Chapter 2 Cody
It’s five in the afternoon when I return home from the cake shop. I have a work meeting tomorrow that I’m supposed to prepare for, but my encounter with Luc takes up all my headspace, and I can’t focus on my computer screen.
When I’d arrived at the shop, it was empty except for me and Luc, standing on opposite sides of the counter.
I can’t stop thinking about what happened, can’t stop wondering why my brain turned to mush as soon as I saw him.
He intrigues me beyond belief, and I want nothing more than to go back.
His typical French, cold demeanor is challenging, and honestly, kind of a turn-on.
As the evening progresses, I fail to get anything done, and as a result, the following day at work is a struggle.
The meeting I failed to prepare for is a minor fiasco I’ll have to make up for later, all because of yesterday’s encounter.
I hated the pie Luc gave me; I thought it was disgusting, though maybe that’s just my dislike for sweets.
Ultimately, that doesn’t even matter because I know one thing: an unsavory cake won’t keep me from returning to the shop.
When the day is finally over, I don’t bother going home.
I learned from the internet that the cake shop will close in only an hour, so I quickly head over there before I miss my chance.
Once I arrive and the soft bell rings over my head, I’m surprised to see the place is empty.
I’m the only customer, and there’s no sign of Luc or any other staff, but the shuffling sounds coming from the back indicate that at least someone’s here.
I wait, taking a moment to inspect the interior I was too distracted to see yesterday.
This place is posh; everything inside the shop looks as clean and polished as the exterior.
The shop’s name is proudly displayed in golden letters on the wall above the counter, and behind the glass are decorated cakes that look almost too good to eat.
The surprisingly large space makes me wonder why it’s not crowded in here; perhaps that’s because it’s late.
Maybe that’s a good thing, at least for me, because it’ll make it easier to talk to Luc with no one around.
A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, one with a heavy French accent. “Oh, it’s you again.”
I can’t help but smile. As I’d hoped, Luc has appeared. He’s now standing in the same spot behind the counter, wearing the same cold expression as yesterday with the same apron tied around his waist. Almost everything is the same, except he’s exchanged his white shirt for a blue one.
He tries to sound disappointed upon seeing me, but doesn’t entirely succeed in making it believable, and I cling to the possibilities. It’s already starting to look like there’s more to him than he shows.
“I would think you’d be nicer to me,” I reply. “Given that I’m your only customer. Why aren’t you?”
Luc does this thing with his eyebrow—one perfect arch that makes my pulse trip over itself.
“You’re a foreigner. Is this not how you expected the French to be when you came here?”
I have to admit that’s true; the French have a reputation that precedes them. “It is.”
“Well then.” Luc shrugs and starts cleaning some things on the counter, ignoring me. I can’t decide if I like the mystery or if it drives me crazy.
“Is that all there is to it?” I ask after several seconds of silence. “It’s just a French thing?”
Luc’s eyes snap up to meet mine. He stares at me for a beat too long, unknowingly telling me without words that there is more to him than it seems. Goodness, that makes him even more interesting.
Why is he silent? Could it be that even he doesn’t know why he’s like this?
Or is it because he doesn’t wish to tell me?
Either way, I’m here for it, and my stomach swirls when our eye contact holds.
“It’s just a French thing,” he eventually says before looking away. I might have been convinced of his answer if it weren’t for the long stare he threw at me.
Man, if this is what “French charm” looks like, I’m in trouble. I clear my throat, trying to ground myself. “This is the second time this place has been empty aside from me. Do you even have any customers?”
“Oui.”
“Then how come I don’t see them?”
He raises an eyebrow again, and the way he does it is so graceful that it almost makes me jealous. But then he speaks, and his sharp tongue quickly makes me feel entirely different things. “Why do you think, lazy American? They all come here before you.”
My chest flutters with the insult. Do I have a degradation kink? No, I don’t, but I love a bratty bottom, and Luc is definitely bratty. One of my boxes is already checked; I only need to hope the other one will be too.
I run my hand through my hair, trying to ignore the feelings. “So, do you have any cake left for a late-afternoon shopper?”
“Why?” he asks impatiently, raising his shoulders briefly. “Do you have another coupon?”
“No, no coupon this time. Today, I plan to buy whichever piece of cake you recommend.”
A cheeky smirk appears on his face, changing his attitude entirely. “Are you saying you liked the one I gave you yesterday?”
Just hearing him talk about it makes the unpleasant taste of yesterday’s cake return to my mouth. I make a face, distinctly remembering it. Luc is lucky he’s so cute, otherwise I wouldn’t have come back here. “No, definitely not. What was that anyway?”
“Prune.”
“Prune? Seriously?! Who even likes that?”
He shrugs. “The least paying customer gets the least quality pie. Surely you’d understand that, American.”
“I already told you, I’m Canadian. And today, I plan to pay for my cake like any other customer.” I raise my hands defensively. “No coupons, I swear. If I’d known you hated them so much, I would have left it at home.”
He remains silent, thinking about it, and with his eyebrows raised, he takes a few steps to the side, eyeing me from behind the counter. “All I have left is the prune cake.”
I scoff, motioning to the display. “Are you kidding me? There are at least three other ones here.”
“Those are reserved for our other customers,” he says, his voice flat.
“Oh really?” I ask cynically, not believing him.
“Yes, really.”
I might have been annoyed if the situation were different, but who am I kidding?
I love this game, this banter between us.
The way he’s cold with me, treating me like he doesn’t want me here, but secretly stalling, shooting back at my replies.
And the twinkle in his eyes betrays that he likes this too—at least a little bit.
So I decide to take things a step further.
“Okay, fine. Keep feeding me disgusting cakes, gorgeous. You and I both know I’m not really here for the cake anyway.”
For extra effect, I give him a wink. I want there to be no doubt that I’m into him, and he catches on quickly. I don’t know what it was exactly—the gorgeous, the fact that I told him I’m not here for cakes, or the wink—but Luc blushes, his smugness fading. Goodness, he’s even cuter when he blushes.
“Not here for the cake, you say?” he asks me once he’s recomposed himself. “So you’re an American who doesn’t like cake? I didn’t think those existed.”
“And you’re a French guy with a huge ego. I definitely knew those existed.”
“It’s only fair,” he says, shrugging and grinning. “We have the best food, the best wine, the best movies, the best—”
“Best sex?” I ask, just to see how he’ll react.
The blush on his cheeks doesn’t fade or increase. “Presumably.”
“Well, maybe someday I’ll find out about that.”
“Maybe. If you can find a woman who fancies a thirty-six-year-old man with a strange name and no understanding of European culture.”
He remembered my age. That does more for me than it perhaps should. “Well, luckily I’m not looking for a woman,” I tell him. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
He starts to smile, and I’m dying to hear his response, but just as he opens his mouth, the entrance bell rings, indicating that someone has come in, and I curse internally. This means I’ll have to wait.
Ironically, after our conversation, it’s a French-speaking woman who looks about my age, but it should go without saying that I have no interest in her.
She starts talking in French, too fast for me to understand, but I assume she’s placing an order.
To my disappointment, Luc instantly tears his attention from me and focuses on her.
That’s that, then. All I can do is hope that the lady will leave quickly, but she keeps chattering on, and before long, Luc starts writing on a piece of paper.
It looks like a big order that’ll take a while—just my luck.
When a brief silence between him and the woman follows, all I can do is say, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, okay?”
But Luc completely ignores me; he’s focused on helping the customer and doesn’t even grant me the satisfaction of looking at me anymore, not even a glance. And honestly, I’d expected nothing less. It only makes me want to come back tomorrow even more.
***
Well, so much for that idea; the following morning thwarts my plans.
I’ve been looking forward to seeing Luc since I left the cake shop, but when I wake up, I’m too sick to get out of bed.
How inconvenient. My head feels like it’s about to burst, and I need to call in sick for work, but the worst part is being unable to see Luc.
I also can’t text him to let him know I’m not coming because I don’t have his number.
Maybe if I’d asked him for it, he would have given it to me—although probably not.
I sleep almost all day, feeling terrible when awake, only traveling between my bed and the toilet.
At least Luc won’t see me like this; it’s far from attractive.
But as I think about him, another question arises: does he miss me at all?
God, I hope he does. That would be the only good thing about this stupid flu.
Thinking increases my headache, and my headache increases my nausea, so I try to press all thoughts down the best I can and attempt to go back to sleep, hoping I’ll feel better tomorrow. But when another morning comes, it proves that nothing has changed; I feel equally awful.
The day after that is a little bit better, but I’m still in no shape to get out of bed. There’s nothing I can do but wait until it passes, hoping things will still be as I left them before I got sick . . .