Chapter 158: [158] "Entertained smile"
"Focused," Bachra wheezed, finally swallowing the bread. He slumped, pointing a trembling finger at Hugo. "You told her you were focused. Bro, what does that even mean?"
"Leave him alone, Bachra," Zara scolded, though she was smiling too, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She picked up her fork, twirling her pasta.
Hugo picked up his spoon. He stared at the bubbling cassoulet as if it had insulted him. He refused to look at Luc, Bachra, or Rose. He began eating, chewing wit deliberate precision.
Luc chuckled quietly, breaking off a piece of the crusty baguette. He dipped it into the rich, savory broth of his own bowl. The flavor was incredible. It was heavy and tasted of comfort. It was the exact opposite of the measured meals the club nutritionists forced down their throats at the complex... exactly what Hugo had talked about.
"He really is in love," Rose observed softly, leaning closer to Luc. She kept her voice low enough that Bachra wouldn’t hear over his own snickering. "The kid has the spatial awareness of a veteran midfielder. But a girl in a band t-shirt talks to him, and he completely shuts down."
"He’s never had to process these kinds of things outside of a football pitch," Luc explained, taking a bite or sip of the stew. "Since he was brought into the youth academy, everything has been tactical. Formations, pressing, defensive lines. He understands logic. He doesn’t understand whatever that was."
Rose took a sip of her water. "It’s good for him. He needs to realize there’s a world outside the white lines. If he doesn’t, the pressure will crush him before he turns twenty."
Luc nodded in agreement. It was the exact same lesson he had to learn the hard way.
The wager with Fontaine, the obsessive checking of the Golden Boot standings, his relationships with Juliette...and a few other women, his relationships with his teammates...it had nearly driven him to a breaking point before Juliette had forcibly anchored him back to reality on his birthday.
He looked down at his phone, resting face-down next to his coffee mug. He hadn’t touched it a whole lot since they arrived. He didn’t want to see any notifications from Valérie or Henri. He just wanted to eat his meal.
---
For the next twenty minutes, a comfortable silence settled over their corner. The only sounds were the clinking of silverware and the steady murmur of Zara and Bachra discussing what sounded like a family trip that occured a while ago.
Marcel eventually brought Rose her wine and her food, setting it down with a friendly nod. She thanked him, digging into the heavy meal with the same aggressive appetite as the men.
Professional athletes burned thousands of calories a day, there was no room for delicate eating habits when the body demanded fuel for muscle repair.
Luc finished his bowl, wiping the last remnants of the savory sauce with a piece of bread. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the satisfying lethargy of a heavy meal settle into his bones. The tension of the recent matches was officially purged from his system.
He watched Hugo across the aisle. The teenager had finished his food as well, but his posture remained rigid. His eyes kept darting toward the swinging kitchen doors, tracking every movement in the restaurant.
The dinner rush at Le Petit Chêne was beginning to thin out. The older couples who had occupied the front tables near the windows were paying their tabs and wrapping thick scarves around their necks, about to step out into the night.
The chaotic clatter from the kitchen slowed to a manageable tempo. The shouts of the chefs died down, replaced by the sound of running water and the scraping of metal pans being scrubbed clean.
Talia pushed through the swinging doors one more time. She held a damp white rag in her hand instead of a tray this time, wiping down the empty tables near the center of the room. She moved with a slower, more exhausted grace, the adrenaline of the dinner service clearly wearing off.
She tossed the rag over her shoulder, letting out a long, heavy sigh. She surveyed the dining room, her eyes sweeping over the remaining patrons.
Her gaze landed on Zara and Bachra engaged in a heated debate over whether a specific designer watch was actually worth the price. She saw Luc and Rose conversing quietly at their table.
And she saw Hugo, sitting at the two-seater table, staring intently at the salt shaker again.
Luc watched Talia from the corner of his eye. He saw the exact moment she made a decision. She didn’t walk back toward the bar or return to the kitchen.
She walked straight down the narrow aisle.
Hugo didn’t notice her approach until she was standing next to his table. The teenager’s head snapped up, his eyes widening marginally as he registered her presence.
Without a single word of warning, she pulled out the empty wooden chair opposite Hugo, the exact seat Luc had vacated earlier, and collapsed into it with a dramatic groan.
Hugo froze. If he had possessed a heartbeat monitor, the machine would have flatlined instantly.
Talia propped her elbows on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, resting her chin in her hands. She blew the rogue dark curl of her hair out of her eyes, looking across the small table at her seventeen-year-old counterpart.
"My feet are killing me," Talia announced, her tone casual, as if she had known him for years instead of mere hours. "I swear, Marcel buys the cheapest floor mats in Paris. It’s like walking on concrete for six hours straight."
Hugo stared at her. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. The proximity was destroying his processing speed. She was sitting barely two feet away from him.
Luc paused his conversation with Rose. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, watching the interaction unfold with intense, but silent amusement. Rose noticed his silence, turning her head to follow his line of sight. A highly entertained smile spread across her face.