TEASER TUESDAY: Prologue and First two chapters of Under the Norman Sky

 

Prologue,

Ten Years Ago

Sébastien

 

The hotel was empty except for the partygoers and the family. Victoria Garnot’s eighteenth birthday was the social event of the year. I shouldn’t have expected any less, as her parents indulged her every desire since she was their only surviving child. She was born right after the first day of spring, and since then, her grandfather called her Fleur-de-Lys. It wasn’t because of their links to the old aristocracy but because he thought Victoria embodied all those qualities someone decided to apply to it—purity, virtue, and chastity.

When I walked into the restaurant, which doubled as a ballroom, I was surprised by the number of people who were there from the other side of the pond. Most of her American friends were on one side of the room, and her mother’s English relatives and her father’s French side kept close to the bar.

I’d always been impressed by the way Victoria could move between languages. She was self-assertive and spoke perfect French with a bit of an accent. Early on, Victoria was my English tutor, something my parents always appreciated. Mainly because I’m sure they were grateful they didn’t have to pay for a private tutor. As we grew up, we were thick as thieves during the summer and at Christmas time, until the next time she would come to town. I’d even been invited a few times to England to spend time with her mother’s family, and even after training in Paris, one of her uncles put me up in London. I was thankful because I wanted to gain experience in different kitchens before returning to Normandy to work for Armand.

The dance floor filled with our peers, dancing to the beat of corny pop songs in English and French and the odd K-pop song I was sure Thybault Cho had gotten her to listen to during the last summer. We spent most of it at my grandparents’ house in Courseulles-Sur-Mer, exploring Juno Beach and building sandcastles at sunset.

 

As my eyes scanned the crowd for Victoria, I felt two hands gripping my arm tightly. After a lifetime of friendship, I was still in awe of her, not only because of her beauty but also her self-assertiveness. My heart flip-flopped a few times before I managed to return her smile.

“Joyeux anniversaire, ma belle,” I said as Victoria turned her face, offering me her cheek to plant a kiss on it before I obliged. This small dance between us had to be repeated thrice because Normans always give four kisses.

The scent of flowers, wood, and spices hit my nose, but before I inhaled a second time and savored the moment, Victoria pulled back.

“Thank you, you’re late,” she said in English before quickly switching to French. “I should have expected as much.” She sighed and placed her head on my shoulder.

“You’re so dramatic. This isn’t a Jeunet film.”

After swatting at my arm, she took my hand in hers, scanned the room again, then tugged at my hand.

“Come with me,” she said in that soft speech she used when her eyes were colored with so much mischief. I knew better than to say no.

My brain immediately began to think about an alibi, for I knew whatever it was we were about to do if her parents found out, I would be skinned alive.

We walked around half the room before she led the way through a double door where the servers came in and out. Silently, we walked out of the kitchen where my godfather, Armand de Longcamp, one of France’s most recognizable chefs, shouted at his kitchen staff to hurry with the meal.

“Where are we going?” The heat from her hand against mine intensified as we walked into the chilly night.

“Just for a walk.” Her impish smile was still in place as we crossed the parking area in front of the hotel and walked across the main road that divided the beach from the rest of the town of Deauville.

“A walk?” I blinked several times as we turned toward the deserted beach. “At this time?”

“I just want to be alone with you.” Her voice lost all its playful hue and became a breathy sound that held my attention along with its mysterious secrets.

The salty taste of the sea in the wind hit my face while I walked beside her, and darkness reached its tentacles through the sand, weaving in and out of the light cast by the streetlamps. Soon, we were in “Les Planches,” the seaside boardwalk built about a century ago.

 Victoria shivered slightly while walking past the names of several Hollywood legends before I shrugged off my jacket. She stopped. Her eyebrow arched, and her dark eyes fell on me. Then, a smile pulled the corners of her plump lips upwards.

“Can I ask for my birthday present now?”

Surprise, no, stunning silence held me in place. I placed my jacket over her slim shoulders. My eyes rested on the beautiful white dress with the shimmering sequins, then I forced them up for fear she would call me a creep.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked when her eyes lost some of their mischievous shine. Then, I realized she probably added something to her first request I didn’t hear.

“Did you not hear me, Lefèvre?” she asked, this time using my surname, something she did when she was losing patience.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” I told her. In a need to buy time, I crossed my arms over my chest. It was also a good idea because the cold wind started to feel more severe than a chilly breeze.

“I see.” Her eyes were slightly guarded while she closed the space between us and looked down.

I was about to ask what she was playing at when her eyes settled on mine, looking at me from under her long, curled lashes. It was at that moment I knew I fucked up. I wouldn’t be under her spell if she’d been a few feet away. I could reject whatever mad idea she was about to spew. And it had to be a mad idea for her to leave her party and walk to the beach with me.

“I want to sleep with you.”

I could have sworn I stopped listening to the wind encircling us, to the sea crashing against the coast. Time might have halted as my mouth opened and closed, and my blink rate increased as my brain tried to process.

“Have you got nothing to say?”

My throat was dry. Parched. It was the same thirst as when we would be in the sun all day. The same way as when we caught waves and tanned on the warm sand, then returned home downing a few glasses of cold water. A strange sound left my throat, but it wasn’t anything resembling a word. I cleared my throat, looking around to make sure none of her cousins were nearby waiting to beat me up before I returned my eyes to her. Still, no thoughts were running through my mind, as everything seemed to have scrambled like a bad signal.

“I’m trying to see if you’re pulling my leg,” I began, “or if you’re serious about wanting to sleep with me.” I hoped the bravado in my voice could disguise the crazy thumping of my heart.

Confusion brought forth a memory of our first time in a similar situation. The moment she’d asked me to kiss her because she didn’t want to waste her first kiss on someone she would possibly end up hating… that was the moment I should have said no. As a newly minted teen, I thought it couldn’t hurt. I never kissed a girl before, and her rationalization for the kiss felt as good an excuse as any. The problem was, one kiss defined most of my relationships at the time. No other kiss, I concluded, had had the same effect as the one I gave Victoria under the rain in the middle of my family’s farm. The fear that her parents or mine would get involved in our relationship to protect years of faithful friendship between our families had kept me from trying to kiss her again. I’d never forgotten how her body fitted perfectly in my arms, her well-defined, desirable lips brushing against mine.

Perhaps I was wrong to assume she wanted to have sex with me. Maybe she just wanted to crash in my room and hide from her cousins; God knew Guillaume and Giselle were the most overbearing of the whole lot.

“Sébastien…” The impatience in her voice wasn’t as hot as the flash of anger crossing her delicate features. “I said I want to sleep with you.”

Nope, I heard right the first time.

“W-Why? You don’t like the room your parents booked for you and your friends?” Playing dumb was the only way out of this. “Are you being forced to sleep in the same room as Giselle and Guillaume?” I added, even though I knew her parents could book the entire hotel and not make a dent in their fortune.

Her eyebrow shot up fiercely as her eyes widened. “Are you stupid?” The question came out in a bubble of laughter that soon surrounded them. “Seb, I want to sleep with you… in the way you sleep with all those girls, where there’s no real sleep involved.”

The color was probably draining from my face. It wasn’t that I never fantasized about this. The fact Victoria was brazen about it, as usual, made me feel as if I lived a sheltered life. It was true; she was the impulsive one between us, and I was the one who held back and studied the situation.

And just when I thought she’d silenced me for good, my brain shifted gears as images of her father and mine beating me to a pulp rushed through my mind.

“T’es folle?” I exploded, immediately regretting that I called her crazy. “Your father will kill me if he finds out,” I added quickly in English while her eyes lingered on me, and her demeanor remained unchanged.

“He won’t find out. No one will.” Victoria’s body heat radiated like a furnace when she closed the remainder of the space between us. My whole body seemed to be expecting an attack as I stood up straight and stilled, my eyes on her. “Are you turning me down?” she asked with a pout, setting my blood to boil and my pulse throbbing around my entire body. “I don’t want to go to Paris and end up giving my body to some loser robbing me of a good first-time memory. I want it to be you. If it’s you, it’ll always be a good memory.”

Damn her logic.

Merde, merde, merde.

I muttered while she leaned against me, her hands on my chest. They were here once before, a maddening time that ended with me drawing the line on the sand. Or at least I hoped I had. The memory of that first kiss, of the whole day, was etched in fire in my mind.

“So, do you have many girls who follow you around because you know how to kiss them?” Victoria teased me while the dark clouds moved across the sky at sunset.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, your looks are good, but if a boy doesn’t know how to kiss, that’s not going to help you get all the girls.”

“Why do you suddenly care so much about whether or not I am a good kisser?”

“Because I want you to kiss me,” she replied in a tiny voice, having nothing to do with the daring girl in front of me now. “I want my first kiss to mean something, something nice.”

The memory of that first and only kiss burned bright in my mind. The rain started to drip slowly around us while my arms circled her. I moved slowly, almost resisting the pull of her body. And when my lips touched hers… I nearly pulled away. It was Victoria who pulled me closer. Victoria’s hands were the ones that awakened something in me I’d never felt. Desire, lust, a need for someone I never knew I could feel.

This request, however, was different. It was so much more intimate than a first kiss. My eyes tried to evade hers. The answer was on the tip of my tongue. Still, even though I understood this wasn’t a good idea, the expectation in her eyes obliterated my defenses.

Without thinking, I held her hand before my mind changed, or I slapped myself out of the depth of my desire for her. I led her back to the hotel.

We walked across the impressive lobby with big, old-fashioned red chairs and beautiful chandeliers. Taking the stairs to the second floor, I ensured no one saw us before I led her straight into my bedroom.

After the door closed behind her, I scanned the room. The large bed with the royal red and gold canopy over it and the chandelier over the bed made me take a moment to think this through. However, rather than think, I turned to her and opened my mouth.

“Are you sure about this?” The words left my lips regret flooding my thoughts. It was only conscionable for me to ask her, even if she changed her mind and left. Maybe that would be the preferred outcome of this whole ordeal, but I knew I would be heartbroken if she left me.

She looked around, then a smile pulled at her lips. The gentleness in her eyes nearly made my legs buckle. Victoria then shrugged off the jacket, and my eyes followed it as it fell to the floor, then she crushed her lips to mine before I could dissuade her. A low rumble spread through me as my hands explored her body under her dress. Every kiss, every caress was an invitation to touch her further and make her mine.

And so I did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One,

Ten Years Later

Sébastien

 

After opening the shutters in my bedroom, I opened the windows and looked toward the bay. In the middle of the ocean, there it was, the Mont St. Michel, greeting me like every morning since my birth. I left the bedroom, walking down the stairs and into the kitchen, before grabbing the coffee from the cupboard and the clean French press from the dish drainer. After filling the kettle with fresh water and turning it on, I took my keys and left through the back door, making a mental note to stop at Leroy Merlin later in the day to see if the paints I ordered had arrived. I needed to finish painting the doors and the outside of the house since the builders finished remodeling the old façade in record time.

I rode the bike through the morning traffic to the local boulangerie and got in line with the rest of the locals, checking my schedule for next week when I got a text message from my boss. A frown nestled between my eyebrows as I read it. It wasn’t that I hated Armand de Longcamp, one of the most recognized French chefs in the entire world, but sometimes, he forgot that I needed at least one day to rest. Or finish all the billion DIY projects I had going in my house.

As I waited in line, I texted my reply to his request to meet on my one day off. I can come in the afternoon if that’s okay with you.

“Bonjour, Sébastien!”

“Bonjour, Madame Lessonier,” I replied as I approached the counter.

“Une baguette?”

“Deux s’il vous plaît.” I asked, reminding her to give me two because I would be home all day and planned on eating only baguettes and the Camembert cheese I had “borrowed” from my parents’ sous-sol. Their basement was always stocked with Camembert cheese, endless bottles of Calvados, wine bottles and cidre bouché, which came from the Garnots family apple orchard, and was bottled by Victoria’s grandparents. It was, in my opinion, the best cider in all of Normandy.

“Ah, c’est le jour de congé?”

“Oui,” I replied as she turned around and nodded to herself. “My only day off.”

“Ah, it’s all right. I’ll give you something extra.” She continued in French in a soft, motherly whisper before she grabbed my favorite pastry, an oranais. It was a delicate pastry with crème pâtissière folded into an oval-like shape with two halved apricots, all cooked in a delicious thousand-sheet and perfectly laminated buttery puff pastry.

My mouth watered.

“You really don’t have to,” I said, not because I didn’t want it but because I knew she wouldn’t charge me for it.

“Yes, I should. You did such a splendid job at my daughter’s wedding.”

“That was ten years ago,” I said, feeling the heat on the back of my neck as I’d been a novice back then and trying to outdo what I considered my competition.

Victoria Garnot.

Of course, things had been a mess since she used me to lose her virginity, then ran off without saying goodbye. Even worse, I was still so damn hung up on her that the mere mention of her name by my family sent me back to my room, or better yet, to purchase a house that was falling apart so that I could rebuild it and not have to hear about the amazing things she’d been doing in Tampa. The truth was that we’d been succeeding in our common career. As the new Executive Chef of Chez Armand in Mont St. Michel, I’d been awarded my first Michelin star, bringing Armand’s total Michelin stars count from one to two. And Victoria with her pretentious French restaurant in Tampa, which had garnered a Michelin star two years ago.

After thanking Madame Lessonier and leaving the bakery, I eliminated the bitter taste in my mouth by biting into the oranais. I was not going to think about her. What was the point? The last time we saw each other was in Paris, after we finished our culinary arts degree. She turned down Armand’s offer to come and work for him because I signed on to be a part of the team. That was the only explanation I could think of.

Once back in the house, I poured the coffee beans into the grinder, then I added that powder into the French press before pouring the hot water over them.

“Sébastien!”

I nearly spilled the coffee when I heard the voice.

“Maude, what are you doing here?” I asked, looking at my sister, who had come in with a suitcase. “Did you and Paul fight again?”

“I’m leaving him," she said, leaving the suitcase at the kitchen entrance and grabbing one of the baguettes before breaking a piece. Although I was sure I should be a good brother and share, I felt quite betrayed. She tore a piece of it without using a knife to cut it. I looked away, thinking I needed to go and get a third baguette before Madame Lessonier sold out all of it.

“And you’re staying here?”

“No, idiot. I’m going to the farm.”

“Oh, did you tell the parents already?” I asked before turning to grab the bowls I used for coffee. Maud made a face, because she preferred the more American style mugs, but I liked tradition.

“You’re not going to ask why?”

“Isn’t this the fourth time in the last sixteen months?” I asked, settling the bowls on the island.

“You’re so mean.” She glowered but immediately thanked me when I pushed the coffee toward her.

“I’m not, but I don’t want to get into this. I told you when you and Paul started dating. He’s my school friend, and you’re my sister. I’m not getting in the middle.” Mainly because Paul and I had stopped being close as soon as she started seeing him; the truth was that I still thought he was a shithead and that Maude could do so much better than him.

“Fine,” she replied, lifting the cup to her lips. “And yes, Papa and Maman know.”

“Good,” I said before sipping the coffee, knowing full well that at some point, I would get an angry text from my dad telling me exactly how much he hated Paul, but he would never ask Maude to dump him.

“What are you going to be doing today?”

“Need to see if my paints arrived, then I have to stop at the garden center to check on the plants for the garden, and I have to go and see Armand.”

“On your day off?”

“Ouais,” I said before grabbing the baguette and putting it on the cutting board. After cutting a few pieces, I grabbed the butter and jam from the pantry. A good thing about Normandy was that it was always cold for most of the year, so I didn’t need to refrigerate either one.

“Oh, is that the rhubarb jam you made?” my sister asked, quickly rummaging through the drawers to find a knife and a spoon.

“Yeah.” I shook my head before sitting down on one of the stools. “So why are you here?”

“I know something you don’t know,” she said with a grin as she spread the butter on the bread.

“And that is?” I asked, but her phone rang at that moment. Her face blanched slightly, then she shook her head.

“I’ll tell you later. It’s juicy,” she said. After drinking the coffee and grabbing a few more pieces of my bread, she rushed out the door, holding her suitcase.

The last word I caught as she rushed away speaking on the phone was Paul t’es un conard. It certainly didn’t look like they were going to break up, not even when she was calling him an asshole.

I should have checked that her suitcase was packed.

***

 

Mont St. Michel was as packed today as every other day. Tourists and locals mixed with each other as tour guides shouted, trying to corral their clients so they could start their afternoon tours.

I crossed the entrance, making sure not to get stuck behind any tourists, and rushed to the restaurant. Most of the servers were getting ready for the afternoon service as I waved at them on my way to the back, where Armand’s office was past the kitchen.

The door was closed, but I could hear him behind the door singing along to Georges Brassens ‘Les copains d’abord.’ After knocking, I heard his chair scrape the floor before I pushed the door open.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Close the door,” Armand told me, his blue eyes on me as he leaned against the desk.

“Sounds ominous… are you firing me?” I said cheekily before he rolled his eyes.

“Did you do something bad?” he asked as I took a seat.

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you asking?” he asked, but before I could even reply, he sighed. Armand ran a hand through his face, then looked me in the eyes once more. “We have a problem.”

“The restaurant?”

“Not exactly.”

“Okay, so what can I do?”

“I need you to go to Florida and bring Victoria here.”

I was confused about who was laughing for a second, but the scowl on Armand’s face quickly told me it was me.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I don’t think you understand how much she doesn’t want to see me ever again.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter if she does or not.” Armand spat out, getting more irritated with me the longer this conversation went on.

“She’ll never agree to come here, not even if I try dragging her back.”

“You don’t have to drag her,” he said, swiveling in his chair and grabbing a sealed folder. “You’re to give her this, then bring her. I bought both your tickets.”

“Wait, this … You’re sending me to Florida, for real, to talk to Victoria, who hasn’t spoken more than fifty words to me, and that was about six years ago because you made us supervise the students in your beginner’s class.”

“She lost her restaurant.”

For a second, I thought he said she lost her restaurant, but the longer the silence lasted, I realized that that was precisely what he meant.

“W-What do you mean? How?”

“First, she lost the Michelin star at the beginning of the year. And her restaurant started to suffer as the patrons ignored it for other eateries in the area. It seems she also lost some of the staff she trained because of the loss of the star. Instead of cooking, she pretty much became an expo.” Armand explained using the term we used for the restaurant's expediter, who ensured all dishes were plated correctly and servers had the proper orders before the plates left the kitchen. “Her father called me last night, a sort of last-ditch effort to get her out of the depression she’s in.”

Everything stopped then. My heart hammered in my chest, wondering how she was doing. Was it as bad as it sounded? I didn’t have a doubt in my mind. Victoria was pretty much a workaholic, and I knew through mutual friends she pretty much had set up a makeshift bed in her office at the restaurant so she didn’t have to go home when she was trying out new recipes or writing her own. While working at Chez Armand, we added a second star. I couldn’t even imagine losing it. All the work it took for us to get it. The thought of her in that situation pulled at my heartstrings, evoking a deep sense of empathy. I was torn between my professional pride and my personal feelings for her.

Dammit. I thought closing my eyes, trying hard to stop my mind from showing me images of her. I didn’t need to feel sorry for Victoria Garnot. Remember how much she hurt you. Don’t forget that she always chose her career over you. The conflict within me was palpable. My emotions warred against my mind.

“How is Victoria?” I asked.

“How do you think she’s doing?” he asked, and I nodded, realizing that this was just the stupidest idea. I couldn’t go to Tampa and drag her back. She was my Kryptonite. “Do this one favor for me, and I won’t bother you again during your day off.”

“Fine.” My mouth spoke quicker than my brain could process this. “But you owe me big time,” I said, and my stupid brain busied itself conjuring terrible images of how badly this meeting would go.

The door shut behind me and I closed my eyes. This was going to be a disaster, but at least until I faced her, I decided to stop fighting my mind and let it summon up incredibly stupid scenarios where she was actually happy to see me there instead.

Yup, daydreaming would be preferable to strategizing a way to convince her to come to Mont St. Michel. I knew my weak points, and Victoria was the biggest of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

Victoria

 

The mixer’s whirring sound echoed in the deserted kitchen as I mixed eggs and sugar first, then added a bit of flour. Once I was done with that, I turned to check on the milk, which I scalded with a few vanilla pods. While I removed the vanilla pods from the pot, the creaking of the front door distracted me creasing my forehead with worry. Turning people away used to be a cause for satisfaction as the restaurant was constantly booked. Today, it reminded me of my failure to retain my Michelin star and the restaurant. The restaurant officially closed a week ago, and today was the last opportunity for me to cook in my kitchen before returning the keys to the realtor. Earlier, my staff and I cleaned and packed the last of the utensils and appliances, and now, standing alone in the kitchen, I missed them already. Standing alone in the place I loved the most for the last five years, I regretted not having them around.

“We’re closed,” I called from the kitchen, loud enough for whoever to hear me, before looking at the security camera.

I blinked in surprise at the unexpected visitor, Sébastien. Immediately, I stuck my head in the pass-through window that opened into the old front of the house. My heart flip-flopped. The traitor, I thought, patting my chest while trying to find the right words before addressing him.

“Sébastien!” I thought that was anticlimactic as I walked around the table, then through the double doors into the old dining area.

“Victoria,” Sébastien said, his severe expression not hiding the tension between us as he looked around the restaurant. His face was unreadable, and his eyes were guarded. For a few seconds, I mourned the ease that once existed between us, but the truth was that seeing him like this, out of the blue, brought back memories of my competitive side, which drove a wedge between us. Mainly my thickheaded way of always wanting to get ahead and crush the competition.

“What are you doing here?” The words came out fast and dry; I saw him wince briefly before smoothing his features.

“I’m here on business.”

“Oh, here, in Tampa? What sort of business?” I asked, taking a step closer before stopping myself.

“Armand wants you to come to Normandy,” he said, handing me a yellow envelope in a most regal way. For a second, I wondered if he wanted me to kiss his ring.

Once I composed myself, I took the envelope and looked at it. It had my name on it and the address of Chez Armand in Mont St. Michel. My tooth gnawed at my bottom lip before looking at him. Sébastien hadn’t changed much in ten years. His dark hair was longer, but his piercing blue eyes were still as beautiful as they were all those years ago. It was a shame that he was still visibly pissed off at me.

“I’m not sure what Armand has written to you about, but don’t let your pride keep you from a good opportunity,” he said before turning on his heels and walking toward the door.

“Pride?” The word exploded from my lips and rebounded in the empty dining area. “That’s a shit thing to say when I’m standing in the middle of the ruins of my restaurant.” Anger coursed through me, and I debated whether I wanted to grab the binder from the floor and chuck it at his head.

He turned around like a caged lion and pounced. His long strides enabled him to reach me before I could speak again.

“All you had to do was pick up the phone and call.”

“You?” The venom that left my lips was so unlike what I felt then, even I paused to assess the situation. He was so close that I could feel his breath on my skin as he glowered at me.

“Do you hate me so much you couldn’t pick up the phone?” he asked and lifted his hand to stop me from replying. “We’ve known each other since we were kids; we were friends for a long time; you should have known that no matter what has transpired between us, I would have been here in a second to help you keep your restaurant.”

I took a step back, not because I wanted to recoil from him, but because I was convinced that he could hear my stupid heart hammering in my chest. His eyes widened in surprise as he stepped back, putting enough space between us, ensuring that an invisible wall kept us apart.

“I didn’t think you would have cared,” I admitted, noticing his eyes were no longer guarded but filled with mixed emotions.

“The last time we were together in a kitchen, I told you I would always be there for you, no matter what.” His voice sounded velvety deep like a sweet Opera cake. Even though I knew better, it had all the ingredients to pull me in.

Before I could answer, the kitchen smoke alarm went off, and I turned quickly and ran at top speed toward it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!” I reached for the pot with my bare hand, but Sébastien stopped me from touching it.

With his free hand, he grabbed the kitchen towel and wrapped it around the pot’s handle letting go of me and taking it to the sink.

After he filled it with water I turned off the smoke alarm, silence fell between us like a security blanket. Even after all these years, I couldn’t deny the attraction or the fact that I never trusted anyone in my life as much as I trusted him.

“What were you cooking?” he asked, turning off the mixer.

“I was going to make an oranais.”

Sébastien removed his light black jacket, then rolled his sleeves up. I wasn’t ready. All those repressed feelings suddenly slapped me silly as my eyes went immediately to his bare forearms. He’d been working out. The veins were more noticeable, and there was a new dagger tattoo along the side of his right arm with something written on it, but the moment I tried to read it, I heard him saying my name.

“Eyes up here,” he said playfully, pointing at the scruffy beard on his face.

“I wasn’t looking.” I huffed, walking to the fridge to get the carton of eggs out.

“Sure, you weren’t,” he replied with a smile in his voice before I stepped to the island and huffed again.

 “Shut up,” I grumbled, separating the last eggs to prepare the crème pâtissière again.

“I can’t believe you burned the crème pat.”

“Shush.”

“That’s like Patisserie 101.”

“You distracted me,” I protested.

He grabbed the milk bottle and measured enough of it into the cup next to me.

“Ah, sure, blame the messenger.”

“Do you know what’s in the envelope?”

“An offer you shouldn’t refuse.”

I handed him the sugar, thinking about that. “My parents surely called him, begging him to take me back.”

“I’m sure there was no twisting his arm. Armand loves you like a daughter. I’ve had to hear about all your accomplishments for the last six years.”

“Which ones? The ones that led me to lose my star? Or to lose my business?”

“Come on, youngest chef heading Bernardo’s in New York. Youngest Executive Chef at the Mar Resort in Miami. Every time you featured in one of the morning shows, he woke me up early when I lived with him and forced me to sit down with him for me to translate.”

“I’m very sorry about that,” I said as he placed the ingredients again in the mixer after washing the bowl.

“I didn’t hate it that much.”

“You never replied to my letter,” I said, looking at him because I’d poured my soul into it, and he never acknowledged it. I knew there was a slim chance he would. I’d wounded him so badly, betrayed him even, but I still tried hard to reconnect, and he shut the door in my face.

He shrugged before facing me. “To be honest, I thought it wouldn’t help at all, if I’d done so. I was wounded.”

“I’m sorry.” I replied, lifting my hand to touch his arm, but I stopped myself.

“Plus, after the fact, it was too late to bring all of that up again.” He added turning completely toward me, then offered me a half-smile. “And then I saw it all over the news. You were publishing a cooking book and I was a bit jealous to be honest.”

“A bestseller.”

“Ah, sure, rub it in.”

And then he laughed, and that simple action wiped the last of my defenses. It was impossible not to think about all the what ifs. The years we lost during this Cold War of sorts, professional jealousy, and my initial transgression, using him, then leaving without saying a word. I was naïve thinking it would never change our relationship. We were friends since birth, then I requested a proof of friendship that went beyond the scope of friendship, but still, I wanted him. The realization of how much I wanted him came suddenly, when I opened my eyes, and watched him sleep. I wasn’t afraid of losing my virginity to some unnamed asshole, I was afraid of never being able to sleep with him. And after I did, I couldn’t reconcile the fact that I would have sacrificed my own dreams for him. If there was a chance for us to be together, I would have taken it, betraying myself in the process. That awareness sent me into a spiral where I picked career over my heart. For years, I wanted to turn back the clock. Of course, it’s impossible, but I truly wanted a second chance. Was this life’s way of offering it to me? Should I jump in with both feet, without thinking?

I glanced toward the envelope, which fell between the door and the kitchen. I walked to it and picked it up. After walking back to the island, I read the letter and the contract.

Ma Chère Victoria, I know you probably expected me to run toward you, and extend this invitation in person, however, I know that you’ve always preferred good looking boys, and Sébastien is as good looking as they come. So maybe, he’ll entice you more than my simple offer. Come home. It’s been too long, and everyone wants to spend time with you. Your grandparents aren’t that young… hell, I’m not that young either. I’ve included a sweet deal you’ll probably think is too sweet, but what can I say? I’ll pay you, and you’ll be able to demonstrate your talents, your expertise, before you fly the nest. Yes, I’m sure that all you need is to be taught how to fly again, then you can go on your own. Please, come home.

Armand

“Is he very manipulative?”

“Extremely.”

A laugh escaped his lips before I settled the letter on the counter and looked at the contract. Sébastien turned to grab a pot from the box, then poured the milk into it before looking around.

“The vanilla pods are in the box next to you.”

“Thanks,” he said, turning to grab them, and once he sliced them lengthwise, he returned his eyes to me. “So?”

“That’s an awful lot of money.”

“What?” He said, leaning over my shoulder. “I can’t believe he added all those zeroes.” He teased me, then returned to the pot.

“How would this even work?” I looked at him. “This is the longest we’ve talked to each other in ten years.”

“We can make it work.” He promised with such sincerity in his eyes I had to make sure to blink before I fell completely under his spell again. I couldn’t, not if we were going to work together.

But the problem was that I was already there. All it took was for him to appear before me, and voilà. I was back to square one. No, I needed to think about this carefully. The fact was that the moment my eyes clasped around him, I silently hoped there would be a way for us to be together. A way for me to see him every day, and rekindle the fire that I’d put out, out of fear. No, I didn’t need to think about him in that way. Considering the job was the important thing. The most important thing. I sacrificed everything for my career, including relationships. If I went back to Normandy, I couldn’t be thinking about Sébastien in any way other than my boss.

He lifted his hand and offered me his pinky. “I promise that I’ll respect your space.” His eyebrow arched, the expectation in his eyes making me swoon as I battled it and lost the war against the lust currently charging my body. “What is it that you say? Pinky swear?” The smile on his lips made his whole face brighten up like the morning summer sun. And soon I was smiling back, my pinky wrapping around his, and nodding before I spoke.

“I promise that I’ll respect your space,” I said, way too breathless, before clearing my throat. “Pinky swear.” I added holding my free hand behind my back as I crossed my fingers.