“That it has. How are you feeling?”
I could sense that he was asking for reasons beyond merely small talk. That meant there could be more than just a boring night in my room or sightseeing alone. It was up to me to decide whether I would shut things down immediately and return to my hotel room or take a chance and see what happened. I thought about it for a moment, and then replied.
“Actually, I'm feeling pretty good. Energized. After all, we're in Paris! It would be a sin to simply go back to the hotel and sleep now.”
His face lit up with that heart-stopping smile that sent my stomach into flips. A smile that not only reached his lips, but also sparkled in his eyes.
“Well, let's do something touristy, then? I mean, it's your first time here,” he said. “Right?”
“It is.”
“All right. Wine and cheese at a small café overlooking the Seine?”
I couldn't help but smile. “That sounds fantastic.”
Two hours later, we were still sitting at a cozy outdoor café, taking in the scenery and people watching.
“So, what do you think of Paris?” Asher asked.
“It's everything I'd hoped it would be,” I replied, sipping on my wine. “And this wine is exquisite. I don't think I've ever had better.”
“I come for the cheese, but I stay for the wine,” Asher joked.
I couldn't help but chuckle. The warmth of the wine flowing through my veins, relaxing my muscles as it went.
“The Eiffel Tower makes for a pretty spectacular marker on the horizon, doesn't it?” I said.
“It does. We can go visit tomorrow if you’d like. I know someone who can get us past the crowds. It's quite a view from up top.”
“That sounds lovely,” I smiled at him and suddenly found myself staring deeply into Asher's eyes. I saw in them a profound, crackling passion, like the embers of a fire still glowing orange against the darkness of night. And at the sight of that deep, simmering desire, my own desires stirred.
It was happening again.
I was at a definite crossroads here: I could either end this right now and go back to my hotel room; or I could stay, order another bottle of wine, and prove to myself that I could maintain a working friendship with my boss.
“Let's have a little more wine,” I suggested. “The night is still young.”
“I agree,” replied Asher with a smile.
He called a waiter over and asked him to bring out a selection of the finest wines in the house, which the young man did, after returning with the manager of the establishment. We perused them and picked out a vintage port.
“Are you sure, monsieur?” asked the manager, a portly, red-faced man in his 60s. “It is a very, very fine wine, but it also commands a somewhat, how do I say, extreme price tag. There are only a handful of bottles of this left in all of France.”
“Price is of no concern to me,” Asher assured him with a casual smile. “After all, how can one put a price on a moment such as this?”
The manager smiled. “Very well, monsieur. Please though, if you would not mind, could I pose with you and your lovely companion for a photograph at the moment of the uncorking of the bottle? I am a wine connoisseur myself, and a bottle like this only gets uncorked once every few years. I wish to have a memento, if you will.”
Asher smiled. “Of course. And, since wine is your thing, I would like for you to have a glass as well. As can this nice young waiter.”
Both the waiter and the manager gasped.
“Monsieur, we could not possibly!” exclaimed the manager.
“I insist,” Asher said. “Otherwise, we don't uncork the bottle. Deal?”
“Very well,” the manager agreed, still flabbergasted at this proposition.
The wine was then uncorked, we posed with the manager for a photo. Then Asher made good on his word and insisted the manager and waiter each have a taste of the wine. I half expected the manager to pass out from the thrill of it.