Page 114 of Relationship Goals

It tastes like a lie.

My fingers go to the collar of the sport coat, and I grunt in annoyance at it before shedding it completely. If Gerard wants me to wear a sport coat, then he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

I squeeze her hands, and a muscle twitches in her jaw, something like hurt sliding across her face.

“I’m proud of you for trying to drive. You want me to teach you to drive a stick? It would be easier in the traffic here with an automatic, but if you want to learn, I can show you.”

“No,” she says with a strange smile. “I don’t want to learn.”

I frown. “But you rented a car with a stick shift.”

“Bread,” Gerard says in a singsong voice, practically sprinting through the door.

I rub my eyebrows, annoyed at the interruption and slightlydisturbed at the idea of the answer behind why Abigail would have rented a car she had no intention of driving. She’s clearly stressed, upset about something she doesn’t want to tell me about.

“Rosemary sourdough ici,” Gerard continues, practically getting on my lap as he leans over me. “Et ici,” he points, “a cranberry-and-walnut-studded pumpernickel.” He takes a breath and leans back, finally out of my personal sphere.

I open my mouth to ask Abigail more about the car—

“Et ici, a proper baguette, oui?” He’s leaning over me again, pointing to another piece of bread on the slate serving tray.

“Thank you,” I tell him icily. “We can figure it out from here.”

Abigail pouts at me.

“Monsieur does not want to hear about the butter?” Gerard asks.

“Mademoiselle does,” Abigail tells him brightly.

My arms cross over my chest as my annoyance solidifies into frustration.

“Parfait, parfait. This butter is a house specialty.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Butter is the house specialty?”

“Mais oui, bien sûr.” Gerard slaps a hand over his heart, as though my questioning him is beyond the pale.

“Right,” I mutter.

“Tell us more about the butter, please.” Abigail gives him that megawatt smile, and I sigh in defeat. I don’t know that I could deny that smile anything.

“There is a secret to it,” Gerard says pompously, leaning nearly completely over me, his hip nudging my elbow. I can’t even see Abigail now, completely blocked by the butter aficionado who’s clearly trying to piss me off.

“Ooooh, we love a secret, don’t we, Luke?” She claps her hands together.

At least, I assume that’s what the sound is, considering I still can’t see her.

I lean back in my chair as far as it will go.

“We have a cow,” Gerard tells her. “It says moo.”

“It does say moo.” Abigail gasps. “Luke, did you hear that? They have a cow that moos!”

“Is this some kind of joke?” I ask, completely flummoxed.

Gerard finally backs up off me, and I tilt my head, popping my neck as I stare up at him, frustration now reaching a boiling point.

Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the only thing I can control: myself.

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