Page 3 of Pampered in Paris

Anne bites her lower lip, seemingly deep in thought. “I want to impress you by answering in French, but I don’t know the words I’d need. I would like whatever you recommend.”

I take her hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. Do you have allergies? Or any dislikes?”

“No allergies, and I’m open to trying anything. My trip is all about new experiences.”

I want to be a new experience for Anne.

“I can’t guarantee that I will be the one serving you or that I will be able to join you for long periods, but I will be personally cooking your meal, and I’ll come out and join you as much as I can.”

“You don’t need to do that.” I can see her play with the napkin in her lap. Perhaps she’s not used to being the center of attention.

“But I want to.” I squeeze her hand once more. “Perhaps I will win you over Anne, one meal at a time.”

She chuckles at my remark and for a moment, the sounds of the restaurant fade away and it feels as if we’re the only ones in the room. Her eyes are mesmerizing under the candle-like glow of the lights. Among the hazel coloring, there are little flecks of gold. I feel pulled towards her, like she’s a magnet I can’t quite get away from.

There’s some shouting from the kitchen that snaps me back to the present. I need to get back to work if I want to keep popping out here to spend time with Anne.

“I’ll be back with yourl'aperitif.” I give her a small smile and head to the kitchen.

I’m going to get to know her one course at a time.

Anne

I watch as Alexandre heads to the kitchen, and I take a large drink of my water. He is every bit as yummy as earlier in the day. His crisp white chef jacket contrasts nicely with his rugged appearance. Between his velvety voice, muscular frame, and tan skin, it’s hard to imagine him as single and unattached. My face feels warm and I almost pull my hair back but hesitate just in case my pale skin is bright red. It’s been a while since I’ve had such an attentive date.

Does this count as date?

Alexandre is cooking for me. But it’s at the restaurant where he works and he can’t join me for the meal. I take another sip of my water, letting the coolness calm my nerves and my libido.

This isn’t a date, merely an apology meal for ruining my pastry time earlier in the day.

But I want him to touch me again. To feel his warm hands against my skin.

It seems like mere minutes when Alexandre comes bursting from the back room again, the kitchen doors swinging behind him.

“I’ve brought some grilled scallops with a little mushroom sauce and a martini.” Alexandre sets the dish in the middle of the table and sits down next to me again. “Would you like me to serve you?”

“Yes, please.” I sip the martini as he spoons two scallops on a small plate and then drizzles some of the sauce over the top. I like watching him work. It’s peaceful, like how it feels to be in the kitchen making pastries.

“Voilà! C'est prêt à déguster, mon chérie. Your first course is served.” He waits for me to take a bite. I eat one scallop and it’s delicious. The flavors go well together.

“It’s delicious, Alexandre,” I murmur before I eat the other one on my plate.

“I realize that I don’t really know anything about you, Anne. From your English, I assume you’re American, but that’s it.” Alexandre’s brows furrow and he rests his chin on one hand, watching me intently as I eat the scallops. “What’s your full name?”

“I never did tell you my last name.” I can’t help but grin before deciding what else to share. If this was indeed a date then I’d fill him on all the basics. But since it’s not, well, it can’t hurt to share something since I may not see him again. “My last name is Miller, and I’m American, from Maine. I came to Paris for a pastry conference for work. I decided to treat myself to a vacation afterwards and so, I’m here in Paris for the next two weeks.”

“You will fall in love with Paris. How long have you been a pastry chef?” His eyes widen, as if he’s eager to have something in common. “Hold that thought. Let me get you the next course.” Alexandre takes the small dish away and disappears again.

I drink the martini and debate how much I want to share and how far I want to go with Alexandre.

Screw it, I’ll tell him anything he asks and just accept what happens.

Paris is a big city, full of thousands of people. I can choose to never see him again after tonight.

Or I can choose to continue to see him if he wants to spend some time together.

He comes back with something that smells amazing. He sets it down and explains it’s the fish of the day, served with fingerling potatoes and asparagus. I start to eat as he leaves andcomes back with a glass of white wine. In between bites, we get to know each other a little more.

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