Page 86 of From Paris, with Butter
“Do you know, I tried every dessert you made at the gala? I even grabbed one of the macarons from the garbage.”
“You ate trash macarons for me?”
“Ate it and loved it. Your trash macarons nearly brought me to tears.”
“That was probably because of the bleach they use to disinfect the trash cans.”
Laurent shrugged. “Look, when a flavor combination works, it works.”
I swallowed hard. “You were right, in Berlin, about me giving up too easily.” Laurent opened his mouth to interrupt, but I held up a hand. “You were an asshole about it, but you were right. I’d stopped trying anything new in life just to try and avoid failure.”
I paused. “But now I’m working on changing that.”
Laurent took my hand and led me to the couch. “Tell me about it.”
So I did. Slowly at first, as I explained speaking to Chef La Croix and deciding which pastry schools to apply to. I picked up steam as I told him about the trips I’d booked. Noisette crept over, and she let Laurent stroke her as I told him how I’d wanted a cat since we’d given Jacques away but had never gone through with it. As I spoke, Laurent kept hold of my hand the entire time.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said when I’d petered to a stop. “Margot, I can’t even put into words how proud of you I am. And I’m so completely unsurprised.”
I laughed a little. “You knew I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life in shambles?”
Laurent’s eyes blazed green and gold. “I knew from the moment you—rightfully—told me off the night we met at Le Jules Verne that you were a person who wouldn’t go down without a fight.”
“I was smiling that whole evening!” I protested. “Perfectly friendly.”
“I know. And I could still tell you weren’t someone to mess with.” Laurent smiled his crooked smile. It had been so long since I’d seen him smile like that.
“Margot, a year agomylife was in shambles. I didn’t think I was worthy of anyone. I figured I’d just have to struggle through things alone. What I didn’t realize was that all I needed for everything to make sense was to meet a relentlessly optimistic baker who put more effort into making others happy than anyone I’d ever met.”
Laurent heaved a sigh. “Every day since you left Berlin, I’ve known what an idiot I was for losing you. It made it very easy to quit. I’m just terrified I’ve done it too late.” Laurent swallowed hard. “Have I?”
Again, I dodged his question. “You’re done being a chef?” I didn’t want that for Laurent, for him to return to a soulless office job, but I also didn’t want to risk losing him to his work again.
Laurent smiled. “It took me weeks to figure things out. It’s the only reason why I didn’t quit the night you left. I wanted to come back to you with a plan.”
He exhaled. “I’m done working as a chef for a restaurant that isn’t mine. It’s too easy to lose control and end up working insane hours and making food that doesn’t excite me, all for someone else’s vision. I’m done with that. Instead...”
Laurent paused to take an excited breath. “I want to open a small restaurant. Very small, just a handful of seats. It’s a new concept, but it’s becoming more popular. The space will be small enough that I’ll be able to afford rent, utilities, and everything else without needing a financial backer who makes all the decisions. Instead of hiring a team, I can do everything on my own: I’ll make the food in front of the diners, mix the drinks, hell I’ll even be able to do the washing up. It’ll be a premium experience, so I’ll only need to do a few seatings a day and can keep my hours manageable. And I’ll answer only to myself.”
Laurent’s eyes shone as he spoke, and I found myself catching his enthusiasm. “Margot,” he said, turning serious. “I feel confident about this, but not if it comes at the expense of us. If this idea doesn’t work out, if you ever think it’s the wrong choice, I’m not afraid to step away from it. More than any restaurant, I want to be with you. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.” He hesitated. “If you’ll still have me.”
Laurent was speaking so honestly, and his feelings so perfectly mirrored my own, that all I could do was fall forward and let myself collapse into his embrace. He pulled me in close.
“Margot, I can’t offer you a perfect life. All I know is that when I met you, I finally stopped feeling lost.
That, of course, made me cry.
We stayed like that, tight in our embrace. I became acutely aware of Laurent’s body pressed to mine, our tear-dampened faces touching, his lips resting in my hair.
He seemed to get the same idea. He kissed my hair first, so gently I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it. But he kept going, trailing the kisses along my hairline, across my cheekbone, until he reached my mouth. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted him before.
In a smooth motion, he scooped me up, his brawny chef arms bulging. He carried me into my bedroom and laid me on the bed. I looked at him for a moment, filling my vision with this man I loved, the man who made my life make sense. We undressed each other, and he was gorgeous in the dark.
Laurent climbed into bed and pulled me close, covering me with kisses until I couldn’t think straight. But every time I looked at him, I knew that I was where I was meant to be.
Afterwards, we curled around each other and talked into the night.
“Have you thought about where you want to open your restaurant?” I asked.
