The young guy with the La Closerie des Lilas apron steps out into the courtyard, beret not cast rakishly to the side. Give him time, I think, he’ll learn. His gaze scrapes across the crowd, seeking a target. He carries a beautifully-crafted cheese board.
“Megan?” he calls. A Spring bird on his way back north.
He steps forward, looking here and here.
Raises his voice over the guitarist playing ‘Round Midnight.
After yet still no response – and I wait for it – I raise my hand, “Here.”
His look tells me in advance I’m going to win this round.
“You’re Megan?” He is beautiful in his confusion.
I eye the tray and smile, “Absolutely! Set it here.” I’m a big guy; a bit intimidating.
For a cheese tray like this I will gladly be Megan.
“Um, anything else?”
“Why yes. I believe we ordered two glasses of your fine Pinot Noir.”
As he heads back toward the door, I hold up half of a strawberry in salute to our valiant server.