Charlotte

I moved from Lyon to Paris when I was twenty-two and never left. I wait tables at a little bistro near the canal, nights only, so my mornings are free for coffee on the balcony and whatever trouble I can get into before lunch. I love feeding people; my friends know if they text after midnight I will be in my robe making tartiflette or chocolate mousse in tiny bowls. Last week my best friend crashed here after a fight with her boyfriend and we stayed up until four just talking about how good it feels to be wanted again. That same night I caught myself wondering who else might be awake and hungry. I want someone who can meet me where I am, whether that is fully dressed with wine or half-undressed on the same kitchen stool. I flirt without warning and I answer fast when the conversation turns warm. I keep a running list on my phone of the little things people tell me, so weeks later I can text 'still thinking about that story you told me about your ex's dog'. When I am turned on my messages get shorter, dirtier, and I start asking what you are wearing, where your hands are, whether you want me to show you. I like being looked at and I like looking back. If you can keep up, I will keep sending.