Bon Appetit
Praise for
Bon Appétit
“A wonderful follow-up to
Let Them Eat Cake!
I was caught up in Lexi’s tug-of-war between her charmed life in France with its possibility of romance, and the pull to Seattle where her family and a very special man long for her return. What a perfect story for an evening by the fire or a day at the beach”.
—D
EBORAH
R
ANEY
, author of
Remember to Forget
and
Leaving November
“Paris, French culture, and pastries loom prominent in
Bon Appétit
by Sandra Byrd, who writes with insight and authenticity about the life of an American student at a prestigious pastry academy”.
—R
UTH
A
XTELL
M
ORREN
, author of
The Rogue’s Redemption, The Healing Season
, and
Hearts in the Highlands
“Sandra Byrd does it again! If you want a book as sweet as caramelized sugar and as intriguing as a handsome stranger, reach for
Bon Appétit
. Delicious and satisfying!”
—L
YN
C
OTE
, author of the
Texas: Star of Destiny
series
“Lexi is a delight, and one can’t help rooting for her as she struggles to achieve professional success while seeking the perfect recipe for romantic bliss.
Bon Appétit est très magnifique!”
—T
RISH
P
ERRY
, author of
Beach Dreams, Too Good to Be True
, and
The Guy I’m Not Dating
“Bon Appétit
captures the range of emotions and personal growth caused by cross-cultural experiences. It’s a literary petit four—a tasty morsel that delights and makes you want another.
Fantastique!”
—M
EREDITH
E
FKEN
, author of
SAHM I Am
“Sandra Byrd’s
Bon Appétit
is a delicious tale to be savored. It will leave you wanting
more
. More pastry … more café… more chocolat … but best of all, more novels by Sandra Byrd”.
—S
TEPHANIE
G
RACE
W
HITSON,
author/speaker
“For a sumptuous taste of French culture without all the jet lag, get the next best thing by reading
Bon Appétit
. Not only does Sandra Byrd vividly paint the French landscape with loving detail, but the reader can’t help rooting for Lexi as she navigates the oh-so-tricky waters of a new career, a burgeoning faith, and the trickiest endeavor of all, finding true love in the midst of it all. You’ll enjoy every minute”.
—C
HRISTA
A
NN
B
ANISTER
, author of
Around the World in 80 Dates
and
Blessed Are the Meddlers
“Bon Appétit
had such a unique twist. I can’t wait for the third!”
—E
RYNN
M
ANGUM
, author of
Miss Match
and
Match Point
B
ON
A
PPÉTIT
Sandra Byrd
French Twist: Book 2
Copyright © 2008 by Sandra Byrd
All rights reserved.
P
UBLISHED BY
W
ATERBROOK
P
RESS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
A division of Random House Inc.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Published in association with the literary agency of Janet Kobobel Grant, Books & Such, 4788 Carissa Avenue, Santa Rosa, CA 95405.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of The Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.
W
ATER
B
ROOK
and its deer design logo are registered trademarks of WaterBrook Press.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Byrd, Sandra.
Bon appetit : a novel / Sandra Byrd. —1st ed.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-76913-8
1. Young women—Fiction. 2. Americans—France—Fiction. 3. Bakers—Fiction. 4. France—Fiction. 5. Chick lit. I. Title.
PS3552.Y678B66 2008
813’.54—dc22
2008013292
v3.1
For Anne and Malgwyn Elmer
For Ann and Kyle Lewis
De vrais amis en France with a true gift of Christian hospitality
.
Merci!
Hunger savors every dish
.
French proverb
How can a nation be great
if its bread tastes like Kleenex?
Julia Child
L
iving in France was my dream, and I was going to make it work. With that goal in mind, I waited nearly two hours to get my
autorisation provisoire de travail
, the temporary work permit that would allow me to take a job at the Delacroix bakery while I attended pastry school.
A bored-looking woman behind the counter beckoned me forward with her finger.
“I need to apply for the APT,” I said in fluent French, handing over my paperwork. I had a letter from Luc’s uncle saying I would be working at two family bakeries in a neighboring village and town, the student resident permit Luc’s mother had acquired for me, and a letter from L’École du Pâtisserie stating I was enrolled in their sixteen-week program from September through December.
“If you are a citizen of a European Union nation, you don’t need this”. She flicked the papers back at me but paused to look at my identity card. “Lexi Stuart. What a strange name”.
“I’m an American”.
The room went quiet except for some muttering. I felt like shouting,
Yes, an American. You know, the ones who saved you in World War II.
Instead, I forced a polite smile onto my face.
“You speak French,” the woman said, as if noticing for the first time.
“Oui,”
I answered. “My permit, please?”
She moved incredibly slowly. Finally, having assembled and stamped all of my paperwork, she handed a card over the countertop. “You do know that you cannot work in France once you complete your school program? You’ll have to go home”.
I shook my head. “I read that foreign workers are welcome in France”. The words dried up in my mouth.
“Welcome?
Non
. But they can be hired. If no one in the EU can be found to do the same job, that is. Of course, we don’t have many bakers and pastry makers in France, so I am sure they’ll make an exception for you”. She directed her sarcastic laugh more at the woman next to her than toward me. The second woman coughed out a laugh, but hers seemed halfhearted rather than truly cruel.
“Here, Lexi,” she said, drawing out my name to make it sound like “Leaksie” before continuing.
“Bon courage
. I hope you enjoy your stay in France. This permit expires in six months”.
I left, slowly walking to the Rambouillet city center, and stood
by myself at the train station, permit in my purse, shoulders drooping, sensible shoes on my feet. I slumped onto a bench.
I heard the arriving train announced in French, and the suave melody of the language reminded me.
Lexi! You’re in France. You’re living in France. Your dream has come true. One cranky, ill-informed government worker does not a nation make.
In spite of everything, I was here. I was breathing French air, eating
real
French bread, meeting French people. Kind of. I grinned, remembering a joke I’d read before leaving Seattle a few weeks ago.
In European heaven, the British meet you at the door, the Germans orchestrate your schedule, the Spanish plan your entertainment, and the French prepare your food.
In European hell, however, the Spanish orchestrate your schedule, the Germans plan your entertainment, the British prepare your food, and the French will greet you at the door.
Considering my welcome thus far, I could assume I’d landed in European hell. All I needed to confirm it was an unorganized siesta and a plate of fish and chips followed by a lively reading of Goethe’s
Faust
.
I decided not to worry. I’d make it work.
Thirty minutes later I got off the train and lifted my chin toward the sun. My village, Presque le Château, was perfect, a tiny jewel on the necklace of towns that encircled Paris. Old houses, tidily kept, lined the streets. The air was perfumed with the sweetness of orange blossoms and bitterness of orange zest. I trailed my hand along the low stone wall fronting the sidewalk. My fingers and heart tingled at
the thought that hundreds of years before the United States was even a nation, some other young woman may have trailed her fingertips along this very wall, wondering what life held for her.
“Bonjour!”
I called to a woman I passed on the street. She said,
“Bonjour!”
back to me. Would that exact woman show up to buy her baguette from me in a few days? In fact, that very woman may become a friend or end up buying baguettes that I
make
in a few months. Or ordering a birthday cake from me in a year! I loved that thought.
When Luc, my boss at the French bakery where I’d worked in Seattle, had first approached me with the idea of swapping places with his sister, I felt both excitement and anxiety. His family owned several bakeries in France and two in Seattle. As they expanded their business, the family members went back and forth between Seattle and France to get experience in both. Luc’s sister was coming to the US to work in Seattle for six months or more. Would I be interested in taking her place in France?
