Chapter 18 Madame Bergol #2
After two helpings of lobster fettucine and plenty of chocolate mousse, Mitch felt full to bursting, but he obediently took a bite.
“It isn’t.”
Anna took a bite of her own, and sighed.
“You really are a terrible liar. The filling is too thick, and the glaze is not thick enough. I’ll have to start over.”
“If you say so,” Mitch said. He had no desire to contradict her. The éclair had done that for him.
Anna got up, took the éclairs back into the kitchen, and dumped them into the trash. “So, being surrounded by books all day,” she said over her shoulder, “hasn’t it ever made you think about writing one of your own?”
“If I owned a vet’s office instead of a bookshop, would you ask if I’d ever thought about becoming a cat?”
Anna didn’t reply, just stared absently at the last smear of chocolate mousse in the pot.
She seemed out of sorts all of a sudden.
Mitch hadn’t thought she was the type to be so easily hurt.
He knew very little about feelings; it never occurred to him that her reaction might be the result of feelings she already had for him.
“Yes, I used to daydream about it,” he said finally. “Still do, sometimes. But I don’t think I’m capable of it.”
“Why not?”
“Uh…”
“Why have so little faith in yourself? Don’t you know who you are?”
“Not when I’m around you,” Mitch said. “Not at all.”
“Don’t say things like that, Mitch.” She turned her back to him, leaning over the sink so he couldn’t see her face.
“But it’s true.”
“Fine. Then tell me what you think of me.”
“I think I’m lucky,” he said, coming to stand next to her at the sink.
“That’s very nice, and very vague. Be specific, please.”
Despite the extensive vocabulary all his reading had given him, Mitch found himself at a loss for words. He could think of none that would express the depth of his feelings.
There’s nothing harder than describing a woman, particularly one you have feelings for.
Anna was vibrant, smart, determined, opinionated, attentive, stubborn.
Every gesture, every choice felt uniquely hers.
When he was with her, the world felt less alien.
She made him want to hold her in his arms, to nestle in hers.
He’d already told her things he’d never dared to tell anyone.
But he didn’t know how to say any of that. So instead he did the most honest thing he could think to do. He took her face gently in his hands and kissed her. Anna let herself be kissed, and kissed him back.
“I’m not as brave as you think I am, Anna,” he murmured.
“And I’m a better judge of character than you give me credit for, Mitch. If a kiss like that is going to happen again, we need to be honest.”
“I’ve always been honest with you.”
“I believe you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed you – though technically, you kissed me.
But I meant honest with ourselves. Neither one of us is particularly sociable.
Which for a bookseller and a future restaurant owner is problematic.
But we’ve promised to help each other. Even though we haven’t strictly kept to the boundaries of that promise. ”
“I wish you hadn’t said ‘if’.”
“What?”
“About the kiss. I want it to happen again.”
“Oh. Well, me too. But don’t change the subject. If we want people to perceive us differently, we’ll have to make an effort.”
“How do you want people to perceive you?”
“For starters,” Anna said, twisting the apron cord in her fingers, “I’d like them to see me as a real chef, not just some kitchen bimbo.”
“No one could possibly see you that way, especially not anyone who knows you.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem. I’m hard to get to know. I’ve never been very good at forming relationships, especially with the kind of people you have to butter up to get anywhere in this industry.”
She took a deep breath, her gaze becoming distant. Mitch didn’t dare interrupt.
“I’ve had my fair share of humiliation, too,” she said at last. “You aren’t the only one who’s been subjected to violence.”
The thought of anyone being violent to Anna made Mitch sick.
“What kind of violence are you talking about?” he asked quietly. His expression had shifted – closed – and Anna decided this wasn’t the time to tell him. She reached out and took his hands in her own.
“Are you still set on getting revenge?”
“Yes. I just don’t know how,” Mitch said, as if his indecision made the idea more reasonable somehow.
“Then we’ll figure it out together. The problem is, when it comes to the crunch, you tend to overthink it. You forget what that bastard did to you. Most of us need a certain anger to kill.”
As logical as Anna’s words were, they left Mitch rattled.
“Who are you, Anna?”
“I asked you the same question, and you couldn’t answer. So don’t expect me to.”
He tried to help her clean up, but she waved him away, telling him to sit down. The kitchen was her domain. When everything was neatly put away, she washed her hands, took off her apron, and turned to face him.
“I haven’t told you everything. But since we promised to be honest…”
She touched his arm – a gesture so intimate it said more than any words could. So whatever confession was coming – unless she was about to tell him she was married – Mitch didn’t care.
“I killed a man,” she said, as simply as if she were telling him she’d left an ingredient out of a recipe.
“The trouble you and José—?”
“Yes,” Anna cut in. “It’s why I left the country. Now, unless you’ve changed your mind, let’s go back to my place. You already know where I live. You were staring at me the other day, from a train window.”