Page 72 of I Love You in French

We turn away from them and have only walked a few steps when I hear my dad’s voice pierce through the chilly air. “Do you know what you’ve lost?”

Without looking back, I project my voice to be loud enough for them to hear even though I’m facing the other way.

“No.” I shake my head, looking into Sparrow’s eyes. “I know what I’ve found.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sparrow

It’s early morning on a day that will forever be known to me from here on out as Celebrate Rafe Day. It’s his birthday. And since we’ll be celebrating tonight, I had to get some more work in to keep up with orders, so I’m doubling what we normally would create.

“Ah!” I yell as something furry lands on the counter next to me. It’s Philippe, the raccoon. I turn around, and there’s Rafe, wearing a light-blue sweatshirt that reads Charmant Français or “French Charming.” Boy, is he ever. “You scared me!”

“I’ve already had two Americanos and a maple croissant.” He grins, the guitar pick that used to be in Philippe’s grubby hands on display. “I got it back. And I still don’t think it’s sanitary.”

I shake my head and try to hide my smile, the batter in front of me unaffected by the intrusion.

His arms wrap around my waist, and I feel his mind working. “Wait. What are you making? I haven’t seen you make this before.”

Drat. I wince slightly.

“Sparrow,” he says in a low register that causes my heart to pick up speed.

“It’s nothing.” I shrug. He moves around me so that his back is against the counter, and he can get a good look at my face.

“Why won’t you tell me?” His dimple is on display, and my willpower is crumbling.

“Don’t you cave back there!” Lily yells through the swinging door.

Rafe’s eyes narrow as I see him calculating how willing I am to play (I’m willing). He leans closer and starts to lightly rub his hand up and down my back. Okay, so he’s in for a slow melt. And I’m here for it. Moving around to my back, his steady arms wrap around my waist once again.

“It’s just ...I ...” I whisper, losing my train of thought when I feel his stubble start to scratch the edge of my cheek and feel his breath brush the side of my neck. “It’s your birthday cake!” I yell.

Lily groans in frustration from the front of the café, and I turn around in his arms to let out a laugh before it dies when I see Rafe’s face. He’s staring at me as if he can’t believe what I just said.

“You ...you’re making me ...” He trails off, taking in the ingredients all around us.

I nod and give a small smile. “I mean, it is tomorrow, isn’t it?” He nods his head, and I watch as his forest eyes start to swim with unshed tears. He clears his throat, and I move to hug him, forgetting that my hand is covered in flour. And now flour is all over his sweatshirt. His mouth hangs open, and I stifle a laugh.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—” I’m stopped in my tracks when he places his calloused hand in a nearby container of flour and holds it up between us.

“You wouldn’t,” I dare. He would. His hand cups my jaw and slowly trails down my neck and shoulder to my waist. I’m covered. It’s my turn to give him an I-dare-you look, and I swear, even covered in flour, he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. Like: Here are all your dreams in one moment ...try to stay conscious.

Determined not to let him win this round, I bring my other hand around and cup both hands around his jaw, smirking as I see the flour getting stuck in his stubble in the most satisfying way. He raises his scarred eyebrow. Happy?

I nod, but just to prove me wrong, he lifts me up and onto the counter. My pants are now covered in flour as he keeps grabbing little piles and tossing them my way. I’m laughing uncontrollably, tears running down my face, before he gently touches the edge of my jaw. I’m instantly quieted, my eyes taking in the flour hovering in his long lashes, the dusting on his nose with the tiny beauty mark on one side, and the eyebrow with the scar from his childhood. I use my fingers to lightly brush the flour away from his full mouth, his bottom lip pliable beneath my thumb.

He studies my face before leaning in, the warmth of his kiss and the taste of maple, coffee, and a hint of flour filling my senses.

∞∞∞

We’re standing in front of the farm at Wicked Good Orchards, Rafe’s hand in mine. I convinced him we’d finally get to go on a hayride and see a pumpkin patch before Thanksgiving. Little does he know I’ve invited (and recruited) the entire town.

“Close your eyes,” I whisper, hugging him from behind and reaching up to cover his eyes so he can’t see anything. He stills and reaches up to touch my hands. I expect him to move them away, but his thumb makes small circles before he puts them back down with a smile. This man.

We manage to make it up to the entrance—sometimes tripping, always laughing—when I stop to stand in front of him.

“Rafe, darling,” I whisper, hardly able to contain my excitement. I grab his hand and reach up to kiss his cheek, his hum causing the motion to vibrate through my lips. I take a step back and to the side, never letting go. “Joyeux Anniversaire.” Happy Birthday.

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