Artichoke Heart

"I didn't realize he was a student of yours."

"Six years ago, might be seven. We see a lot of promising artists go through the program, but James was in another league. A natural at everything, and so creative. I knew he'd go on to do incredible things, and he has. I've read nothing but rave reviews of his work. And considering he must have improved since I last tasted his cooking, I am really looking forward to this meal."

We were halfway through the meal when Danny put down his fork and stood, his face splitting in a grin.

I turned, and followed his gaze. A handsome young Asian man in a white kitchen coat approached the table, he looked to be 30 at the oldest. Danny put his hand out to shake, and James grasped it and pulled him into a tight hug. They were both grinning as they embraced, and when they parted, their bodies stayed close, James still clasping Danny's hand, his other hand on Danny's shoulder. This all happened in a few seconds, but watching their postures, the looks on their faces, I could tell they were very close. Like, romantically close.

Irrationally, I felt a throb of disappointment. Danny was probably gay.

We were introduced and James shook my hand briefly, but warmly. He was very good looking, with delicate features, and a soft voice with just the barest European accent. He was quite charming. I complimented him on the quality of the meal and he smiled and thanked me graciously.

"You just met someone very famous," Danny said, turning his smile on me once James had left. "Famous in certain circles, anyway."

"You should be proud," I said. "I can't imagine how good it must feel to see your student go on to be so successful and know you had some part in that."

"I don't know. He didn't need me to teach him anything. He's got so much raw talent, it's unbelievable. Honestly, it was such a treat to work with him."

For the remainder of the meal, we talked about travel, and he told me as much as he loved living in Paris, he missed his family and sometimes got homesick for the states.

"Would you ever think of moving back?"

"I do think about it, but so far I haven't been convinced I'd be as happy here. I don't know what it would take to convince me, though. All I can think is I'd miss my little apartment and my adorable, asthmatic old landlady. And, I mean, Paris is just so...you've been, right? You know what it's like."

"I've been a couple of times, but not since I was in college. I remember it's beautiful, but I've never experienced it like a local."

"You should come visit. You took French in high school,n'est-ce pas?" He gave me a smile, emptying the rest of the wine into my glass.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh God, it's been a long time, Danny."

"C'est bon. I'm sure it would all come back to you."

"I don't know. I'm pretty good at understanding what people are saying, but I don't know if I could string five words together to make a sentence."

"Well, don't let that stop you from coming. You could stay at my place, I'd give you the key and you guys could come and go as you please. I can stay with friends. I did that when my sister and her husband visited, it worked out nicely. They spent the day exploring and then we met for dinner after I got off work, it was perfect."

"That's a very sweet offer," I said. I realized he was including Steven in his invitation, picturing me and my mystery husband roaming the romantic streets of Paris together, and my stomach knotted in an unpleasant and all too familiar way. "I'll definitely think about it."

"Please, do, Ella. I would love to show you around."

I reached for my wine glass and tried not to look like a practiced drinker as I drained it.

There was a brief discussion before the check arrived. He insisted on paying, though I thought it was only fair I pay my half, since he'd fed me so many times in the past.

"Nonsense, this is only the start of making up for all those after-school crêpes I never got to make you."

In the end, the discussion was unnecessary; the maître d' explained James had instructed our entire bill was already paid.

"I know I shouldn't feel funny about that," Danny said once we were outside the restaurant. "I have to stop thinking of him as that kid who first walked into my class. Time passes, but sometimes my mind forgets to keep up."

He turned to me then. The temperature had dropped noticeably since we'd arrived, and a light snow was falling. It swirled around us, dotting Danny's dark coat and sticking to his auburn hair.

"Well, Eleanor," he said. "Do you have a curfew or could we go in search of dessert? Or perhaps an after-dinner drink?"

"Drinks, maybe? I'll go anywhere warm."

"Sounds good to me," he said. He offered me his arm and we walked to the crosswalk. "I know a place that's close."

As we walked, our hips touched, and we shared a little heat between us where our arms were linked. It wasn't an intimate touch, with all the layers and our thick wool coats, but I felt it all over my body, a spreading heat of excitement. It occurred to me I was truly attention-starved if that was all it took to turn me on.

We ducked into a bar a few blocks away. Danny got us drinks and then joined me at a small table I'd claimed closer to the back of the room. It was loud enough we had to sit close to hear each other when we spoke, but I didn't mind.

I had so many things I wanted to ask him, but wasn't sure how to phrase them. He wore no wedding ring, and hadn't mentioned a wife or partner of any kind. Given the intensity of his brief exchange with James in the restaurant, his careful style of dress, his casually styled—but still styled—hair, and his general lack of obvious manly interests, I was pretty sure he was gay. But before I could think how to ask, he set his drink on the table and fixed me with a look of great interest.

"I'm curious why you've been avoiding talking about your husband all night," he said.

"I'm not avoiding it," I said automatically. My stomach tightened suddenly in dread.

"I think you are. Every time I ask about him, you manage to change to subject." His voice was gentle, but teasing. "What's the story? Are you hiding something?"

"No." I tried to laugh it off, but my laugh came out as hollow and forced. "I have nothing to hide."

"Then tell me what he's like; I'm dying to know what kind of lucky guy gets to come home to you every night. I always imagined you'd marry a brilliant engineer with a yacht. Someone you could beat at chess, but he'd still love you because he couldn't believe he was lucky enough to be with someone as smart and pretty as you."

I laughed. His flattery excited me, but the truth of my awful relationship dulled my enjoyment. I took a sip of my drink and felt the whiskey burn my throat on the way down. I didn't want to answer, but I couldn't think of a way to politely refuse.

"Steven is..." What could I say? I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to admit just how little I cared for him, or he for me. "Well, he's..." I looked at Danny who waited, watching me with quiet expectation. "He's a lot like my dad, actually."

Danny's brows drew together and his smile slowly faded. "How so?"

Immediately I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes. The truth hurt. I knew I wouldn't cry; I was very practiced at not crying, but I didn't want to lie to Danny. I decided to be totally honest, and hope he didn't judge me for not loving my husband anymore.

He was quiet and patient while I talked, and I sensed no judgment from him, only compassion. I talked for a long time, longer than I meant to, but at no time did I feel like he was tired of my story, and though I felt self-conscious about baring so much at once, I also got the strong feeling he understood in a personal and deep way.

When I was done, he sighed a heavy sigh and slid his hand into mine, where it was balled into a fist under the table.

"I'm so sorry you're going through this, Ella. I'm sorry you've been so unhappy. You deserve better than that. It's easy for me to say it, but you could leave him. You're strong enough to be on your own. You just need support and encouragement from friends. I'll help in any way I can, even if I can only be a voice on the phone reminding you why you're worth the effort."

He still held my hand under the table. I could feel his thumb moving very slowly, tracing across my fingers.

"I think you've just forgotten who you are," he said gently. "What you're worthy of. You need to remember you deserve better, and believe there are plenty of men out there who would give you that, because I know there are. Not every man is as self-centered or blind as your husband. I guarantee you are someone's dream girl."

I laughed.

"Hey, I'm serious," he said, "There's a guy out there just waiting for you to cross his path. A good man with a good heart who'll want to do everything he can to make you happy."

My mouth was suddenly dry. I stared at Danny who was staring back, his hand still holding mine. I wanted to pick up my drink, but I didn't want to move. He wasn't talking about himself, no matter how much it felt like that, no matter how much I wanted that to be the case, but his eyes didn't move from mine, and his hand was still there, under the table, fingers wrapped around mine. So exciting, but confusing, too.

I managed a joke. "Do you have his number?"

He laughed then, squeezed my hand and let go of it. "I'm not going to lie, dating sucks when you're over 25. But I really do believe that guy exists for you. He's out there somewhere, waiting to bump into you and fall in love."

I changed the subject slightly, steering it away from me.

"What about you? Do you believe there's someone out there for you, too?"

"Ahh, well...I don't know how I'd ever find out." He swirled his drink thoughtfully before taking another sip. "I don't date much."

"You don't date?"

He shook his head.

"On principle?"

"Hmm... More like habit." I could see by his sudden avoidance of my eyes, the tables had turned; we'd hit on a difficult subject for him now. "Carefully cultivated habit, with a garnish of paranoia."

"Oh." It was obvious he'd understood my hurt earlier because he'd experienced it himself. I could tell I needed to tread carefully. "I'm guessing if I ask why, it won't be a simple answer. It won't be: girls have cooties."

"I wish cooties was the worst thing that could happen to a person." He shook his head, laughing softly. He stared into his drink, tilting the glass back and forth so the ice circled the bottom. Then he lifted the glass and drained it and looked at me.

"Do you know the phrase,avoir un coeur d'artichaut? It's a French idiom. It literally means to have an artichoke heart, but the expression is used to describe someone who falls in love easily. Or frequently. Or both. You know, because when you eat an artichoke, you pick off the leaves one by one. So, it's like someone giving away leaves of his heart one by one, to each new person. I think it can mean a person who is fickle in love, but also, just someone hopelessly romantic. That's me.

"I haven't dated in years. I'm not cut out for it. I'm too romantic, too ready to fall in love. The fact that I'm equally attracted to men and women only doubles my chances of falling in love. I can't resist that feeling. But it's not just the feeling—I mean, I feel it hard. I fall completely in love, like all the way. Even when I know I shouldn't. Especially when I know I shouldn't."

I was listening, but I couldn't help perking up at his admission of attraction to men and women.

"I have this pattern," he said, sighing heavily, "of only being with people who I know will leave me—or leave for reasons other than me, but, you know, still leave. I think my logic, if I can call it that, is if I already know they're leaving, I won't have to worry about it. I won't think about where it's going or worry they're going to run out on me."

"You don't want a long term relationship."

He shook his head. "You misunderstand. I do want that. I want a long term relationship worse than almost anything. I just don't believe it's going to happen. I don't think it's in the cards for me, not the way I keep falling for people I can never have."

"Tell me why."

"Oh, God," he said, exhaling as if he was suddenly completely exhausted. Looking at him, I saw weariness for the first time in his boyish looks. He looked his age. He ran his hand through his hair, looked away, then looked back at me. "It's a long story."

"So was mine."

"I think I'll require at least one more whiskey before I start. You want another?"

I drained my glass and nodded.

"Be right back."

I listened for the next hour while he recounted the last 20 years of his life. The jobs he'd taken after my dad had fired him, how he'd decided to move to London. How he'd struggled at first, taking odd jobs before working with one family in particular, cooking for them every day. Not long after that, he said he'd met a woman, and fell in love.

He described it as the most intense love he'd ever felt. They'd talked about getting married. He'd been happier than he'd imagined possible. And then she'd left him.

"I came home from work to an empty apartment," he said. "She took everything. Not just her stuff, but mine, too. All my Misono knives, some of my nicer cooking ware, stuff she could sell, not the cheap, everyday stuff. It wasn't an impulse."

I felt genuine horror trying to imagine being betrayed like that.

"She totally played me. It was humiliating."

He went on a little while longer, looking defeated and embarrassed, and explained that every relationship after that was with someone who he knew would only be around temporarily.

"Like I said, there's a pattern. I always fall for the ones who are going to leave—they're only in the country for half the year, or they change jobs and move away, or they're students and I'm just the way station between destinations."

"Like James?" I said it before I knew what I was saying. My hand shot up to cover my mouth. I almost apologized, but he smiled.

"You're astute," he said. "Or was it so obvious?"

"It wasn't obvious, I just happened to be watching you closely. You seemed...intimate."

"We are," he said, still smiling. "Or, rather we were. Past tense. Five or six years ago. I was his mentor at the school. We worked very closely together for two years—lots of one-on-one training, pretty intense stuff when exams came around. We spent a lot of late nights together.

"The attraction was mutual, but nothing happened while he was my student. Once he finished his courses, though..." He blew out his cheeks and gave me a look. "Damn, things got hot. Fast. He stayed in Paris two years after school, with me. We had a little apartment together. It was a very sweet period of my life. And then he moved to Manhattan, which is where he belongs, and I am thrilled for him—he's an amazing talent and he's proving himself. He wouldn't have taken the risks he took to get where he is now if he'd have stayed in Paris."

"You didn't think of going with him? Coming back to New York?"

"I did consider it. I would have stayed with him forever, but that wasn't where he was in his life. He was just a kid, really. Twenty years difference...at least when you're young, is kind of a big difference. He wanted to have fun, and I would have been in the way of that." He smiled. "It's OK, though. I love him, and he's happy. It's all good. That was my last really intense relationship, though. Since then, I have held back, protected myself, I guess. I only let myself admit I'm interested in someone if I think they might just be passing through."

He glanced at me and whatever expression was on my face made his change completely.

"Wow. You look so sad. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you my whole pathetic tale." He laughed, shaking his head. "I must sound like such a sad old man."

"Not at all. I'm just sorry if I pushed you to talk about painful memories."

"No, no. That's fine. I'm just completely embarrassed now." He smiled ruefully.

"Well I won't think less of you for falling in love with everyone if you won't think less of me for staying in my loveless marriage all these years."

"Well, it does breakmon coeur d'artichaut," He put his hand on his chest over his heart, "to see you so unhappy, but I would never judge you for the choices you've made. And anyway," He leaned toward me slightly and narrowed his eyes. "I think you're on the brink of something fantastic. Some big life change. I can feel it, can't you?"

I looked at him seriously, loving the sight of his handsome face in the dim light of the bar, loving knowing he was studying me, thinking about me, knowing he believed what he said; that I was strong enough to leave Steven.

"I think I can," I said. "Something fantastic."

"I'll drink to that." He raised his nearly empty glass and waited, a grin spreading across his face. I lifted mine and in the few seconds it took us to clink glasses and finish our drinks, we locked eyes. I don't know what it felt like for him, but for me, it was electric. Full of possibility, of something big on the horizon.

Once he'd drained his glass, he drew his phone from his pocket. He glanced at it and frowned.

"Ohh. It's so much later than I thought. I have to go. I really don't want to." He sounded like a disappointed child being told he had to go to bed. "I want more time with you, Ella. I still have so many questions, so much I want to know about you." He glanced down at his phone again, thumbed through a few screens, and then sighed. "Damn it. I really do have to go, though."

"It's OK. I mean, this was just such a crazy coincidence that we even ran into each other. I just feel lucky it happened at all."

"You're right. We had a lovely dinner and drinks, which is more than we had yesterday when I had to say goodbye. I just wish I'd run into you a week ago, when I first got here. I had so much more time. I'm not leaving until Tuesday, but I'm meeting my sister and brother for brunch tomorrow, and then I have to go to—" He stopped abruptly and he cocked his head slightly, a quizzical, hopeful expression. "I don't suppose you'd like to come to a wedding with me, would you? I RSVP'd for two, thinking I'd drag my sister along for company, but she kind of hates weddings. I was going to have to bribe her big time."

I didn't even think about it. "I love weddings."

"Can you make it?" He grinned when I nodded, his whole face one big smile. "That's the best news. I'm so happy."

We sat for a few more minutes making arrangements, then bundled up and headed back outside. He stood smiling at me as we both pulled on gloves and rearranged our lapels and scarves to block the cold wind, then offered his elbow for me to take, and together we walked the four blocks to the subway.

"Thanks for dinner. Or, thank James for dinner, I guess," I said when we stopped at the subway entrance. "Thank you for the drinks. I should have bought that last round."

"Don't be silly. I was happy to buy. And happy it's you I got to buy them for. I'm so happy, I'd buy you just about anything right now."

I laughed. "A Ferrari?"

"Hell yeah, I'll get you two. What color?"

I laughed again. I felt light, almost breathless. I was sure some of that was the alcohol. But only some.

"Oh, surprise me."

"I'll make sure one has flames." He grinned and looked at me a long second, during which my heart seemed to be having trouble finding a steady rhythm.

"So, I will see you tomorrow, then, Miss Eleanor. How exciting.J'ai hâte!"

I nodded and for just a few seconds too long, we looked at each other. I felt the heat of the alcohol and the heat of arousal flood my whole body. Despite the wind tugging at my hair and sneaking into all the gaps of my winter clothes, I felt uncomfortably hot.