Dinner for One (3 page)

James starts walking. “I am,” he says. “But he was also kind of an asshole.” He has a hard time feeling bad about it. The streets aren’t too crowded, and they’re mostly able to walk and chat without having to part for the normal clumps of people that clog the sidewalk. It’s nearing ten at night.

“Speaking of cupcakes,” says Laurence, out of the blue, a minute or so after they finished a conversation about the Rangers’ performance, “Jordan and Kaden’s school is doing a bake sale tomorrow. Marcy’s helping them make strawberry shortcake cupcakes tonight. It would mean a lot if you came.”

“I’ll be there,” he says. He’ll just get up earlier than planned to fit the gym in. Possibly he’ll need to go in the evening as well, if he’s going to be spending his day around sweets. “Anyone else going?”

Laurence shakes his head, shoving his hands in his front pockets. “All our siblings are busy. Georgina is working, Jackson is in California, and Denver and Dorian are in Florida. Mom and Dad are on vacation in Italy.”

James blinks. “When the hell did everyone leave the state?”

That earns him an amused look. “Denver and Dorian left this morning. They’re doing a swimwear shoot in Miami, and there’s some kind of big music festival they’re going to. Jackson’s been in California for two weeks. He’s working on a film out there. I can’t believe you haven’t got the texts about the crazy makeup he’s been getting to do. And our parents have been gone for three days. Georgina’s still in the state, though. She’s just busy.” He shakes his head. “How are you so out of the loop?”

He honestly doesn’t know and he tells Laurence so. He feels like they must be telling him what they’re doing and he’s somehow forgetting it. He’s got to start writing it down. At least his sister hasn’t left without his knowledge.

They get to the cupcake shop just before closing time, and the look of relief on Laurence’s face when they say they can take his order would be amusing if James hadn’t sat through the same dinner that led to this. Laurence orders a box of eight cupcakes, and James, being more practical, orders a box of four.

They go back to James’s to eat them, so Laurence’s kids won’t be mad he’s eating cupcakes that aren’t theirs. It’s a little sickening to see, but Laurence eats all eight of his cupcakes. James only manages to pack away three before the sugar sends him crashing to his bed, holding his stomach and regretting his night’s choices.

Chapter Two

THE BAKE
sale is packed, wall-to-wall parents and kids. It’s messy and loud, food getting dropped, and kids shouting as they run back and forth. It’s chaotic, and Bastien is immensely glad none of these kids are his. He wouldn’t want to deal with this on a full-time basis. Avery is a handful on her own, but she’s perfect. An exception. And she’s not actually his. He’s just the fun uncle. He doesn’t know if he could take care of her full time.

Scratch that. He knows he couldn’t. He’s seen her throw a tantrum, and there’s not a chance in hell he could handle that.

His religieuses have their own table, the little pastry cakes arranged to look like a tiny rabbit, the school’s mascot. Each individual pastry has whiskers and a little pink nose. They’re a huge hit. The kids are loving it. He’s seen more than one parent take a photo of them. After he leaves he’s going to search Instagram to see if anyone’s posted their pictures. It’s a fantastic marketing tool, and his restaurant even has its own hashtag. He takes a photo of the religieuses himself and posts it to his personal Instagram, and then reposts it to L’amour Dans La Ville’s official page. He captions it:
Thinking about adding these beauts to the dessert menu. #foodporn

He’s been trading off with his sister, each of them taking hour shifts as they sell the pastries. Bastien is glad he baked so many batches. If he hadn’t he’d have sold out within the first hour. As it is, he’s able to constantly replenish and keep the bunny looking like a bunny. He’s going to start running out soon, though.

A gaggle of children come up, oohing and ahhing over the pastries, giggling as they look at the bunny faces. They’ve got money clutched in their little fists, and a small auburn-haired girl missing her two front teeth asks him how much one is after a fierce argument over who has to speak. He gives her the price, smiling as she stares up at him with unblinking eyes, and watches as another argument breaks out over if they have the money and should they wait. He’s tempted to laugh, but if there’s one thing he’s learned from Avery, it’s that kids don’t like it when you laugh at them. He doesn’t need a bunch of kids throwing tantrums around his pastries.

“How about a group discount?” he interjects when the argument shows no signs of slowing down or resolving itself and instead gets louder and whinier.

They turn big eyes on him, falling silent abruptly.

“I’ll knock it down to two dollars a pastry, since there’s so many of you.”

Every last one of them looks like Christmas has come early, and they thrust their dollar bills and quarters eagerly at him, rocking on their heels as he boxes up their pasties. Their impatience is a tangible thing, and once he’s handed everything over, they run off, gleeful looks on their faces. He watches them go and sees them approaching a cookie table across the way. He watches in disbelief as they repeat their actions on the cookie vendor. He does start to laugh then, realizing he’s been hustled by a bunch of elementary schoolkids.

A tall blond wanders over to his table then, drawing his gaze away from the cookie seller who’s in the process of being lulled in by sweet innocent faces and wide eyes. The man’s hands are tucked into his formfitting black slacks. The sleeves of his gray dress shirt are rolled up to the elbows, revealing lightly tanned, shapely forearms. Bastien can see his veins, clearly standing out in that way that says this is a guy who works out a lot. His dirty-blond hair is on the longer side of short and styled, just the right amount of product in it to keep it in place but not so much that it looks shiny. Bastien can’t help but return his toothy smile when it’s flashed at him, revealing a deep dimple in his left cheek. The man’s green-gray eyes crinkle at the corner when he smiles, little crow’s-feet branching and spreading.

“Bit fancy for a bake sale,” he says, pulling one of his hands free to scratch along his sharp jaw. He’s got a modulated kind of voice, bordering on husky. It sends a pleasant shiver down the length of Bastien’s spine. “What are they?”

“Religieuses,” answers Bastien, deciding to ignore the fancy comment. They’re appropriate, dammit. “It’s two tiers of choux pastry with cream filling on the inside of each pastry and vanilla cream icing on the outside.”

“French,” says the man under his breath, and then louder, “How much is it?”

“Four dollars a pastry.”

The guy looks like he’s thinking about it, his uniquely colored gaze flicking over the pastries, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he worries it back and forth. It takes him a minute, but he finally reaches for his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. His fingers are long and nimble as he grabs his money. He hands a five over to Bastien and takes the pastry forming the nose of the rabbit. He plucks the top pastry off and while Bastien is sorting his change, he takes a bite.

The moan he makes is nothing short of pornographic. Bastien’s head snaps up, the money in his hands forgotten. The guy’s jaw is shifting as he chews, and his eyes are shut in what Bastien is going to assume is bliss. He looks absolutely gorgeous, and Bastien wants nothing more than to get him alone and make him moan like that again. Preferably because of something not food related, though he’s not exactly averse to food being involved in a small way. He is a chef after all, and he knows how to do some creative things with whipped cream and chocolate. He wonders if the guy would make that noise if Bastien sucked him down, let him pound into the back of his throat. Not appropriate, he thinks. He shakes his head. He’s in public for God’s sake. This isn’t the place.

“Keep the change,” the guy says once he’s finished his bite. “Can I get some of these to go?” He’s stuffing another chunk in his mouth before the last word is completely finished. He makes that same noise again.

Bastien stares at him, running through the appropriate and not-so-appropriate responses he could say. He doesn’t think this should be as sexy as it is. He finally settles on, “Sure,” feeling like he’s been struck dumb. He has to clear his throat his voice sounds so hoarse. “So you like it, then?” He’s thinking that might be an understatement.

“It’s absolutely fantastic,” the guy says after he swallows another mouthful, long throat working. “Did you make it?” His pink tongue peeks out to swipe at the corners of his mouth.

“I did,” says Bastien, unable to keep the pride from his tone.

The guy gives him a speculative look, licks icing from his finger. “Care to share the recipe?”

Bastien’s cock jerks in reaction, eyes on the way he’s sucking the icing off his thumb, and he licks his own lips in an unconscious response. He forces himself to focus and shakes his head, smiling. “It’s a secret. A good chef doesn’t give their secrets away.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” laughs the man good-naturedly, lowering his hand to his pocket.

When he hands over the money for the extra pastries, their fingers brush. Bastien can feel a blush blooming on his cheeks as heat gathers in his face. He quickly ducks his head as he looks for the man’s change.

“So, are you a chef, then? Or do you just do school bake sales?” His tone is conversational, not at all awkward or stilted.

Bastien gathers up the to-go boxes, glancing at the man from underneath his lashes. He looks genuinely interested in the answer, a small smile quirking his lips at the corners. “I’m a chef,” he says, smiling back shyly in response. “I’m just helping my sister out with this.”

“Any place I would know?” asks the man, propping his hip against Bastien’s table. Making himself comfortable.

Bastien ignores the skip of his heartbeat and answers while he’s sliding a pastry carefully into the first to-go box. He’s watching to make sure the top of the pastry doesn’t try and make a break for it. With an audience as beautiful as this guy, he wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to embarrass himself. “L’amour Dans La Ville,” he says.

There’s a moment of silence, and then the man begins to cough. Bastien looks over at him, startled, brows furrowing in concern. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Do you need water?” The last thing he wants (or needs) is someone choking to death on his food.

He waves his hand in front of him, shaking his head. He’s got the weirdest expression on his face. A little like he swallowed a lemon. “No,” he says, once he stops coughing. “No.” He clears his throat. “Just swallowed wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Bastien side-eyes him, but he’s eating the pastry once again, and other than a flush over his cheeks, he looks fine. He goes back to getting the religieuses into the boxes. He’s acutely aware of the man watching him as he works. He knows it’s in his head, but he swears he can feel the man’s gaze like a tangible stroke over his back.

“How’d you end up there?” the man asks eventually, breaking what had somehow become an awkward silence.

“I own it,” answers Bastien. “Well, co-own it, really.”

“And you’re French?” He clears his throat. “From France, I should say. You’ve got a hell of an accent.”

“
Oui
,” says Bastien, turning his head to flash the man a smile. He gets a startled laugh and small grin in response. He’s lived in America for several years now, but his accent is still very prominent.

“I’ll have to check it out sometime,” he says, sounding like he means it. He takes the bag full of boxes Bastien hands to him. He holds it carefully, shifting from foot to foot. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” says Bastien warmly. The guy starts to walk away. “Wait!” Bastien bites his lip as he pauses and turns. “Are you a parent?” he asks, knowing that it’s none of his business but needing to know. There wasn’t a band on the guy’s ring finger, but that didn’t mean anything.

The man turns to fully face him. He looks surprised for a moment, but then he smiles widely. “No,” he says. “My brother has twins who go here.”

“Oh,” says Bastien, unaccountably relieved. He picks at one of his nails absently. “If you do come by my restaurant, tell your waiter that I invited you.”

“And what name should I give him?” asks the man, looking amused.

“Bastien. Tell him Bastien invited you.”

“Will do, Bastien.”

It isn’t till he’s disappeared into the crowd that Bastien realizes he never got
his
name.

JAMES IS
self-aware enough to know that encounter can’t go anywhere. Romance definitely doesn’t bloom from a bad review. Threats of bodily harm, yes. He’s received those many a time. Pleas for another chance have come his way. Even bribes. Dates, no. The interest on Bastien’s face would quickly fade to anger if he knew who James was.

He has a hard time reconciling the amazing pastries with the simply average food he’d had at Bastien’s restaurant. Had it just been an off night? He stops himself there, licking frosting from his thumb. It’s sticking to his hands, and normally he’d wipe it off, but it tastes
so
good. He needs to find out what Bastien used.

He can’t go rewriting reviews just because he thinks the chef is terribly hot and he made a good pastry. Several wonderful pastries. It’s not the same thing. With his perfect ocean eyes and thick dark lashes and pouty lips that just beg to be kissed…. Right, he thinks, that’s not letting it go. Maybe Bastien is a better baker than he is a chef. It could be as simple as that.

When he returns to their cupcake table, Laurence says, “Look at you buying someone else’s baked goods.” He clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “Traitor.” His gaze zeroes in on the bag of boxes. “But I suppose if you give me one, this act of betrayal could be overlooked.”

Rolling his eyes, James pulls a box from the bag and hands it over. “I’ve got some for Marcy and the kids as well.”

“Those kids don’t need any more sugar,” mumbles Laurence darkly, fumbling with the edges of the box to get it open. “Marcy went to corral them before they did any damage.” He makes a delighted noise when he sees the pastry. “What is it? Is it as good as it looks?”