Page 36 of Keep It

“Yeah, why?”

“Ugh,” I groan dramatically. “I was actually feeling bad for you for a second then and then you ruined it.Sushi.That’s the most rich boy takeout ever.”

“What!” He exclaims. “It’s very affordable now, everyone eats it.”

I peel into laughter “Yeah, from Yo Sushi, I bet you get a five star restaurant to send a waiter with a fresh china plate.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You do!” I howl. “Just get a pizza like the rest of us, you psycho.”

“Right, well I’ll take you to Nobu and then you’ll change your tune.”

My laugh gets caught in my throat. That sounds like he wants to take me to a restaurant. Just the two of us. Like adate.

Desperate to avoid thinking about that for too long, I scan our surroundings. “Here, here’s something better than sushi.”

I pull him towards a créperie stand with bright blue shutters leaning open.

The hot plate near the window is an excellent sign. “What do you want?” I ask him.

Danny squints at the menu, “Is this not just a plate of sugar?”

“Of course not,” I scoff, “You get a little bag to eat it from.”

He chuckles, “I’ll have what you have.”

I turn to the man behind the counter

“Bonjour,deuxchocolatecrépes, si’lvousplait.”

I see him reach for his wallet and stop him with a hand on his arm.

“Oh please, put that away.”

“Let me, freckles,” he insists.

“Absolutely not. It’s eight euros, calm down.”

I hand my euro over to the man in exchange for two juicy crépes.

“Now we’re even,” I say as I hand him his crépe.

I watch as he takes his first bite, gripping it tightly in his hands as he closes his mouth around it. His eyes flutter and I swear I hear a…moan? Suddenly feeling very hot, I focus on my own crépe. No way am I salivating at the sight of Danny eating a crépe. I sound like the worst half-French pervert ever.

Taking a deep breath through a mouth full of chocolate goodness, I gather my composure enough to ask, “You like it?”

He groans in agreement.

For god’s sake, he needs to start verbalizing before I collapse on the ground in a puddle.

I clear my throat. “Yeah I love these. My grandmamma used to make the best sugar crépes but she always used to say the Paris ones were the best. Even though it’s touristy, she always said it was worth it.”

“Smart woman,” he mutters.

“The biggest red flag is if you see they already have a pile of premade crépe that they just reheat.” I shudder. “That happens in the touristy spots so keep an eye out for that,” I tell him seriously.

“Understood.” He nods “If I see it happen, I will be sure to spit on them.”

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