Under My Skin: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 2) by Alix Nichols
Authors: Alix Nichols
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turning to Amar. “But I’m sure Manon will be there
to support you . ”
“I’ll be there , too,
supporting La Bohème . ” Amanda
beamed.
Jeanne cleared her throat. “Um… Rob is going , too. With Lena.”
“You know what? I don’t give a hoot. I’ve decided I’m no longer going out
of my way to avoid them. It’s too much hassle. It’s their turn to do the
avoiding.”
“Makes sense,” Jeanne said.
“So, I’m coming tomorrow. And as a true cheerleader, I’ve made sure
you’ll have as many fans as possible along the route.”
“You did?” Jeanne asked, a note of concern in her voice.
“Of course. I’ve been spreading the news for a week now.”
Jeanne narrowed her eyes. “In what direction?”
“Oh, everywhere. I told some colleagues at work, my mom, a few
friends . . .”
“Who?”
“Karine—you’ve seen her here a couple of times. Patrick. Mat.”
Amanda paused, thinking. “I think that’s about it. They all said they’d come.”
Jeanne smirked. I’m sure he will.
She tried to work up some righteous anger.
Instead, she grew annoyed with herself for feeling
so ridiculously happy about the prospect of seeing him again.
***
“What makes you think you can win against two hundred professional
waiters?” Didier arched an eyebrow at Amar .
They were downing their espressos before heading to the Place des Vosges
where the Waiters’ Race was to start.
Amar shrugged. “My youthful audacity?”
“He’s faster than most,” Jeanne said.
“That may be the case, but he’ll be carrying a tippy tray with a bottle
of Orangina and two full glasses on it.” Didier turned back to Amar . “You may be the first at the finish
line, but if you’ve broken a glass or even spilled too much Orangina, you’re
toast.”
“I know the rules, thank you,” Amar said, giving Didier a low-lidded
look.
Jeanne rolled her eyes. “Men. I, for one, am happy both of you are
running today. It doubles the chances for La Bohème . ”
“By the way, why did you sign up for this? What’s your incentive?” Amar
asked Didier.
“Same as yours—Orangina’s fat check. Three thousand euros is worth
the ridicule.”
“Hey, loosen up, man. This thing is supposed to be fun,” Amar said.
“We may not have the same notion of fun,” Didier retorted.
The entrance door flew open and Pierre walked in, followed by Manon. The
young woman wore a yellow wig and pressed a rolled-up white cloth to her chest.
When she unfurled it, the cloth turned out to be a hand painted banner that
read “ LA BOHEME ROCKS . ”
“Did you make it?” Amar gave Manon a bright-eyed look.
She nodded, a small smile on her round face.
Jeanne glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s time. Go get them, boys!
And remember to wear your aprons and bow ties.”
Once everyone was gone, Jeanne lost herself in frantic activity. She
tended the bar and helped the remaining waiter, Jimmy, during the lunchtime.
Whenever she had a moment, she went into the kitchen to give a hand to Claude
who’d been alarmingly morose for over a week now. She didn’t sit down until
around four in the afternoon when things finally calmed down. Her stomach
growling, she headed to the kitchen to eat the plate of cassoulet Claude had
put aside for her. Halfway through her meal, she heard loud voices coming from
the front of the bistro and went to investigate.
The La Bohème staff , Rob, Lena, Amanda, Mat, and a few other people were singing “We Are The
Champions,” taking turns at tapping Amar on the back, and inspecting his medal.
“Our boy won the race,” Pierre shouted over the singing as soon as he saw
her. “ La Bohème came first!”
Jeanne opened her mouth to ask Didier about his result—and shut it
upon seeing his sullen expression.
“I’m closing the bistro off until seven, and opening our best champagne
to celebrate this historic event,” Pierre announced.
“Jeanne, you so should’ve come!” Amanda dropped on a chair next
to support you . ”
“I’ll be there , too,
supporting La Bohème . ” Amanda
beamed.
Jeanne cleared her throat. “Um… Rob is going , too. With Lena.”
“You know what? I don’t give a hoot. I’ve decided I’m no longer going out
of my way to avoid them. It’s too much hassle. It’s their turn to do the
avoiding.”
“Makes sense,” Jeanne said.
“So, I’m coming tomorrow. And as a true cheerleader, I’ve made sure
you’ll have as many fans as possible along the route.”
“You did?” Jeanne asked, a note of concern in her voice.
“Of course. I’ve been spreading the news for a week now.”
Jeanne narrowed her eyes. “In what direction?”
“Oh, everywhere. I told some colleagues at work, my mom, a few
friends . . .”
“Who?”
“Karine—you’ve seen her here a couple of times. Patrick. Mat.”
Amanda paused, thinking. “I think that’s about it. They all said they’d come.”
Jeanne smirked. I’m sure he will.
She tried to work up some righteous anger.
Instead, she grew annoyed with herself for feeling
so ridiculously happy about the prospect of seeing him again.
***
“What makes you think you can win against two hundred professional
waiters?” Didier arched an eyebrow at Amar .
They were downing their espressos before heading to the Place des Vosges
where the Waiters’ Race was to start.
Amar shrugged. “My youthful audacity?”
“He’s faster than most,” Jeanne said.
“That may be the case, but he’ll be carrying a tippy tray with a bottle
of Orangina and two full glasses on it.” Didier turned back to Amar . “You may be the first at the finish
line, but if you’ve broken a glass or even spilled too much Orangina, you’re
toast.”
“I know the rules, thank you,” Amar said, giving Didier a low-lidded
look.
Jeanne rolled her eyes. “Men. I, for one, am happy both of you are
running today. It doubles the chances for La Bohème . ”
“By the way, why did you sign up for this? What’s your incentive?” Amar
asked Didier.
“Same as yours—Orangina’s fat check. Three thousand euros is worth
the ridicule.”
“Hey, loosen up, man. This thing is supposed to be fun,” Amar said.
“We may not have the same notion of fun,” Didier retorted.
The entrance door flew open and Pierre walked in, followed by Manon. The
young woman wore a yellow wig and pressed a rolled-up white cloth to her chest.
When she unfurled it, the cloth turned out to be a hand painted banner that
read “ LA BOHEME ROCKS . ”
“Did you make it?” Amar gave Manon a bright-eyed look.
She nodded, a small smile on her round face.
Jeanne glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s time. Go get them, boys!
And remember to wear your aprons and bow ties.”
Once everyone was gone, Jeanne lost herself in frantic activity. She
tended the bar and helped the remaining waiter, Jimmy, during the lunchtime.
Whenever she had a moment, she went into the kitchen to give a hand to Claude
who’d been alarmingly morose for over a week now. She didn’t sit down until
around four in the afternoon when things finally calmed down. Her stomach
growling, she headed to the kitchen to eat the plate of cassoulet Claude had
put aside for her. Halfway through her meal, she heard loud voices coming from
the front of the bistro and went to investigate.
The La Bohème staff , Rob, Lena, Amanda, Mat, and a few other people were singing “We Are The
Champions,” taking turns at tapping Amar on the back, and inspecting his medal.
“Our boy won the race,” Pierre shouted over the singing as soon as he saw
her. “ La Bohème came first!”
Jeanne opened her mouth to ask Didier about his result—and shut it
upon seeing his sullen expression.
“I’m closing the bistro off until seven, and opening our best champagne
to celebrate this historic event,” Pierre announced.
“Jeanne, you so should’ve come!” Amanda dropped on a chair next
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