recognize.
Salade
. I’m relieved.
Salade de Canard
.
    Duck salad. I decide I can handle duck. A quick glance at the entrées persuades me it’s the safest option. What on earth is
Truite Sautée Sauce Amère
? It could
be anything.
    David’s perusing the menu warily, as though sniffing a corpse. ‘I think I’ll have the
Cuisses de Grenouille
.’
    Rupert looks up sharply. ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Of course,’ David says decisively. I guess he’s so relieved to have made a choice he’s not going back on it now. ‘What are you having, Gemma?’
    ‘
Salade de Canard
.’
    Rupert doesn’t miss a beat. ‘You must be quackers.’ My heart sinks. He’s slipped into comedy mode again.
    Sam slaps his menu shut. ‘
Croque-monsieur
for me.’
    ‘Ham and cheese toastie?’ Cindy nods. ‘Good idea.’
    ‘And a croc for me too,’ Rupert agrees. ‘Let’s just hope they don’t bring us alligators.’
    Cindy ignores him. ‘What about you, Barbara?’
    Barbara is frowning her way through the lunch list. Then she sits back and thrusts out her chest resolutely. ‘I think I’ll have a
croque-madame
.’ The neckline on her
pink jacket stretches dangerously. David, Rupert and Sam swivel her way like compass needles finding north. ‘It sounds tasty.’ She’s sweetly oblivious to the effect her cleavage
is having on the boys.
    Cindy, her makeover artist, gives a satisfied smile. I don’t begrudge the Ice Queen her moment of triumph. Turning Babs to Babe suits my plan perfectly. David’s brow is sweating.
    A waiter heads towards us, brandishing two bright green bottles of sparkling water. A notepad is tucked into his apron. He fills our glasses one by one, and then swings the second bottle onto
the table with the grace of a gymnast. As he flicks open his notepad and poises his pen on the fresh white paper, I feel a sudden prickle of nerves. I’m going to have to speak French. To a
French person
.
    I’m relieved when Cindy takes charge. ‘
Puissions-nous avoir
. . .’ She orders for each of us in turn.
    Sam drums his fingers softly on the table as she goes round us one at a time, pointing and instructing the waiter as though ordering for children.
    The waiter hesitates when she reaches David. ‘
Des Cuisses de Grenouille?
’ he echoes nervously.
    Cindy doesn’t falter. ‘
Oui
.’ The waiter raises an eyebrow and scribbles on his pad.
    I lean towards David. ‘What
are Cuisses de Grenouille
?’
    ‘Lamb chops,’ he tells me.
    Sam leans forward. ‘Are you sure—’
    Rupert cuts in. ‘Twenty-four hours