Wednesday in Paris

"You never met one girl who had as many James Taylor records as you...

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I took the old napkin from the other day out of my pocket, remembering I put it in there. It had the girl, Harper's, number on it. I took my phone out of my other pocket and dialed the number that was on the napkin. There were three rings, then she picked up.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Hi," I said.

"Who's this?"

"Michael, from the other day."

"Oh yeah," she said, "What's up?"

I froze for a split second. I totally forgot what I had called her for. Quickly, I scrambles some words in my head to say.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Fuck.

"Um...no, actually, I don't. Why?"

She sounded really uncomfortable. It's my fault. I am a fucking idiot. I mentally punched myself in the face.

"Are you doing anything?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"Do you want to meet at Paris or something?"

"Sure. Meet you there in like 10 minutes?"

"Sure. See you there." She hung up first. I fucked up. I put my phone back in my pocket and grabbed my car keys. I quickly went into my room and put on some cologne.

When I got to Paris about fifteen minutes later, she wasn't there yet. I went inside and sat at a table. A few moments later, she walked through the doors. She saw me and smiled. She came to the table and sat down across from me.

"Hello," I said as she sat down.

"Hi," she said.

We did small talk for a little bit. Normal things, like work and the weather. She seemed a bit nervous at first, but as we talked more and more, she seemed to start to get comfortable.

"Do you listen to James Taylor?" I asked.

Her mouth dropped. "I thought I was the only one other than parents who listened to him." She smiled.

"I have to say," I said, "He is probably my favorite artist."

"Really? What's your favorite record?"

I thought for a moment. "Probably One Man Dog."

"I've always had a special place in my heart for Never Die Young."

"I've never met anyone whose liked him."

She laughed. "Well now you have."