Page 60 of The Butcher

“Assume I’m always hungry until told otherwise.”

He smirked, the morning light making his blue eyes shine. “I want to show you my favorite spot.”

“I find it hard to believe there are better pancakes out there.”

“You’ll have to be the judge of that.”

I got dressed and did what I could with my hair. My makeup had turned into a mess, so I washed it off and chose to have a clean face instead. I wondered if I should pack a bag whenever I came over here, but that felt too serious when I’d just told him I only wanted casual. Dressed in the clothes I wore yesterday, his driver took us to the restaurant in the 10th arrondissement and pulled up to the curb.

I read the sign out front. “Holybelly. I think I’ve heard of this place.”

“It’s an American breakfast joint.” He got out first and held the door open for me. “The French do everything better—eat, drink, fuck—except breakfast. The Americans take the gold for that.”He led the way, entered the restaurant first, and grabbed us a booth.

The place was packed with people. Not a single table was empty. I sat across from him, a bit self-conscious that I didn’t have any makeup on. It was different when it was just the two of us in bed or at his dining table. But in public, I felt like a slob. At least I’d brushed my teeth with his toothbrush. When he saw me do it, he just smirked and continued whatever he was doing.

He seemed to notice my mood because he asked, “Something wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” I grabbed the menu and looked at the options. They had a sweet stack, pancakes topped with fruit and their homemade whipped cream, and they had a savory stack, pancakes topped with fried eggs and bacon. Everything looked good.

“Sweetheart.” He didn’t raise his voice, just changed his tone.

My eyes flicked up to his, seeing his hard stare. “I feel a little weird without makeup on…” I always wore makeup when I left the house unless I was depressed. When Adrien and I first separated, I didn’t have the drive to put any effort into my appearance.

“Why?” He cocked his head slightly.

“I just…look better when it’s on.”

“I’d fuck you either way.” He sat forward, his elbows on the table as if he didn’t need to look at the menu. He gave me that same intense stare that he did from the other side of the bar, eye-fucking me right on the spot.

The waiter came over and took our drink order. I got a coffee and Bastien did too.

We were left alone again, the tension still there even though the conversation had died away.

“Is this where you usually bring your girls?”

“My girls?” he asked.

“You know, the girls who stay until the next morning.”

He smirked like I’d told a joke rather than asked a serious question. “No. I come here with the boys.”

“You come to brunch…with a bunch of guys.”

“Why is that hard to believe?”

“Brunch is a girl thing, isn’t it?”

“Good food is good food. We usually meet up once a week, on Sundays. Talk shop.”

“That’s pretty cute.”

“Cute?” he asked.

“A bunch of guys meeting up on Sundays for pancakes. Pretty cute.”

He smirked again, his stare lingering on my face. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“What kind of ideas could I get?”

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