Page 8 of Falling for Paris
“You might want to slow down,” a woman’s voice crested over his shoulder. “Mr. and Mrs. Asako are having a hard time keeping up.”
He stopped abruptly to face Victoria, whose sweaty irritation made her radiant.
“Patrice will ensure they are not lost.”
A disdainful snort from a beautiful woman was no less disdainful, it turned out. “They want to keep up withyou, chef. That’s why we’re here. You know…notcooking.”
“Is that Rafael Lyon or do my eyes deceive me?” A booming voice from the entrance ofFromagerie Impérialeturned heads.
Rafael’s shoulders slumped in resignation. What bad luck that they stopped in front of Luc Savard’s cheese shop. Although he had worked with the merchant for more than a decade, Rafael had not seen Luc since the incident last year. Thefromagerwas gregarious by nature, his cheer unbearable to the disgruntled chef.
“Deceived. Most certainly deceived.” Rafael tried to sound dismissive but there was no dampening the shop owner’s merry curiosity. And when Luc and Victoria locked their amused gazes, Rafael experienced an unusual sensation. Ambient annoyance morphed into sharply focused irritation.
“Hello, I’m Victoria,” she said in response to Luc’s blatant admiration.
“What a pleasure, Victoria. You are here with Rafael?”
“No, not at all! I—I mean not only me,” she stammered. “Chef Rafael is giving us a tour.” She turned to Rafael, chin up as if to pose a challenge. “He’s running a class and was just about to teach us about…well, something. Isn’t that right, Chef?”
Rafael huffed at the ridiculousness of the situation. He was strolling with them in one of the world’s most impressive public markets.Thatwas the lesson!
“Rafael giving a tour?” Luc guffawed as he re-tied the bow of his red apron. “This is something I must see for myself. Chef, why not begin right here? I can prepare—”
“Non, se ne sera pas nécessaire.” He spoke menacingly in their native language signaling his hostility to the idea and, in fact, his hostility to the man who had stooped to whisper something in Victoria’s ear, making her giggle.
Her pouty mouth transformed into a slow, knowing grin before she turned to Rafael. “It would be so lovely, don’t you think?” Victoria cooed beseechingly. “A tour inside would allow for the others to rest, away from the heat. Please.”
That was the most disorienting thing she could have said. Not her plea for the older Japanese couple, but just the last word. It felt wrong in such a public space. Victoria whisperingpleasefelt like a secret he didn’t wish to share.
Rafael’s unintended glare made her step back. Before he could amend his reaction, Victoria had already moved on to Luc.
“Une visite de votre fromagerie serait bien.” She bypassed Rafael by conveying her desire for a tour.
“In that case, I welcome all of you,” Luc announced loudly.
Rafael was mauled by the rest of the delighted class following Victoria into the cheese shop. Patrice offered a pitiful look of apology when he passed Rafael, forcing him to amend his features. It wasn’t the assistant’s fault that the woman was so very persuasive. And immensely distracting.
Luc began with what Rafael recognized as the connoisseur’s complaint: the importance of AOP certifications of authenticity to assure production requirements and source location of the cheeses.
“The living conditions of animals define the flavor!” Luc exclaimed with passion. “And if they live well, if they live clean, there is no need to pasteurize. Isn’t that correct, Chef?”
Everyone turned to Rafael, who shrugged nonchalantly. “Pasteurizing will allow the cheese to keep longer, but will have no…” He paused, looking for the best wording. “No life.”
“Exactement! Pasteurizing ismurderingthe cheese,” Luc added dramatically.
After walking them through the details ofossau iraty, a popular sheep cheese,andcomté,or French aged cheese, Luc led them to the back of the shop where a darkened freezer awaited.
It was a tight fit so Rafael stayed back, watching from the threshold as Victoria smelled thevalençay,a soft goat cheese of white- and black-speckled rind. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before passing it down for someone else to smell.
She caught him staring so there was no point looking away. Rafael scowled and exclaimed, “Surely a tour will involve more than lectures and sniffing. Make the appropriate arrangements downstairs. I will choose the tasting samples.”
If he was getting dragged into this impromptu lesson, Rafael might as well take charge. He tilted his head to instruct Patrice to follow him back to the main shop. Rafael curated a sampling based on region, taste, and texture.
Downstairs was a centuries-old cheese cellar in which Luc occasionally had private tasting tours. When Rafael rejoined the group, Victoria and Luc were deep in conversation about the knives the shop owner prepared.
“Ah, what did our famous connoisseur choose for us today?” Luc’s question echoed in the frigid chamber.
Instead of answering, Rafael unloaded the basket onto the counter-height wooden table. One by one he unwrapped the cheeses and elaborated upon the samplings’ origins. Rafael slipped into the comfortable cloak of culinary knowledge. It felt like a second skin.
