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"Another one?" the bartender asked, wiping one of his glasses and nodding towards the small piece of paper lying on the counter in front of Yves.
"Yes..." the man replied in a sober tone, without taking his eyes off the paper.
"How many does that make now?"
Yves shrugged, still staring at his little sheet—he had stopped counting a while ago.
"You can't keep going like this..." the bartender chuckled.
"And why not?" Yves asked, looking up, suspicious.
"Does it really cost you that much to cross at a pedestrian crossing?" the bartender sighed, placing his glass next to his customer.
Yves didn't answer, continuing to stare at him.
"I'm starting to think you're suicidal, or maybe you just enjoy making generous donations to the State."
Once again, Yves remained silent, but he lowered his eyes back to his fine, letting out a sigh through his nose. It wasn't a sigh of irritation at the bartender's comments but rather one of exasperation with himself. His interlocutor wasn't entirely wrong—besides the fact that Yves liked to act like an idiot by getting a thrill every time he crossed the street. He claimed he did it in the name of his freedom to go wherever he pleased, but deep down, sometimes he wished that a reckless driver would hit him once and for all. Not just keep getting fined.
"So, a bourbon as usual?" the bartender asked, leaning on the counter.
"Please," Yves confirmed.
The bartender complied and then let his customer sip his drink in peace. Yves took his time drinking his bourbon, all the time he needed. And he did it deliberately.
Between two sips, he glanced at his watch. It was almost half-past seven in the evening; she would be arriving soon. The Frenchman took another small sip of his drink—the sensation was good.
Then, just as expected, the door of the establishment opened. Yves had his back to it and felt the cold outside air rush into the bar. He shivered, but not just because of the cold. Without even looking over his shoulder, he knew who had just walked in. It was clearly foolish to sit with his back to the door—for a spy, it was a terrible rookie mistake. But something about her made him act strangely, even foolishly.
"Good evening, Aiden!" a soft voice greeted from the entrance.
"Hey! What's new?" added another voice.
"Good evening, ladies," Aiden replied with a smile as the two women approached the counter. "The usual?"
Yves set his glass down more abruptly than usual on the counter. With his eyes downcast, he grabbed his fine, crumpling it before shoving it into his pocket.
"Please," the first woman agreed, taking a seat on a bar stool.
Her friend did the same, while the bartender prepared their drinks. Yves, for his part, stared at his hands now clasped together on the counter, listening intently to the conversation around him.
"Tough week?" Aiden asked as he served their drinks.
"You could say that," the first woman replied with a small sigh.
“Your sons?"
"No, they're fine. Just..."
"Just, she's a single woman working, and she has seven kids—how do you work full-time?" her friend cut in sharply.
Yves couldn't help but lift his head slightly to look at them and finally see their faces. There were two women, older than him, sitting at the opposite side of the bar. From where he was, he could observe them discreetly. One was shorter, with long hair, often styled in a high bun. This woman must have been named Emily—or something like that.
The other was taller, and her name was Linda—he was sure of it. She had jet-black hair cut into a bob. Tonight, she was wearing a light blue blouse and had tied a matching ribbon in her hair. From her ears hung white pearl earrings that stood out against the ebony black of her hair.
To Yves, she was stunning. And laying his eyes on her meant being condemned to never looking away.
Watch discreetly, but not too much... stay calm and normal... Yves thought, uselessly.
As the bartender and the two women chatted, Yves admired her—until Emily noticed him from the corner of her eye. Their gazes met, and she furrowed her brows. Yves quickly looked away, though keeping the two women within his peripheral vision. That way, he noticed Emily leaning towards her friend to whisper something. Yves felt his breathing become more halting.
Linda smirked slightly at whatever her friend had just told her before turning her attention back to Aiden. Was she mocking him? The Frenchman had no idea, and it drove him crazy.
This situation irritated him. He was a skilled spy, had succeeded in high-risk missions, could outmaneuver any strategy. But in this bar, in her presence, he became a complete rookie again. He became clumsy, senseless, felt like an idiot, but more than anything, he felt strange emotions he couldn't understand. It was new, bizarre, but in a way, he liked feeling this way.
"Another?" Aiden asked, approaching his customer again. "This one's on me."
"In honor of what?" Yves asked, raising an eyebrow.
"In honor of your wounded little heart."
Yves let out a small laugh—not amused at all. He stared at Aiden and then replied:
"It couldn't hurt..."
He handed him his glass.
"You should probably forget about her..." Aiden whispered as he poured him another drink.
Yves didn't answer right away, glaring at him instead.
"I don't know what you're talking about..."
"I know you adore her, and she has lovely eyes," the bartender replied. "But trust me, she's not for you."
Yves furrowed his brows, and Aiden sighed at his reaction.
"She has seven kids, all sons... and almost all of them have different fathers! Linda is a wonderful woman, and a great mother... but there must be a reason why they all left."
The Frenchman didn't respond, but his jaw tensed as he stared down his interlocutor.
"And besides," the bartender added. "Look at you—a true Frenchman in a suit and tie every day... always with your good manners and all that jazz. Linda... She grew up in the streets of Boston, her dresses are hand-me-downs, and her manners... are Boston manners. You see what I mean?"
I'd buy her the finest dresses, the most beautiful jewelry... Yves thought, shaking his head. She would want for nothing.
"No, I don't see what you mean."
"Well... isn't she a little old for you?"
"Shut up," Yves replied coldly.
Aiden shrugged and returned to chatting with Emily and Linda.
***
"So?" Emily asked when Aiden returned to their side of the counter. "Was I right?"
The bartender nodded with a small smirk.
"I think he's completely smitten," he replied.
"Really?"
"Yeah, Linda. He loves you, no doubt about it."
"But I've never even spoken to him..." the woman in blue commented.
"Wrong, you've spoken to him before," Emily interjected.
"When?"
"The time you broke your pearl necklace," her friend reminded her. "One of the pearls rolled toward him, and he picked it up and gave it back to you."
"I simply thanked him, and he told me 'you're welcome,'" Linda added. "That’s not what I’d call a conversation."
"No, but that’s when I started to think he was acting strange."
Aiden chuckled.
"He's French—French are rude. Anyway... What do you think, Linda?"
"I don't know..." she replied, glancing toward the young man.
Yves had put on his coat and gloves, ready to leave.
"He's cute, you have to admit," Emily teased.
Linda nodded softly, watching him head toward the exit.
"He's leaving..." Aiden prodded.
The bar door slammed shut—he was gone. Linda let out a deep sigh.
She stayed by Emily and Aiden’s side for about ten minutes, but her mind was elsewhere. The conversation seemed interesting, yet she couldn’t fully take part in it. As if the evening had lost all meaning.
"I have to go; the boys must be waiting for me..."
"Mhmm... alright," Emily said with a laugh as her friend stood up.
Linda said goodbye to Aiden and Emily before leaving the bar. The night had completely fallen, and the streets of Boston were cold and noisy. Silhouettes moved along the sidewalk at varying paces, but Linda remained still, carefully observing them. None of them were the one she was looking for. Slowly, the Bostonian began walking toward her apartment. It wasn’t very far—located in a rough neighborhood, yes, but it was all she could afford for her children and herself.
At an intersection, she stopped at the edge of a pedestrian crossing, waiting for the light to turn green. She sighed, shaking her head slightly. Why had she gone out? She could have stayed warm, next to Emily, sipping the drinks Aiden poured her.
But would it have had the same flavor without him? Would the evening have been just as enjoyable without his discreet and timid glances? Without him, Linda wouldn’t have been able to pretend she hadn’t noticed, to flash her most charming smiles and laughs, and sometimes secretly mock the clumsiness of that love-struck young man. No, without him, staying in that bar wouldn't have been worth it...
Linda sighed again as the cars in front of her sped by at full throttle. The wait was long, but it gave the Bostonian time to think. Soon, she would return to the warmth of her apartment, to her sons, and forget all about this.
While the light was still red, Linda felt a figure brush against her. When she turned her head, she saw her rushing onto the pedestrian crossing. On the side of the road, the Bostonian felt panic seize her heart violently. The silhouette caught in the headlights froze in the middle of the road. She wore a long trench of a light beige that reflected vividly under the blinding light of the car’s headlights which was hurtling towards him. Linda, without thinking for a second more, violently grabbed him by the arm and pulled him with all her strength towards her before it was too late. The man, unbalanced by the force that was pulling him back, narrowly dodged the car that was honking with fury, and almost collapsed on the sidewalk. Fortunately for him, he regained his balance quite early, helped by the woman who had just saved him.
"Are crazy!" exclaimed Linda while suddenly grabbing the man’s collar to face him.
***
Crazy about you, yes... Yves thought, his eyes locked onto hers.
"Oh, it's you..." Linda murmured.
"I'm sorry... I..."
"Do you often enjoy throwing yourself under moving cars like that?" she asked, releasing her grip on his collar.
Yves straightened up in silence, his gaze never leaving hers.
"Don’t ever do that again!" Linda ordered, using the same tone she used when scolding her sons.
"If it’s you asking, I won’t ever do it again."
Linda couldn't help but let a small smirk form at the corner of her lips.
"I'm serious," she insisted. "You could have died..."
Yves didn’t answer, and in the face of his silence, Linda sighed—annoyed, you don’t play with death. She stopped looking at him and glanced at the pedestrian light, which was now green.
"Goodbye," Linda finally said, stepping onto the crosswalk.
"Non!" Yves exclaimed, an unmistakable concern in his voice.
As if someone had just taken away a treasure.
He followed her across the street this time, safely, and caught up to her.
"I don’t even know your name..."
Still walking, Linda looked up at him, an expression of disbelief on her face. Yves felt his heart tighten.
"Linda," he finally admitted, his throat tight, with a hint of shame.
His ears turned red. Why couldn’t he lie to her?
"Yves," she replied, secretly amused by his awkwardness.
The Frenchman’s eyes lit up, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise—she knew his name. The simple fact that she spoke it made his heart race and sent a tingling sensation through his stomach. He wanted to move closer to her, but he was afraid of being too clumsy, of acting rudely and startling her.
"It’s a French name," Linda commented.
"Yes," the man confirmed softly.
They walked side by side through the city for a long time without exchanging another word. Yves didn’t dare look at her again, even though he was dying to. This moment was special to him, and he wanted it to last forever.
On her side, Linda was deep in thought, carefully analyzing the young man's movements. His demeanor made her smile—there was something endearing and adorable about him.
I don't think I’ve ever had this kind of effect on a man before, Linda thought with a small smirk.
Suddenly, a memory crashed into her mind.
Her sons’ cries as they were beaten, the fear, the screams, the pain of the blows... No, that monster had gotten what he deserved. Now, he was nothing more than a harmless bad memory.
As Yves kept pace with her, Linda gradually slowed down until she stopped. Yves also came to a halt, a mild surprise visible on his face. Linda looked him straight in the eye and took a step forward, positioning herself directly in front of him.
"Listen to me," she said, pressing her index finger against the fabric of his coat, right where his heart was.
That single touch, even through his clothing, sent a warm surge straight to the center of his chest. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers.
"I am a woman! I like my men, mysterious, dangerous... You want to be my lover? Then earn it! Seduce me!"
Yves parted his lips slightly, caught off guard—he didn’t know what to say. His eyes scanned her face, then dropped to her chest, but before going any further, he quickly lifted them back to her enchanting gaze.
"Are you free tomorrow?"
"Possibly," Linda answered, a hint of mischief in her tone.
"How about dinner? At a restaurant. Seven o’clock?"
Yves, barely breathing, stared at the woman he adored, hoping with all his heart that she would say yes. Linda squinted slightly before a small smirk curled at the corner of her lips.
"Classic..." she murmured.
Yves felt a dagger pierce his chest.
"I accept," Linda finally answered.
The Frenchman let out a small sigh of relief and smiled. Nothing was certain yet, but this was already a small victory. A small victory that sent waves of happiness through his heart, visible in every feature of his face.
"See you tomorrow," Linda said with a small laugh and a wave.
Yves didn’t answer, too mesmerized. He watched her walk toward the rundown apartment building beside them. She entered the bleak hallway and shut the door.
"See you tomorrow," Yves murmured, placing a hand over his heart.
Right where she had touched him.