Gustave Part Deux

It all began innocently enough. I walked into Gustave's humble abode, a house he shared with his female roommate, Jolene Montaque, who owned the local cafe.

I pretty much knew I was setting myself up for a fall.

Jolene was working at the cafe and Gustave and I were, well, alone.

Gustave was watching Halls of History and I had picked up one of his enormous volumes from the shelf. History is dry stuff, dates and wars, to most folks -- but it excites me. I'm interested in the secrets of the past, the messages the ancients left for us today.

"Savannah," he called as his TV program ended. "Why are you back? Why are you here to torture me?"
"Whatever do you mean by that?"
"Why must you tempt me with what I cannot have?"
"Gustave, you speak in riddles. Please, tell me, what do you mean?"



"Savannah, when we were working together on that nectar paper, I realized something. I realized a lot of things. I like you -- a whole lot. And that's the problem."



"What do you mean?" I whispered.
"You and I -- we're from completely different worlds. We'll never work. I'm a simple French farm boy, special merchant here and the resident historian. And you -- you are a Simerican. Your family has more money than I will ever make in a lifetime. I don't think I can ever prove myself worthy of your love."
"Gustave!"
"Savannah -- my goodness, even your name is pleasing to the ear. Ever since you left I could not stop thinking about you. You are -- une femme incroyable -- an incredible woman."
"Well, I haven't felt very incredible lately." I ended up telling Gustave everything that had gone on in my life since I last left France, about the relics, about the adoption, about my nephew moving in and the renovations, about my short fuse as of late.
"You're different, you know that, n'est-ce pas?"
"Oui, j'ai su pendant longtemps cela maintenant. I've known that for a long time now."
Gustave looked at me. "Vous parlez francais?"
"Un peu," I reminded him, "a little bit."
"I may be French and you are of English blood -- and the French and English have historically not liked each other -- but here goes."


Well, you can guess what happened next. Heck no, it wasn't even like that.

I did get my first kiss though.

I felt safe in his arms, like everything was going to be okay. Even if we didn't end up together, I would always have the memory of his lips touching mine, his arms draped around me like a teddy bear, warming my cold shoulders and sending tingles down my spine.