Page 2 of Pampered in Paris

I had to leave immediately before I made even more of an embarrassment of myself. I grit my teeth as I shake my head. I didn’t even get her full name. I only have her first name: Anne. She’s the chestnut-haired goddess wrapped in a sunflower dress.

I bumped into her when I was trying to read the different names of shops on my hunt to find the place my friend sent me to grab him something for the restaurant. She looked adorablyParisiennewith her tote bag full of flowers and an espresso in one hand. I wanted to kiss her cheeks and greet her properly, but when I spoke to her in French, her eyes widened, and I knew she wasn’t following. I wanted to linger, to chat with her, but I’m on a time constraint. Thus, I cut things short after she agreed to come to the restaurant.

I need to meet François at the restaurant soon. I finally find the shop he sent me to, purchase the tiny fish he needs, and head back. I accidentally get off at the wrong metro stop. My head is full of thoughts of Anne.

Why is she in Paris?

How long will she be here?

Will I get to kiss her strawberry red lips?

Too many racing thoughts and not enough clarity right now. I walk into the restaurant and let the sounds of clanking silverware, servers chatting, and other cooks yelling in the background envelop me. This is my happy place.

François comes out from the back, letting the swinging door to the kitchen muffle the noise.

“You’re finally back!” he shouts as he takes the wrapped fish out of my hands and claps my shoulder. Since I turned 34 in February, I’ve now known him for ten years. Unbelievable.

“My apologies. I ran into someone on the way to the shop.” I start to head to the back. I grab my chef’s coat off the hook, put it on, and start to button it up.

“Was it another cook? Or perhaps one of your ex-lovers? A new tourist babe to woo?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me as I roll my eyes. François is happily married to the love of his life. Nonetheless, he relishes in poking fun at my dating life, or lack thereof.

“No.” I let the single syllable drawl out. “It’s no one you know.” I find my set of knives and make my way to one of the prep stations. I want to clear my head.

François starts to ask questions but gets pulled back to the front of house by one of the hosts. I release a long sigh and let my shoulders slump. I’m not in the mood to deal with François and his many questions, prodding into my love life.

I glance at the clock. Anne will be here in a few hours. I start to cut and dice up some onions for tonight’s main dish. I want to make sure she leaves satisfied and, ideally, in the mood for an actual date.

Now to try to avoid nosey François for a bit.

Chapter 2

Alexandre

One of myfavorite things about working in the Latin Quarter is the variety of customers we get at the restaurant. While we get a handful of tourists, we’re off the main path enough that a majority of our patrons are locals looking for a good meal they don’t have to cook. We have a few regulars that come in weekly for our different special dishes. François sets the menu depending on his mood. Sometimes he’ll miss his childhood in Spain and decide to cook something from his hometown. Other times, he just wants us to try new dishes or new ingredients he found at the market. Being the owner, and my closest friend, I go along with his whims.

Along with avoiding him asking me questions about Anne, I’m also avoiding him poking me for more insight on his decision to start a new restaurant in Spain. He wants me to be partner and relocate, but it hasn’t felt right. I don’t want to move to a different country on an impulse.

Although nothing is really holding me in Paris.

While avoiding François, I spend my time trying to figure out the pros and cons to moving. Hours have passed, and while I normally take short breaks here and there when I can, I’veskipped them today. I don’t want to take a break and risk missing Anne walk in.

François comes into my view and points to the front entrance. There’s Anne, still in her cheerful sundress, but this time with an emerald sweater over it. I nod eagerly at François so he can grab her and seat her at a table close to the kitchen. I can’t take the night off, but I can take some long breaks in between her courses.

As Anne gets seated, I quickly tidy my station, check in with my sous chef, and wash my hands. I make sure everyone knows I’m about to take a break and double check that my jacket isn’t completely covered in stains. Then I grab a basket of fresh bread and head out to the dining area.

“Bonsoir mon chérie.” I set the bread down on the table as Anne welcomes me with a wide grin. She unfolds her napkin as I sit in the chair next to her. She’s at the special chef’s table near the back. For now, there’s enough room for me to sit next to her, but who knows how busy we’ll be later.

“Bonsoir,Alexandre. The restaurant smells amazing,” she replies. Her pronunciation of French isn’t perfect, but the way she says my name makes my heart flutter. My palms are sweaty, and I feel as if I’m about to be quizzed on a topic that I’ve never studied.

I haven’t been this nervous since cooking school.

“I hope you’re ready for quite a treat. We make the bread in house, so it’s always fresh.”

“Well, if the chef is recommending bread, then I can’t refuse.” She winks at me as she takes a small piece from the basket and eats it. She murmurs happy sounds.

I wish I was cooking for her at my home. That would be much more romantic than here, in a busy restaurant full of others. I know that François is hovering nearby, waiting for me to leave so he can hound Anne for details.

“Are you in the mood for anything in particular? I know this probably wasn’t part of your original trip plans.”

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