Page 1 of Pampered in Paris

Chapter 1

Anne

It’sdifficult to believe that I’m in Paris, let alone that I’ve been here for a week, attending a pastry conference with Violet Barlow, the head pastry chef and my boss at Sprinkles Bakery & Café. While I’ve spent this past week with Violet sitting in on demonstrations, visiting different patisseries, and trying one delicious dessert after another, I am finally free and on my own.

I said goodbye to Violet yesterday after the conference. She’s heading back to Kastle Harbor, Maine to run the bakery, and I’m staying here. Today starts my vacation time. I’m in Paris for the next two weeks. I can’t help but feel the smile tug at my cheeks as I think about all of the things I have planned for my solo trip.

First up is a leisurely walk down the world-famousrue ClerMarket Street. Armed with a large tote bag and comfortable sandals, I am ready to shop all morning long. After a quick metro ride, I step off at theÉcole militairestop and look for therue Clerstreet sign. While the sign is small and inconspicuous, it’s obvious I’m in the right place. As expected, the street is bustling on a Saturday morning.

I want to make sure I find a flower shop before it gets too late in the day and the best ones are sold out. The moment I stepped inside of my studio rental, I knew fresh flowers would bring theplace to life. I had opted for a short rental instead of a hotel in hopes that it would make me feel as though I’m a trueParisienneinstead of a tourist. Eventually I’ll find the right florist, but for now I head off in search of delicious goodies to stock my kitchen.

I walk around and browse various shops. I peruse for cheese, chocolates, and some good bread. I made notes of a few places and their specialties, but now that I’m finally here, I want to go with the flow and just experience this day. I breathe in deeply and welcome the sun on my skin. It may not be hot, but the warm weather is perfect for all the cotton summer dresses I packed. I smooth out the hem of my dress, the small sunflower print design perfect for a walk through the market, and set off down the street for more exploring.

My French is rusty but luckily, most of the locals speak a little bit of English. I look for flowers but can’t help but stop at each little place as I hunt for the perfect floral arrangement. AtLes Halles Bosquet,I pick up a small container of strawberries and then almost immediately get sucked intoFrançois Pralus - Maître Chocolatier. They have these cute little chocolates shaped like fish in the window. I get three boxes. I can’t help myself. I can feel the grin on my face as I load up my tote bag with fresh goodies. I know I’m going to gain at least ten pounds during the vacation, on top of the few I’ve already gained between the stressful divorce and my decision to go into pastry making as a new career. I’m still getting used to my new, softer set of curves compared to the old runner’s physique I used to have.

I bite into one of the chocolates. It’s just as delicious as I expected.

Any pound I gain is worth it.

I smile as I continue to weave my way in and out of the various shops. Finally, I spotLes Floralies, the floral shop I wrote down before coming here. It’s as colorful as the photos.There are a variety of flowers in buckets that seem to have spilled out of the shop, like someone tilting their painting palette and letting the colors spill and blend together. I can’t help but smell all the different ones. I use a mix of French and English to gather some different flowers in a small bundle. Once I have an assorted bouquet of peonies, lupines, and delphiniums wrapped up, I tuck them in my tote bag and hope they’ll survive my shopping trip.

After I pay, I decide to stop into a café to grab an espresso and sweet treat. I just spent days making and eating pastries, but I still can’t enough of these French baked goods. Armed with caffeine and an almond croissant, I search for an empty table. The sun is bright, and I instantly wish I had a free hand to grab my sunglasses out of my bag. I squint as I look around. Right as I turn, someone bumps into me.

I start to tumble forward, the weight of my tote bag pulling me down, as I feel warm hands wrap around my waist and gently pull me backwards. I drop my pastry but I’m able to maintain my grip on my espresso.

“Ah zut! Je suis désolé madame,” the stranger spurts before letting me go. I stare into his dark blue eyes and all I can think about is how captivating his gaze is as his eyes look me up and down. His face looks like something an artist would want to paint. He has tanned skin, a strong jawline with stubble, and brunette hair that reminds me of dark chocolate. It looks soft, and I feel myself instinctively starting to reach out to touch it before snapping back to the present.

I feel my cheeks redden, and it’s not just the sun on my skin this time but a blush forming. I fumble for words as he picks up my pastry off the ground. I have yet to reply, mesmerized by this stranger’s model-like appearance. My mouth is dry; I feel tongue-tied.

“Tu veux que je t'achète une nouvelle pâtisserie?”His deep voice rolls over me and makes me feel like a teenager with a crush. I can’t think of a reply.

“I’m sorry, do you speak English by chance?” I finally say as I take the pastry from his hands. I’ll throw it away nearby. He smiles at me and his eyes seem to sparkle.

“Yes, I speak English. I’ll start over.” He reaches his hand out, and I shake it. “My name is Alexandre, and I’m sincerely sorry for bumping into you. I wasn’t paying attention. I’d like to buy you a new pastry to apologize.” His accent makes his w’s sound breathy and his r’s throatier.

“I’m Anne, and that’s okay. You don’t have to do that. It was an accident.”

His eyes remind me of Vincent van Gogh artwork. They’re a dark blue, with almost a dash of purple, like the irises van Gogh painted. “How about lunch then?”

“I actually have a tour scheduled in a bit.” I bite my bottom lip out of habit. I know I shouldn’t go out with a guy I’ve just met, but at the same time this trip is all about new experiences.

And what’s a better Parisian experience than a date with a cute French guy?

“How about dinner then? I won’t take no for an answer. I’m the head chef at a place over in the Latin Quarter. My restaurant is calledLe Petit Poisson. I’ll give you a meal on the house.” He pulls out his phone and pulls up the address to show me.

I feel as though I’m being pulled in different directions, but I decide to take the leap. Besides, it’s only dinner. It’s a public spot with no attachments afterwards.

“I suppose I need to eat dinner at some point.” I take my phone out and copy the address into my notes app. “I can be there at seven tonight.”

“Parfait!” he exclaims as he takes one of my hands in his and gently kisses it. “Until tonight then,mon chérie.” And then he leaves.

If I wasn’t blushing before, I certainly am now. The heat from my cheeks travels south as I watch him stroll away. If I thought his face was attractive, watching him leave is even better. All I’ll be able to think about today is his ass in those jeans.

There is no way I’ll be able to focus during my tour of theMusée d’Orsaylater.

French is truly the language of lovers.

Alexandre

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