Page 80 of Masked in Deception
Jack steps out of the shadows just beyond the table, and my confused heart clenches at the sight of him. He took his dress code very seriously, wearing a black tuxedo that fits him like a second skin.Jesus fuck,he’s untied his bow tie, allowing it to hang on either side of his dress shirt, the top three buttons undone as always. He looks like a rake who’s lured me here under false pretenses to steal my virtue in my little pink dress.Not so sure I didn’t know the pretenses when I agreed to come, though.
“I know for a fact I didn’t say a word out loud,” I defend myself. I keep my internal back and forthinternal,thank you very much.
He laughs as he reaches me, taking my hand to kiss my knuckles and take my clutch from me. “You don’t have to say things out loud, darling. I see them on your face. You forget how well I know your tells.”
Before I can open my mouth to scramble for a witty response, a bright, cheery voice rings out behind us.
“Bonjour, mes amis! Welcome to my little slice of paradise!”
A diminutive, distinguished woman wearing a starched white chef’s coat joins us, kissing both Jack and me on each cheek.
“My name is Susanne Ferrer, and it’s a pleasure to welcome you tonight. Ilovelove, so when Mr. Carter reached out, it was a no-brainer to accept his offer,” she says, beaming up at us with a twinkle in her eye.
I’m not even going to touch thelovecomment, deciding that despite my turbulent internal thoughts earlier today, I’m just going to go with the flow tonight. I can be breezy. I can do this.
“It’s an absolute honor to meet you, Chef Ferrer,” I say.
“Please, call me Susanne!”
“Thank you, Susanne, that’s so kind of you. I have to ask you, wherearewe exactly? When we arrived, I was a little nervous about the state of the building, but this kitchen is so beautiful, I was surprised!” I follow as she leads us over to the cooktop.
“I’m so glad you find it as magical as I do, dear. This is my secret hideaway, as I used to call it. This was the kitchen that started it all whenL'éclat du Chocolatwas just a passion project I was trying to get off the ground. My father carved out this section of the factory for me and let me renovate it. Even once I was producing bigger batches, this remained my main test kitchen whenever I was in the city. Eventually, I moved to France to chase my wife, and I decided it was time to step back from the business, but one of our longtime employees lives here and acts as a caretaker for the property. Any time I’m on the East Coast, I try to pop in to play a bit!”
She gives us a full tour of her antique ranges and specialty chocolate-making tools, then pulls out a chocolate mold I would recognize anywhere.
I gasp, reaching just behind me where Jack has been hovering closely, paying rapt attention to Susanne’s stories, and grab his hand as I extend my other reverently to the mold.
“Is that…?” I whisper.
“La petite vache?” she says, amused. “Yes, my favorite mold I ever worked with. The little cow. I loved every collection we released with this. They were so whimsical, and I’ve always loved cows!”
I can’t stop the tears in my eyes, thinking of how thrilled I was every time the cow chocolates were released, and how Mom hoarded them for my special occasions. Jack squeezes my hand, and I realize I never let it go after I grabbed it earlier.
I don’t let go now.
After two courses of dessert, we convince Susanne to give us a short break to digest before she brings us the finale.
“There’s no way that’s true. I would remember locking you in the pantry. Plus, that doesn’t sound like me. I was a perfectly well-behaved little girl. I would never get up to mischief like that.” I laugh, remembering the exact instance Jack is describing. He wouldn’t tell me what he was getting me for my birthday, so I tricked him into one of the creepier pantries off the kitchen and wedged a door stop under the door so he couldn’t escape. “How old would I have even been?”
“You were eight,” he says, removing his cuff links and pocketing them, then rolling up his cuffs. “The most menacing eight-year-old who has ever existed, I’m convinced. See, look at the scar I have from trying to climb out of the transom window to get out of that damn pantry!”
Sure enough, a long, thin white scar crosses underneath his forearm.
I roll my eyes. “Oh please, that could be from literally anything.”
His eyes sparkle. “Come on, Princess. Would I really lie to you?”
“Princess, I would never ever hurt you. Just relax, okay? Just look in my eyes.”
He realizes what he’s said as soon as I do, and the playfulness from the moment before fades. I take in the soft lighting on his face, the tightness around his eyes as he thinks he’s lost me, lost this wonderful night. Is that what I want?
Aggressively pursue happiness.
With a little shake of my head, I bring us both back into the lighter energy we enjoyed all night, feeling in my bones that this decision is a fork in the road for us, and hoping I’m choosing the right direction.
“No, Jackie. I don’t think you would,” I say, and his dazzling smile is his only response.
With a herculean effort, Jack and I finish off Susanne’s pièce de résistance, a simple but decadent chocolate cake dripping with ganache, topped with a little cow chocolate. Jack has my clutch and a box of chocolates under his arm, a parting gift from Susanne. But I have her number now, and it’ll be hard for her to get rid of me.We’ll have to be friends.I have so many questions for her about her time running a small business as a woman, and…
