By Kelly Gombert
Kelly is a local author from Sagamore Hills.
This is her first chapter of a recurring story.
This is her second recurring story with us.
This story was set in Paris, before the Notre Dame cathedral burnt down and I.M. Pei was still alive.
Chapter One
“I’m so sorry, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” said Jess. She moved the pot to another burner and dived for the nearby cleaning supplies. The spaghetti had boiled over covering the stove and countertop in the communal kitchen of the youth hostel with a starchy mess. Ian’s small open notebook caught the brunt of the water, soaking his hand-drawn artist’s renderings. Jess was a flurry of paper towels trying to dry everything in sight.
Ian said, “Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. It’s just scribblings.” Jess had picked up the book and was wiping down the front cover frantically.
“It is a big deal. Art is important. Look, I’m really sorry.” He rescued his notebook from her and flipped through the pages.
“See? Not too much damage. Just the first few pages. It will dry. Chill.”
Jess had just arrived in Paris riding the train from London that morning and landing in the Gare du Nord. Her backpack was needlessly overfilled but she shouldered her burden as she made her way to this establishment for lodgings, the cheapest on her list of possibilities. Her luck held out as she was early enough to grab one of the few remaining berths and would be able to camp out for the night. Not having eaten since dawn, she snatched her meager cooking stash and headed to the kitchen immediately after having dropped her gear on her bunk.
“Look, I’m really sorry. Let me make it up to you. Are you interested in having some spaghetti? There’s enough for two. I made extra. I’m so hungry and my eyes tend to be larger than my stomach when I’m hungry. I said that already. I’m talking too much. I’m really sorry!” She was already dishing out a couple of plates before she took a breath. “I’ve got pesto and parmesan cheese. Not the most French of meals but it should do in a pinch. I’m really glad this kitchen has pots and dishes. The one I stayed at in Dublin didn’t and I ended up heating up my green beans in the can they came in on a hot plate.”
Ian just sat back and watched the spectacle before him. Hiking boots, blue jeans, a plaid flannel shirt tied around her waist, a union jack tank top and a chunky men’s wrist watch told the story of a young woman used to travelling. But it was her eyes that stopped him from just washing the dirt off his hands and heading out to meet his mates. Something about them. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
She’d set down the two plates on the table and finally stopped moving. “I’m sorry. Damn, I’ve got to quit apologizing for everything.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t get an answer if you even wanted to eat. I just,” she sighed, “made an assumption. I’m sure you are on your way someplace. Let me start over. Hi. I’m Jess. I just arrived in Paris.” She held out her hand and plastered a smile on her face.
“Ian,” he answered as he held her hand in his a moment longer than may have been necessary.
“You’re not obligated to join me. It’s not a ploy to make you stay,” she waved her hand. “I’m just really sorry about your notebook. I know how important my journal is to me. Please accept my sincere apology.”
“Like I said, no big deal. This was a new notebook and I don’t have much in it yet. And, yes, I do have plans this evening. It does look inviting but I’ve got to go. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Thanks. Enjoy your evening.” She watched him disappear and sank down into the folding chair that was an inch too short for the table. She moved the 2nd plate of food closer to her, picked up her fork and set it back down. Yet again, she’d made a fool of herself; one more item in her long list of faults to haunt her dreams. She shook herself. The one thing she was not going to do, was wallow in self-pity. She was in Paris! She might have to budget carefully but she was going to enjoy as much of this city as her bank account would allow. She was not going to waste time thinking about what could have been even if he was cute. She picked up her fork and dug in.
Ian headed out of the hostel and checked his phone.
“Running an hour late. Start without me,” Raj wrote.
“I’m bringing Cara with me. I know this was supposed to be guys only but ….” Dan contributed. “Ici.” This from Etienne. Ian smiled. He could count on Etienne. The four of them had met the first day of the architecture course taught at the sister institution to Kent State University. This had been his final semester. He opted out of the graduation ceremony to spend an extra week in Paris but since the school kicked him out of his dorm, he was staying at the hostel until his flight home. Ian hung a right and headed down the metro station stairs, two at a time. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a union jack tank top but with a 2nd look, realized it was just the corner of a poster advertising trips to London via the Chunnel. He crammed into the overstuffed metro car and leaned back against the door once it had closed.
His phone vibrated again.
Look for the next chapter of this story coming soon
