What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) by Alix Nichols Page B

Or in the library.”
    “Is that so? I thought you concentrated just fine at the bistro.”
    Lena folded her arms over her chest, refusing to elaborate.
    “And I have proof,” Jeanne said. “When you’re at the bistro, have you
noticed how one of the waiters turns up by your side every twenty minutes or so
to ask if you need anything?”
    “I guess—why?”
    Jeanne tapped the side of her head. “Each time we do that, you always
order something—usually another tea or coffee or mineral water. The
problem is that if no one reminds you, you get so engrossed you forget to
reorder. I doubt you’d notice if I’d grown a second head.”
    Lena smiled. “I’m sure I’d notice your second head.”
    “You should see yourself staring into space, then typing like a madwoman,
and drinking from an empty cup.”
    “I don’t do that!” Lena grinned.
    “Which one? Staring into space or forgetting you’ve finished your coffee?
It’s bad business for the bistro, you know—a customer who occupies a
table for hours with the same drink.”
    Lena threw her hands up. “You lost me, Jeanne. First you’re upset I haven’t
come into La Bohème for a few days, and now you’re telling me I’m bad
business.”
    “That’s not what I said. You’re excellent business, when we give you a
little push. Besides, you return for dinner and you tip.”
    Lena lifted her chin. “That’s more like it.”
    “Lena, we count on you. La Bohème needs you. You’ve become part of
the . . .” Jeanne hesitated, looking for the right word.
    “Decor?” Lena offered. “I don’t mind. I like it at La Bohème .”
    “Well, if you do, then why don’t you haul your nerdy ass downstairs for a
nice long coffee between girls? I’ll even share with you the last slices of Mom’s
amazing apple pie.”
    Lena cocked her head to the side and said innocently, “I thought your
coffee break was only ten minutes long—that’s what you said, didn’t you?”
    “What break? Who said anything about a break?” It was Jeanne’s turn to
fake innocence. “I’m not working until five. I’m here as a patron to have a
coffee with a friend.”
    Lena hesitated. “Is . . . Rob there?”
    Jeanne shook her head. “He starts at five today.”
    Then she put a hand on her hip and delivered her final argument in a deep
voice with a terrible Italian accent. “And remember this, ragazza : My
friends never, ever refuse my offers—unless they have a death wish. You
won’t disappoint me now, bella , will you?”
    When the coffee was served and the pie unwrapped, Jeanne repeated her
earlier question. “So, what’s wrong, Lena? And please don’t give me that
bullshit about writing and translating. This is about Rob. What’s the deal with
you two?”
    Lena took a bite of the apple pie and gave in to the temptation to spill
the beans. Jeanne was a friend, her only friend in this city. With a sigh she
told her about their kiss and his confession about spying on her.
    Jeanne listened, eyes round, and mouth agape.
    “Turns out I’ve been falling for the wrong guy. So now I just need some
time and distance to lick my wounds and try to get over him,” Lena concluded
her tale.
    “Ooh la la —our Rob, a homegrown spy,
huh?” Jeanne shook her head, before asking, “Tell me, when was the last
time you looked at a price tag?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “You know, the little ticket that tells you how much an item you want to
buy costs.”
    “I don’t buy expensive stuff—” Lena began to protest.
    “I know.” Jeanne winked. “I’ve noticed. So, let’s imagine for the sake of
the argument you’re buying something from that sweatshop outlet down the
street. Would you look at the price tag? Not because you’re curious to see how
much they’re charging for that crap, but because you want to make sure you’ll
have enough money at the end of the month to pay rent?”
    “What are you saying, Jeanne? Do you think that lack of money justifies
taking advantage