You're the One: a Contemporary Romance Novella Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème) by Alix Nichols Page A

rain check. We stuffed ourselves with junk food at the office, so
. . .”
    She
shoved the food in the fridge and waited in the living room until he changed and slumped down on the couch in front of
the TV.
    And that was
when she sat next to him and screwed up the most important conversation in her
life.
    ***

TWO
    Adrien had
expected October to be a lot milder here in Okinawa than in Paris, but this
wasn’t just mild—this was need-a-dip-in-the-ocean hot. As he walked from
his hotel to the Okinawa Convention Center, he took in the sights, smells, and
the general feel of Ginowan. It was different from Tokyo and Kyoto in so many
ways, and he liked it better.
    Not that he
didn’t appreciate the rest of Japan. He had a lot of admiration, even awe, for
its refined beauty and achievements. But he found it too stiff and rushed. The
island of Okinawa was relaxed. People in the street wore flip-flops. They
smiled. They ate pork soup for breakfast and lived to be a hundred.
    As he stepped
into the convention center, the air conditioning hit him with an icy gust. Like
most buildings in Asia, the air conditioning ran at maximum capacity, cooling
the air a little too much for his liking. He should have packed one of his
sweaters. His wool sweaters were bulky, but they were comfy and warm.
    He had an
appointment with Gustavo del Rio, the world chess champion, five years running.
Adrien had arranged to stay on for three days after the tournament to play a
few practice matches with Gustavo—at Gustavo’s request.
    Adrien was a
little early, so he wandered over to the coffee machine. Gustavo was there,
frantically patting his jacket pockets, his face contorted in anguish.
    “Need some
coins?” Adrien asked.
    “Adrien—thank
God.” Gustavo smiled, and his whole body relaxed. “Yes, please.”
    After the
machine spat out two espressos, Adrien said, “Thanks again for having suggested
this practice. It’s a great opportunity.”
    Gustavo took a
sip from his paper cup. “Ay! I burned my tongue.” He gave Adrien a plaintive
look before adding, “It was my pleasure.”
    Adrien pursed
his lips, choking back a joke on the pleasures of burned tongues. This was
Gustavo del Rio, after all.
    “I’m not quite
sure what’s in it for you, though . . .” he said instead.
    “I’m afraid I
don’t catch your meaning.”
    “Gustavo, I
may be a well-rated grand master, but I won’t be able to challenge you the way
Tokalov did earlier this week. Or the way your computer does any time you want,
for that matter.”
    “Ah, I see
now.” Gustavo blew on his coffee. “My interest is in your style. It may not be
as aggressive as Tokalov’s or as well calculated as a computer program, but
it’s elegant. You play the most elegant chess, Adrien. And I like it.”
    “Why, I’m
flattered,” Adrien said.
    And he was. To
hear words of admiration from a better player—from the best player in the
world, as it happened—was gratifying.
    He finished
his coffee and threw the cup into a trash can. “Have you seen the room where
we’re supposed to play?”
    Gustavo threw
out his cup and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “I’m not sure I
can find the way. You see, my assistant got a stomach bug last night, so I’m
left to my own devices today.” He spread his arms. “I must say I’m completely
lost.”
    Adrien smiled.
“Follow me.”
    As they
crossed the spacious lobby, Adrien thought about how thoroughly Gustavo’s life
was centered on chess. His absent-mindedness was legendary and when he
traveled, his longtime assistant Jimena was his key to survival, his lifeline.
When in Argentina he rarely left his house, which he shared with his mother.
Gustavo played chess most of his waking hours and, admittedly, in most of his
dreams. He played with a partner or a computer or—if he was stuck
somewhere without access to either—an imaginary contender.
    They entered
the room where everything was prepared for their practice match.