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Old Flames – Part II


We huddled together on the bow of a bateaux mouches, his arm around my waist, keeping me close.  The sun was departing for another day, off to recharge, ready to return tomorrow, or perhaps to send his duller cousin, rain instead.  The autumn wind chilled my face and I was grateful for the scarf I’d double-wrapped snuggly around my neck.  Inhaling that damp river Seine air, we pointed out favorite sights, mentioned places we wanted to go, kissed as if we were young Parisians, openly, ardently, oblivious to anyone else.

The last few days had floated by, nearly unnoticed.  All my careful plans forgotten, carelessly discarded in favor of  immediate gratification in the form of sinful food during lingering wine-filled lunches and deep conversations I couldn’t remember when I woke up from long afternoon naps.  The problem was, I was getting bored.

As charming a diversion as it had been, the promise of taking up with an old flame again – in Paris, no less – was giving way to an unfulfilled restlessness, a longing for….I wasn’t sure what.  That “what if” was becoming more about me than about me and him.

I decided there was still more I needed to do on my own and it was time I got on with it.  I began to see Mr. Old Flame for what he actually was – a convenient rebound to my lost marriage.  Comfort food for my healing soul.  Perfect timing universe, merci.

In the end, he made it easy, falteringly admitting the night before his flight home, that he had a girlfriend who’d be waiting for him at the airport.  I let him think he’d broken my heart.  He never saw my wistful smile as I walked over Pont Neuf, leaving him in my past for good.


*While the Boutique here at The Armchair Parisian is very real indeed, the stories and characters are a product of imagination.  Please enjoy them in the adventurous spirit in which they were intended.

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