Page 31 of I Love You in French

This is what I’m thinking of as I hover over an application to submit my bakery to be featured in The Seacoast Gazette magazine. They often feature bakeries, and I’ve been waiting, sitting on applying or getting the word out about my store because I don’t know what would happen if a piece of my life made it into a world bigger than my own. Rafe makes me want to believe the wait is over.

Something about him as he works on his song makes me reflect on my passions—what I dream about. And it’s always the same: to keep my parents’ legacy alive while I can, when I can. I think I’ve done a fair job of it so far with the store, but what if their story could be told to even more people?

The bell jingles, and I look up to see Rafe walking toward me with a hesitant smile. He walks up to the counter, and I push myself to my full height. We don’t say anything, simply staring at each other, the sounds of a French café playlist swirling around us. I notice his forest-green eyes are a little darker today, something that shouldn’t cause my stomach to clench, but it does. He raises an eyebrow, the one with the scar, and I want to trace it and ask him how he got it.

A throat clearing makes me jump a bit. Gladys is in the corner of the café, her eyebrow raised. Rafe turns slowly toward her, which I’m certain he regrets when she signals for him to get on with whatever he’s here to do. I bite my lip and notice his eyes catch on it before moving up to my own.

“I heard there’s a pumpkin patch thing happening?” he says in a question. He’s fidgeting, his hair bouncing with every move. If I didn’t know better, I would say he’s nervous.

“Yes, there’s a pumpkin patch, over at Wicked Good Farms.”

“Huh,” he says, a grin starting to play near one side of his mouth. He puts a hand on the back of his neck and rubs it slowly, shifting the top of the light-grey hoodie he’s wearing. It’s unfair how good he looks right now. “And there are pumpkins ...at this patch?”

I try to hold back a laugh at how certain I am this is the first time he’s ever said that word in his life. I nod instead. “Did you want a coffee?” I ask him, and he shakes his head, convincing me immediately that something is up. “A pastry?” Again, his head shakes.

He shifts from side to side, his hands now doing a tapping thing on the front of the counter.

“Ask her out already!” Gladys yells from the corner. Clearly, she’s had enough. “This isn’t Dunkin’. You don’t just order a regular coffee with cream and sugar and call it a day.”

I sink a little. “Rafe, are you asking me out?” I ask breathlessly. It seems odd he would be nervous to ask me something I would clearly say yes to, especially because we are supposed to be fake dating.

He clears his throat. “I, uh . . . Well, I was going to see . . . if you wanted to—you know, go because we’re dating. We can go after the Maple Fest. Maybe there will be pumpkins.” He winces at the last bit. He’s usually the sort that is so composed, so easygoing. But I like this side of him a little too much.

“Yes, I’d love to go.”

He lets himself smile in a way that warms me up from within. I move to the pastry case and pull out a maple croissant with a piece of brown bakery tissue, hovering it between us. He takes it, the edges of his fingers meeting the edges of mine, and I hope he doesn’t notice the little shiver that hits me when we touch.

“Thanks, Sugar,” he says so softly, as if we’re sharing a secret. And I suppose we are. “I’ll meet you after I sing.”

∞∞∞

It’s officially Maple Fest, and my heart is so full. This is one of my favorite days of our entire year here in our small town, and it’s one where everyone (and I do mean everyone) celebrates the start of fall. Maple is our mascot. Even people from the surrounding cities and areas drive to experience what it’s like to be in our town and celebrate the scenery and festivities along our river.

There’s a park adjacent to one side of the river—the stiller segment. It looks like a giant lake there, but you can hear the rush of the river on the other side of the shops where it’s rocky and not as smooth. People even paddle board into our town via the river. They’ll get some lunch and then paddle back to wherever they started from.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day, and I’m wearing a long sweater dress and boots to kick off the celebration. With the addition of my trench coat, it’s clear I put in a little extra effort in my appearance today. I’m going to say it was to represent the bakery well for a special day, not to impress anyone in particular. We have a booth in the long lineup, and I’m hoping I’ve baked enough croissants and chouquettes to make all the families happy with a little piece of French-baked goodness.

“Hmm. Someone’s looking foxy for a certain musician.”

I whip around to find Lily walking up to the booth with a satisfied smile on her face. She’s wearing all black, and her hair is in a haphazard bun.

“Lily, please. It’s really not like that.” A few people overhear and turn toward us, but thankfully, they’re tourists and no one I know, so we’re safe.

She puts on her apron, which somehow already has chocolate on it even though I know it’s just been washed, and gives me a knowing grin. “Where is your main man, anyway?” she mutters, looking around.

“I haven’t seen Jacques,” I reply politely. My whole body cringes because we both know that’s not who she was referring to, and it’s certainly not who came to my mind when she mentioned “my man.” She rolls her eyes, and we start to set out our signs and pastries. I found several adorable sparrow statues at a consignment shop recently, and Lily somehow found tiny berets to put on them. I think she made them herself, but she’ll never admit it. She does seem to have a look of pride when she looks at them, though, so I’m pretty sure my theory is correct.

It’s only when she elbows me that I look up and follow her gaze to see Rafe walking through the building crowd with his guitar case and a smoldering smile. His focus is on me. I start to stand a bit taller when we’re both derailed by Alfred Hughes, one of the board members of our Music and Arts Committee, intercepting Rafe. He talks hurriedly to Rafe, who nods politely, and they start to move toward the bandstand on the other end of the park. I grin at him, and he shrugs like he’s truly sorry. I laugh a little when he makes an absurd face with his eyes crossed over his shoulder, setting down his guitar case. He points to himself and mimics strumming a guitar, points at me, then to the bandstand, and then holds his hands as if in prayer. He’s asking me to visit him while he’s singing.

I tap my mouth with my finger and look up like I’m thinking about it. Lily interrupts our adorable and silent communication when she hits me with a bag of marshmallows and yells, “She’ll be there!”

Rafe laughs and picks up his guitar case, looking at me over his shoulder with a heartbreakingly beautiful smile.

I smile back at him and then look down, trying to remember what I was doing before that moment. Lily is helping a customer with an order of macarons while I’m trying to will the blush out of my face and out of my heart.

Hours later, we’re nearly out of pastries, and we have a dozen new pickup orders for the next few weeks. We’ve even received an order to supply maple croissants for a new inn opening in Portsmouth. The event was a huge success, and more than once, I was asked about plans to expand and my thoughts on people being able to have our products shipped to them. Even though I’m now exhausted, the day has given me a lot to think about when it comes to the next steps for my bakery.

I roll my neck around to try to get some of the tension out. Lily and I have started to pack up, and I’m just pulling down an edge of the back banner when she stops me.

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