2. Alexandre
Chapter 2
Alexandre
One of my favorite things about working in the Latin Quarter is the variety of customers we get at the restaurant. While we get a handful of tourists, we’re off the main path enough that a majority of our patrons are locals looking for a good meal they don’t have to cook. We have a few regulars that come in weekly for our different special dishes. Fran?ois sets the menu depending on his mood. Sometimes he’ll miss his childhood in Spain and decide to cook something from his hometown. Other times, he just wants us to try new dishes or new ingredients he found at the market. Being the owner, and my closest friend, I go along with his whims.
Along with avoiding him asking me questions about Anne, I’m also avoiding him poking me for more insight on his decision to start a new restaurant in Spain. He wants me to be partner and relocate, but it hasn’t felt right. I don’t want to move to a different country on an impulse.
Although nothing is really holding me in Paris.
While avoiding Fran?ois, I spend my time trying to figure out the pros and cons to moving. Hours have passed, and while I normally take short breaks here and there when I can, I’ve skipped them today. I don’t want to take a break and risk missing Anne walk in.
Fran?ois comes into my view and points to the front entrance. There’s Anne, still in her cheerful sundress, but this time with an emerald sweater over it. I nod eagerly at Fran?ois so he can grab her and seat her at a table close to the kitchen. I can’t take the night off, but I can take some long breaks in between her courses.
As Anne gets seated, I quickly tidy my station, check in with my sous chef, and wash my hands. I make sure everyone knows I’m about to take a break and double check that my jacket isn’t completely covered in stains. Then I grab a basket of fresh bread and head out to the dining area.
“ Bonsoir mon chérie .” I set the bread down on the table as Anne welcomes me with a wide grin. She unfolds her napkin as I sit in the chair next to her. She’s at the special chef’s table near the back. For now, there’s enough room for me to sit next to her, but who knows how busy we’ll be later.
“ Bonsoir, Alexandre. The restaurant smells amazing,” she replies. Her pronunciation of French isn’t perfect, but the way she says my name makes my heart flutter. My palms are sweaty, and I feel as if I’m about to be quizzed on a topic that I’ve never studied.
I haven’t been this nervous since cooking school.
“I hope you’re ready for quite a treat. We make the bread in house, so it’s always fresh.”
“Well, if the chef is recommending bread, then I can’t refuse.” She winks at me as she takes a small piece from the basket and eats it. She murmurs happy sounds.
I wish I was cooking for her at my home. That would be much more romantic than here, in a busy restaurant full of others. I know that Fran?ois is hovering nearby, waiting for me to leave so he can hound Anne for details.
“Are you in the mood for anything in particular? I know this probably wasn’t part of your original trip plans.”
Anne bites her lower lip, seemingly deep in thought. “I want to impress you by answering in French, but I don’t know the words I’d need. I would like whatever you recommend.”
I take her hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. Do you have allergies? Or any dislikes?”
“No allergies, and I’m open to trying anything. My trip is all about new experiences.”
I want to be a new experience for Anne.
“I can’t guarantee that I will be the one serving you or that I will be able to join you for long periods, but I will be personally cooking your meal, and I’ll come out and join you as much as I can.”
“You don’t need to do that.” I can see her play with the napkin in her lap. Perhaps she’s not used to being the center of attention.
“But I want to.” I squeeze her hand once more. “Perhaps I will win you over Anne, one meal at a time.”
She chuckles at my remark and for a moment, the sounds of the restaurant fade away and it feels as if we’re the only ones in the room. Her eyes are mesmerizing under the candle-like glow of the lights. Among the hazel coloring, there are little flecks of gold. I feel pulled towards her, like she’s a magnet I can’t quite get away from.
There’s some shouting from the kitchen that snaps me back to the present. I need to get back to work if I want to keep popping out here to spend time with Anne.
“I’ll be back with your l'aperitif .” I give her a small smile and head to the kitchen.
I’m going to get to know her one course at a time.
Anne
I watch as Alexandre heads to the kitchen, and I take a large drink of my water. He is every bit as yummy as earlier in the day. His crisp white chef jacket contrasts nicely with his rugged appearance. Between his velvety voice, muscular frame, and tan skin, it’s hard to imagine him as single and unattached. My face feels warm and I almost pull my hair back but hesitate just in case my pale skin is bright red. It’s been a while since I’ve had such an attentive date.
Does this count as date?
Alexandre is cooking for me. But it’s at the restaurant where he works and he can’t join me for the meal. I take another sip of my water, letting the coolness calm my nerves and my libido.
This isn’t a date, merely an apology meal for ruining my pastry time earlier in the day.
But I want him to touch me again. To feel his warm hands against my skin.
It seems like mere minutes when Alexandre comes bursting from the back room again, the kitchen doors swinging behind him.
“I’ve brought some grilled scallops with a little mushroom sauce and a martini.” Alexandre sets the dish in the middle of the table and sits down next to me again. “Would you like me to serve you?”
“Yes, please.” I sip the martini as he spoons two scallops on a small plate and then drizzles some of the sauce over the top. I like watching him work. It’s peaceful, like how it feels to be in the kitchen making pastries.
“ Voilà! C'est prêt à déguster, mon chérie . Your first course is served.” He waits for me to take a bite. I eat one scallop and it’s delicious. The flavors go well together.
“It’s delicious, Alexandre,” I murmur before I eat the other one on my plate.
“I realize that I don’t really know anything about you, Anne. From your English, I assume you’re American, but that’s it.” Alexandre’s brows furrow and he rests his chin on one hand, watching me intently as I eat the scallops. “What’s your full name?”
“I never did tell you my last name.” I can’t help but grin before deciding what else to share. If this was indeed a date then I’d fill him on all the basics. But since it’s not, well, it can’t hurt to share something since I may not see him again. “My last name is Miller, and I’m American, from Maine. I came to Paris for a pastry conference for work. I decided to treat myself to a vacation afterwards and so, I’m here in Paris for the next two weeks.”
“You will fall in love with Paris. How long have you been a pastry chef?” His eyes widen, as if he’s eager to have something in common. “Hold that thought. Let me get you the next course.” Alexandre takes the small dish away and disappears again.
I drink the martini and debate how much I want to share and how far I want to go with Alexandre.
Screw it, I’ll tell him anything he asks and just accept what happens.
Paris is a big city, full of thousands of people. I can choose to never see him again after tonight.
Or I can choose to continue to see him if he wants to spend some time together.
He comes back with something that smells amazing. He sets it down and explains it’s the fish of the day, served with fingerling potatoes and asparagus. I start to eat as he leaves and comes back with a glass of white wine. In between bites, we get to know each other a little more.
“I’ve always wanted to be a chef and went right to culinary school after I graduated. I met Fran?ois there and we’ve sort of been buddies since. I’ve been the chef here for five years now. What about you?” He drinks water. I don’t usually drink more than one alcoholic beverage but the wine pairs so perfectly with the fish that I find myself finishing it.
“I used to be in marketing, but I went through a very drawn-out divorce and during that time, I was baking a lot. It was therapeutic for me and I decided to switch careers. Luckily, I knew the owners of the bakery I now work at and they helped me make the switch.”
“Sorry your divorce wasn’t amicable. Paris is an excellent place to stay occupied.”
“I’m the one that wanted the divorce. He couldn’t see we had issues. But…” I put my silverware down, trying to find the right words. “…it was the right thing. If two people aren’t in love, then what’s the point in staying together?”
Alexandre pats my hand. If this small action makes me feel as if sparks are dancing over my skin, I wonder what else his fingers could do.
It may be the surplus of alcohol in my system, but I feel quite brave. “When do you get off work?” I ask as I try ignore the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
“ Tu seras ma mort ,” Alexandre mutters. “Would you like me to escort you home? I can leave when you’re finished.”
“But don’t you have to work?” My ex-husband worked all the time. He cancelled numerous date nights and even anniversary dinners because of work. How could Alexandre leave on a moment’s notice to take me home?
“It’s only work. It’ll all still be here tomorrow. Are you full?”
“Stuffed. All delicious, of course. If you’re sure you can leave then I’m ready.”
Alexandre nods and goes back to the kitchen. I button and unbutton my sweater several times. Perhaps the bravery from earlier is already fading. I consider inviting him in for a nightcap, but I have to get up early for a nonrefundable museum tour. He comes back, having swapped his chef coat for a black leather jacket, and he hands me a small white box.
“This is our fraisier dessert. I figured you were at the market this morning so perhaps you like fresh fruit. I think strawberries are best around this time of year.” He places his hand on the small of my back and escorts me out of the restaurant. They’re both small gestures, the dessert and the walking me home, but they make my heart flutter.
I tell him where my rental is and he leads the way. He holds my hand and tells me little pieces of information about the places we pass. He explains which cafés serve the best espresso, which florists charge too much, and small bits of history about some of the buildings. The air is chilly, and I wrap myself closer to Alexandre. I hold onto his arm and breathe in the scent of the leather and spices. It must be a jacket he wears frequently to the restaurant to have those lingering mixed scents. As if in a daze, suddenly, I realize we’re at my place.
“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He lingers as I search through my tote for my keys.
“Yes, I have an early tour at the Louvre and then some other places I want to try to see.”
“Anne, I know we just met, but would you see me again tomorrow?”
I look up from searching my bag.
Under the streetlights, his eyes seem to darken as he continues. “Would you meet for me coffee at the Petit Plisson Aux Tuileries after your tour, about one o’clock, and spend the day with me? It’s in the garden area by the museum. I’ll be your personal tour guide while you’re here in Paris.”
Before I can reply with anything other than a nod, Alexandre tilts my chin upwards, our height difference more noticeable now. He leans down and kisses me.
At first, it’s soft, as if he meant to give me a quick peck. But with a hunger that surprises me, I wrap my arms around his neck and claim his mouth with my own. I swirl my tongue in circles around his. His hands wander over my hips. I want to invite him inside.
I want to feel his hands on my bare skin, to run my fingers through his hair, and then wake up next to him in the morning. I can feel the fire igniting within my belly. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything even close to lust. I don’t want to end this kiss.
Alexandre murmurs something as he gently pulls away. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and strokes my face. I lean into his hand, not wanting to end the night.
“I know you have an early morning, and I’m afraid if I don’t stop now then I won’t be able to stop at all. I’ll see you for our date tomorrow.” His accent is thicker, as if he can’t handle the English language in this desire-fueled state.
“Of course. Bonne nuit, Alexandre.”
He kisses my forehead as I speak. He steps a few feet away as I return to search for my keys and then open my door. I wave goodbye and head inside.
What a good night indeed .
I softly touch my swollen lips. I know I’m not dreaming but somehow, I have a date with a gorgeous Frenchman.
Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.