Louis finally looked up and back at Ashleigh as her conversation came to an end. His fingers slowly found their way out of his hair, which was now a bit rumpled looking and pushed back, as he listened.
"Finally," he echoed, his voice breathy with disbelief and absolute shock. His eyes stayed fixed on her even as she stepped closer and almost came in for a...
His face flushed as hers did, but he didn't look away even as she did. Louis gave a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck gently as the color rose to his cheeks. "No, no, it is...okay," he assured her, smiling back reassuringly. And it was, he knew, because for a just a moment there, he too had felt the urge to take her in his arms. His hesitation had only stemmed from his surprise at how willing he was, in the heat of the moment, to kiss this woman he hardly knew. A woman he could hardly speak to. He couldn't admit it now, though, and so he didn't.
Instead, Louis simply nodded in agreement as he hailed them a cab. He watched her get in and then followed close behind, realizing he had no idea where they were going only once they had begun to drive away. They drove in silence, Louis tapping his feet lightly against the floor of the taxi. When they finally arrived, he was quick to get out and escape the awkward atmosphere they had created. Louis stopped short, however, as his eyes locked on the "Le Marc's" sign.
It didn't take someone with connections to know that Le Marc's was a bit hoity-toity and extremely difficult to get into. Louis looked down at his outfit, realizing he was still dressed in flannel and jeans -- certainly not the proper dress code for somewhere the Cooking Channel had done a segment on. He ran a hand through his hair quickly, attempting to fix what he had rumpled earlier.
He walked in slightly behind Ashleigh, looking downward slightly as they moved through the rooms towards her friend. He couldn't decide if being let in in their street clothes was better or worse than simply being denied. It felt somewhere along the lines of showing up to a funeral in sweatpants, but of course, he was merely exaggerating in the moment. Regardless, he certainly felt out of place when they approached the woman waving frantically at their table.
Louis could recognized her face in almost an instant, knowing he had seen it on various magazines in the kiosks that littered New York's streets. He failed to place a name to her face despite how hard he thought about it. He let the two friends have their moment as he continued to rack his brains, stopping suddenly when the woman turned to address him. He met her gaze and smiled slightly, attempting to match the look she gave him as well as he could.
"We have not," he affirmed, stepping forward slightly. Louis played up his accent slightly, hoping it would give him an edge that would counter his inappropriate attire. He was most certainly aware of America's fascination with anything foreign, and he would most certainly be lying if he said he hadn't used it to his advantage before. "Je m'appelle Jean-Louis. Call me Louis though." He paused to quirk his smile slightly so that the right side turned upward a bit more. "And you are...?"