Chapter 10 #2
Laurent had taken a half step back when he’d opened the door—probably because he hadn’t been expecting to find his neighbor skulking in front of it—but he recovered quickly.
“Good evening,” he said politely, as though this was a completely normal meeting we were having. “I was just about to take out the trash.”
“Oh. Well, I saw the quiche you left. I wanted to give you this.” I thrust the pain de campagne at him. “I made it.”
Laurent put the trash bag down so he could take the bread. “Thank you,” he murmured, turning the loaf in his hands. “And a note?”
He flicked it open, and I died a thousand deaths as he read it. Why had I tried to be funny? Why hadn’t I just written ‘thank you’ and left it at that? That would have been perfectly acceptable and not make me want to sink into the earth now.
The gold in Laurent’s eyes shone in the dark hallway.
“You think the crust was store bought?” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “That’s possibly the most offensive thing one could say to a chef.”
“I was just trying to, you know, make a joke,” I said awkwardly, back to cringing embarrassment. “It wasn’t terrible. But also, still not that great,” I added, physically incapable of lying about subpar pastry.
Why am I like this?
Laurent stared at me for a second, then a grin slowly spread across his face. His eyes crinkled with laughter. Gone was my mysterious, closed-off neighbor, and in his place was this man who seemed to actually find me amusing.
“Pastry was always my weakness in culinary school, and my lack of practice seems to have compounded the issue.” He shrugged, still smiling. “I appreciate the feedback.”
“I had to leave the meeting today quickly,” he continued, “But I wanted to ask…Well, normally I wouldn’t do things this way.” He stopped and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking as awkward as I felt.
“I know I ought to offer to make the meal,” Laurent continued, “But most of my kitchen tools are still buried in moving boxes. Even Minerva has been turning her nose up at my attempts at cooking right now. Also, you did offer earlier, and I’m afraid I might have been rude in declining and perhaps this could make up for that transgression… ” Laurent trailed off.
He was actually babbling. What was making this man so nervous?
Laurent took a breath and seemed to pull himself together. “What I’m trying to say is that, if your offer still stands, I’d love to come over for dinner.”
I blinked at him, completely lost for words. Was this…? Did he want…?
“But I thought you hated me.” The truth was out before I realized I’d said it.
Laurent’s eyes went wide. “Hate you?”
“All you do is grumble at me and insult my abilities as a server. Plus, you keep pretending you never cook.”
Laurent blushed under his tan. The color contrasted nicely with the blond hair now flopping in his eyes again. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat again.
“To start, I grumble at everyone. But I was unspeakably rude to you at Le Jules Verne.
It was a stressful situation for me, and I realized too late the mix-up was entirely not your fault.
Even if it was, I should never have behaved the way I did. I apologize, unreservedly.
“And today I was only joking around. It’s very clear to me that you’re an exceptional server. I hope you didn’t take it seriously,” Laurent said, sounding chagrined. “And as for the cooking…That’s a low point, even for me.”
His mouth quirked up and he spread his hands in front of him the same way I did when everything was falling apart and there was nothing to do but accept it.
“I lied about cooking because I really haven’t cooked in over a year.
I packed it all away when I closed my restaurant.
Cooking caused…quite a few problems in my life.
I think I didn’t want to admit I was back at it because I was afraid those problems might return.
I certainly didn’t consider how stupid it’d be to lie to my own neighbor about cooking.
“I also didn’t realize quite how porous these walls are.
Do you know that I’ve smelled every delicious thing you’ve baked since the day I moved in?
You did something with chocolate last week, and I could barely finish my work memos I was drooling so much.
” Laurent smiled, still looking sheepish.
“What I’m trying to say is that I’ve behaved terribly since the moment we met.
The quiche was my small attempt at an apology. ”
He stood in front of me, looking hopeful and embarrassed.
I raised an eyebrow. “Does this mean that the next time I smell you roasting chicken, you won’t try to claim you’ve never so much as touched an oven before?”
“On my honor,” Laurent said solemnly as he crossed his heart. “In the interests of full disclosure, I made a frozen pizza for dinner tonight. That alone should tell you I’ve blown past all thresholds of shame.”
“Oh dear. Your situation is even more dire than I thought.” I grinned at Laurent. I knew very well what it was like to look back on decisions made during the worst time in your life and wonder what the hell you’d been thinking.
“Does Thursday work for dinner?” I suggested, naming the next evening I had off from work. “Seven o’clock?”
Laurent grinned again. “I’ll be there.”
“Excellent. I’ll be making kebabs, followed by a delicate vegetable soup.”
Laurent laughed. As his eyes crinkled again, I realized how happy it made me to make him laugh. It so completely changed his entire personality.
“I was terrified what kind of menu we were going to end up with for a while there,” he admitted. “Your idea was brilliant.”
“It’s not that brilliant,” I said, shrugging. “My mother used to be a pastry chef. She created these amazing recipes that combined French pastry techniques with desserts of all the exotic places she visited. She had one for a tarte tatin with figs and rosewater that people went crazy for.”
“Well, I’m just glad you saved all the gala’s guests from double-fisting Beaujolais and mint tea the entire night.”
“I should probably take this out now,” he added, picking up the trash bag (which did indeed have a pizza box sticking out of the top). “Thank you for the bread, Margot. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
As though I was going to do anything other than sit on my couch and run through this conversation in my head a thousand times.