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Renoir Dessendre has decided that today, at his son’s Christmas party, is the day he finally asks Alan Durand out on a date.
“He’s a little too young for you,” Aline asks him.
Maybe not.
“I didn’t say that to discourage you,” Aline says.
Renoir sighs and scans the room for something to drink. The side table is neatly arranged with mini quiches, sugar-dusted pastries, and a selection of warm drinks. He spots coffee and hot chocolate. Renoir knows the coffee will be excellent. After all, this Christmas party is in a coffee shop and roastery, famous for its high-quality coffee roast. The very same coffee shop where his son’s boyfriend works.
For the record, he doesn’t say that because Alan is the owner of this coffee shop.
“Renoir…” Aline is using the same tone she used when she scolded Verso for skipping his piano practice.
Renoir turns his attention back to his ex-wife. Age has done nothing to diminish her beauty. She stands tall and proud in her black dress. Truly the very picture of elegance and the face of Parisian high society. It would be foolish not to admire her. Most men would want her attention to linger on them. Renoir is not one of them. He has never been.
“What I want to say is,” Aline continues, “that people might think it’s weird that your boyfriend is the same age as our son’s boyfriend.”
Renoir’s eyes find the hosts of the party. Verso and Gustave are talking to their friends–most of them work in this coffee shop or a regulars like him. Renoir is familiar with Sciel, the barista who usually works on the morning shift. Lune is a post-grad student who usually haunts the corner table near the counter. There’s Gustave, a soft-spoken barista who takes over Lune’s shift after his morning class. Verso’s best friend Monoco, whom he met at a gym and built a strong friendship with, stands beside Verso.
And lastly, there’s Alan in a dark red turtle neck and tight-fitting jeans that accentuate his bottom and make his waist look so–
Alan turns his gaze away from his friends and meets Renoir’s.
Renoir promptly looks away, pretending he didn’t spend a minute or two ogle him. He sincerely wishes Alan had not caught him in such an undignified act.
“They’re so young, aren’t they?” Aline asks.
They’re all in their thirties, except for Verso. Renoir doesn’t know how his twenty-six-year-old son frequently spends his time with them.
Renoir himself is already pushing his sixties.
“I know you like them young–” Aline continues.
Renoir’s eyes narrow into a disapproving glare. “Aline.”
Aline raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me to list all of your lovers to prove to you that I'm right?”
Renoir clenches his jaw and looks away from his ex-wife. His marriage to Aline was nothing more than a farce. A lavender marriage to hide the fact that his true interest in men. The arrangement worked well for Aline as well because the Dessendre family offered the things an aspiring artist sought: money and connection. Fortunately, they were already good friends. So they got married, had three children to fulfil their duties to the Dessendre name. They were supposed to have only two, and Alicia was a happy accident.
Renoir had taken some male lovers during their marriage, and yes, they were all younger than him, so clearly, Aline isn’t wrong.
“You don’t approve?” Renoir asks.
Aline’s gaze shifts to Alan. A faint smile graces her lips. “He’s good-looking.”
Renoir nods his head. Alan is, objectively, a handsome man blessed with a pair of striking blue eyes. He still remembered their first meeting three months ago, roughly two months after he began frequenting this coffee shop as a regular. He had just finished with his art class and was on his way back to his studio. Instead of Gustave, the owner himself greeted him at the counter. Renoir was taken aback by the break of routine and by how handsome that man was. Alan told him that Gustave was sick, so as a good owner, he took over the shift.
Much to his shame, Renoir spent the next three months semi-stalking the coffee shop to find out when Alan would be behind the counter so they could talk.
“I can see that he’s shorter than you,” Aline continues.
Renoir takes a deep sigh. “Aline…”
“And judging from what you have told me about his characters–” Aline ignores Renoir’s exasperated complaint. “He’s fierce and has a dry wit. He can certainly keep you in your place.”
Renoir feels his ears starting to burn from embarrassment.
Aline turns to Renoir with a taunting smirk. “You have a type.”
He wishes the ground would swallow him up right now.
“He sounds like Jérôme but younger,” Aline says. “And a brunette instead of a redhead.”
Renoir sighs again, more out of habit than pain. He met Jérôme Bellgarde ten years ago when there was still more black in his hair and beard. He thought he had successfully charmed the younger man. Jérôme responded positively to his flirting, and he even managed to make the quiet man blush. He was shocked when Jérôme flat out told him no when he asked him out on a date.
Jérôme’s rejection was the catalyst that triggered Renoir’s divorce.
“I heard Jérôme is helping you with your next exhibition,” Renoir says.
“That he does.” Aline chuckles. “Words travel fast, don’t they?”
“The art world is small.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
It took less than 12 hours for Aline’s colleagues in the gallery she worked at to find out about their divorce after it was finalized. The next day, his phone blew up with messages from his fellow artists. Those damned gossip mongers.
“Anyway–” Aline’s eyes scan the room and land on the side table. "We’re borrowing some important Italian artworks from before the Renaissance. Naturally, the Italians insisted on Jérôme for the condition reports. You know him. He’s very meticulous. Besides, he’s already in Italy.”
Jérôme is a well-respected art conservator. His credibility has increased significantly since the last time they saw each other. If he’s not mistaken, it was three years ago before he moved to Italy for his long-term conservation project.
“You’re still in contact with him?” Renoir asks, curious.
“Of course, he’s a delight.” Aline smiles before she turns back to Renoir. “Don’t worry. It’s strictly professional. He has standards.”
Renoir clenches his jaw. He supposes that jab is not undeserving. Jérôme rejected him because he refused to be a secret or a shameful indulgence tucked away behind a marriage. He said it plainly–and perhaps rather cruelly–but he wasn’t wrong. Those words followed Renoir home until he could no longer live in a lie he created with Aline.
“What would he say if he knew you’re preying on someone twenty years younger than you?” Aline wonders out loud.
That man would probably say something sarcastic about checking whether Alan is allowed to drink alcohol or not. “Don’t start, please.”
“I think he would say ‘age is not the problem, your cowardice is’,” Aline continues.
Renoir raises an eyebrow. “You keep contradicting yourself.”
“Well, I’m a complicated woman,” Aline teases him.
Renoir rolls his eyes and fixes his gaze on Verso and his group. Or rather, on Alan. That man is chuckling at something Sciel says to the group. Renoir notices how tight those shoulders look, as if Alan can’t relax completely even in the middle of a party. Poor man.
“What makes you want that man?” Aline asks, her gaze falls on Alan as well.
Renoir takes a deep breath. In truth, he doesn’t know why he’s attracted to Alan. He knows it’s more than his physical appearance, but he’s not sure whether their limited contact over the course of three months can justify his desire to have a relationship with this man. Renoir can’t say he knows Alan that well, but he wants him. He wants to have a genuine connection to Alan.
“He’s an attractive man,” Renoir answers.
“And that’s it?” Aline presses further.
He’s not sure. “Maybe.”
“We’re too old for crushes, don’t you think?”
Lune turns her head towards him, so Renoir quickly averts his gaze. He rolls his eyes when he sees Aline waving her hand at her.
“I have my reservations about the age gap between you two,” Aline finally explains herself. “I know you just want to ask him for a dinner date and see where it goes. But I do know you, Renoir. When you fall for someone, you burn bright. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
They have been each other's rocks since they were young art students. Aline had helped him through heartbreaks, and he was by her side when she built her career as a painter and a well-respected art curator. He understands why she’s worried.
Aline takes his hand and holds them gently. Her gaze is soft when it meets his.
“But above all, I want you to be happy,” she continues.
Renoir smiles when Aline swipes her thumbs over his knuckles.
“And I would like to believe in a Christmas miracle,” Aline says. “So maybe that nice young man will turn out to be exactly what you need.”
His eyes travel to the big Christmas tree at the corner of the coffee shop.
Renoir chuckles. “It’s not Christmas yet.”
“Oh, shut up! Go get your young man!”
Renoir turns his attention to the group and finds Alan is no longer there.
“Oh, it seems you need to find him first,” Aline comments.
Renoir quickly pulls away from Aline’s grasp and approaches the group. They all look confused and surprised, except for Verso who looks so disappointed at his own father.
“Wow, Papa. You couldn’t pick any other time to be affectionate with Maman?” Verso protests. “You ruined our plan.”
“Plan?” Renoir asks. “What plan?”
Verso immediately says, “I specifically rented this coffee shop for our Christmas party so you and Alan can–”
He shuts his mouth when Gustave elbows him.
“He’s in the toilet,” Gustave chimes in. “Alan, I mean. I’m sure you want to talk to him?”
“Better be quick about it, old man,” Sciel says. “He doesn’t look happy.”
Renoir gives a small smile to Gustave. He doesn’t understand what Sciel is trying to imply, but he appreciates her input. “Thank you.”
Renoir knows that the polite thing to do is to wait for Alan until he rejoins the festivity. But he’s afraid he will talk himself out of it. And so he barges into the toilet and hopes he won’t corner Alan when he’s using the urinoir. That would be too awkward.
Thankfully, Alan is in the middle of washing his hands when he arrives.
“Oh, hello Renoir,” Alan says, surprised. He turns off the tap and reaches for a paper towel to dry his hands. “You… uh… Everything alright?”
Renoir hesitates. He doesn’t know what to say. He has rehearsed his words all evening, yet no word comes out of his lips. He’s usually good with words. Maybe it’s because he notices Alan doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Why is he not looking at him?
“Are you alright?” Renoir asks instead.
Alan blinks his eyes. “I… uh…”
Renoir watches in silence as Alan tries to find his words, but also fails to do so.
Suddenly, Alan lets out a short laugh. “It’s nothing.”
It’s definitely not nothing.
“I saw you and Aline,” Alan says. “Congrats?”
Now it’s Renoir’s turn to blink his eyes in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
Alan folds his arms. “Look, I saw what happened. I suppose it makes sense. Christmas has that effect on people.” He shrugs. “I just didn’t expect that it would happen in my coffee shop.”
Renoir’s eyes go wide in panic when he realizes what is transpiring. “Aline and I are not getting back together.”
Alan finally looks at him. “You’re not?”
“No,” Renoir says firmly. “Aline has a boyfriend.”
Alan frowns. “Oh?”
“She brings him to the party.”
Alan nods his head. “Oh.”
“We’re friends. We’re also co-parents. We were just discussing our mutual friend.” Technically not a lie. “That’s all.”
Alan stares at him. “I thought… With the hand holding and all…”
“We’re very good friends,” Renoir says.
Alan stares at him for a long time before he starts to laugh.
“Oh, well,” Alan starts, “this is embarrassing.”
“For whom?” Renoir asks.
“For me,” Alan admits. “I thought Verso invited you and Aline so you two could… I don’t know–” He shrugs once more and chuckles. “Reignite something. It’s Verso and Gustave’s family Christmas party and I’m here because I own the venue and because Gustave is a good friend of mine.”
Renoir chuckles. “It appears we have both been misreading things.”
“I think so too.”
A tense pause follows.
“Do you want to use the toilet?” Alan asks to break the tension.
“No.” Renoir shakes his head. “I came here to ask you something.”
“Oh,” Alan mumbles. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Renoir takes a deep breath and smells soap and citrus. It’s a good smell. Alan clearly takes hygiene very seriously in his coffee shop.
“I would like to take you to dinner,” Renoir says.
Alan stares at him again.
“Or lunch,” Renoir continues. “Not for coffee, though. There’s no better coffee shop than yours in Paris.”
Alan opens his mouth. Then he closes it again. And then opens it again before he closes it again.
“Or do you prefer something else?” Renoir offers. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” Alan asks. “You barged into the toilet to ask me out?”
Renoir feels his cheeks grow warm. “I was afraid you would leave.”
For a long time, Alan just stands there with his mouth agape, staring at him. Then he laughs. It hurts Renoir’s pride a little bit. He’s aware of how pathetic he must be right now, but to be laughed at like this? That’s a bit cruel.
“Your timing is terrible,” Alan tells him.
Renoir clenches his jaw. This is embarrassing. Probably worse than the time when Jérôme rejected him.
“I was about to ask you out as well.”
Renoir’s jaw drops to the floor.
“Sure.” Alan shrugs, but he’s smiling so brightly at him. “Yeah. I would love to go on a date with you.”
“Good.” Renoir smiles as well. “Perhaps this Christmas party was not a complete disaster.”
Alan laughs as they step back into the noise and warmth of the coffee shop. They both notice how Verso and his group are looking at them. Renoir also notices that Aline has reunited with her boyfriend. A man who is a few years younger than her. And he’s a doctor–her doctor to be precise. She waves her hand and gives him a sly smile when she notices he’s walking with Alan.
“Your son is going to make it weird,” Alan mumbles.
Renoir sees Sciel and Monoco laughing at Verso’s gagging sound.
“He already has,” Renoir says with a big grin.