by Amber Crewes
Trudy winked. “And hopefully some good news. Open that envelope, Meghan! I’m dying to know what’s in there.”
Meghan ripped open the top of the envelope and began to read the letter aloud.
Dear Meghan Truman,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to attend the LeBlanc St. James Food and Baking Convention in Paris, France. You have been selected from a pool of over ten thousand finalists, and we are elated to extend this invitation to you to join us in Paris for the convention.
All of your expenses will be taken care of at the LeBlanc St. James Food and Baking Convention; we have enclosed a voucher for your airfare, as well as your reservation information for your complimentary stay at Grand Hôtel du Palais Royal, a five-star hotel located in one of the city’s finest neighborhoods.
We look forward to seeing you at the convention. Thank you for your interest in the event.
Je vous remercie,
The Selection Committee of the LeBlanc St. James Food and Baking Convention
Meghan’s jaw dropped. “I’m going to Paris, Trudy!” Meghan screamed as she began jumping up and down. “I’m going to Paris!”
Two weeks later, Jack packed the last of Meghan’s suitcases into the trunk of his undercover car. “Are you sure you need three bags?” Jack asked as he held the passenger door open for Meghan. “That’s going to be a lot to keep track of in Paris.”
Meghan shrugged. “I’ve never been to Europe before,” she said giddily. “I want to look my best in Pa-reeeee!”
Jack laughed as he settled into his seat and began driving toward the airport. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so excited. It’s adorable, Meghan. I’m so happy for you.”
Meghan blushed. “Thanks, Jack. And thank you for taking me to the airport today.”
Jack reached over and took Meghan’s hand. “That’s what boyfriends are for, right? Anyway, it just means I get to spend more time with you. This might sound a little silly, but I’m going to miss you while you are away.”
Meghan bit her bottom lip, feeling her face grow hot as Jack looked at her. She could feel butterflies in her stomach, and she felt her lips turned upward into a smile as Jack’s blue eyes stared at her. “I’m going to miss you too, Jack. We haven’t been apart for more than a few days, but I know that we’ll manage this week with no problem. We can chat every evening, and I can even put some postcards in the mail for you.”
Jack squeezed Meghan’s hand. “I just feel protective of you, Meghan,” he admitted. “You are very special to me, and it makes me nervous to think of you gallivanting in Paris. If something happens to you, I can’t save the day and make sure you are okay.”
Meghan felt tears brim in her eyes, and she was warmed by Jack’s sincerity. “I’ll be careful, Jack. I want to come home to Sandy Bay--and to you--in one piece.”
Jack nodded. “Just promise you’ll stay out of trouble while you’re away?”
Meghan leaned over and kissed Jack’s cheek. “I promise,” she assured him. “I’ll be busy at the convention each day, and it’s only a few blocks from the hotel. I’m going to do a few sightseeing tours, but those are guided, so I think I’ll be in good hands.”
Jack squeezed Meghan’s hand again. “This sounds like an amazing experience for you,” he breathed as Meghan studied his serious face. “I’m so proud of you, and I can’t wait to see your beautiful face coming toward me at the airport in just a few days.”
Two hours later, Meghan waved goodbye to Jack as she walked into the security line. She made it through security in no time, and before she knew it, she was buckled into her window seat on the airplane. Meghan leaned back, enjoying the hustle and bustle of the passengers boarding the plane. She ordered a soda from the flight attendant, and once it was delivered, she sighed.
“It’s almost time,” Meghan whispered to herself as she gazed out the window. “It’s almost time to start my adventure in Paris. I wonder what this week will bring…..”
2
“THIS HOTEL IS FANCIER than anything I’ve ever seen in Atlanta. Look at the portraits on the wall! Look at the free food in the salon. This is too nice for a Georgia girl like me!”
Meghan giggled at Molly Beckham, an older woman she had met as she waited in the Passport Control line at Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris; the women had started talking in line, and they had chatted all the way from the airport to the hotel. Molly was attending the convention as well, and Meghan made plans with her to meet up and walk to the event space later.
“Au revoir, Miss Meghan!” Molly yelled as she blew kisses to Meghan from across the hotel lobby. “I need a little nap, but I will be ready to go to the convention ce soir. That means tonight.”
Meghan laughed. The other guests at the opulent hotel were staring at them, but Meghan did not care; she was exhausted from the overnight flight, and she was aching for some rest.
“I wonder what my room will look like,” Meghan mumbled to herself as she rode up the elevator to the fifth floor. “This hotel is the nicest place I’ve ever been in. I don’t think anyone from Sandy Bay would even believe me if I told them how nice this hotel is.”
Meghan’s room was unlike anything she had ever seen before. She had been given a suite, and she marveled at the elegance of her rooms as she explored her private bathroom, bedroom, sitting room, and balcony.
“If this is how they’re treating us before we’ve even been to the convention, I can’t even imagine what the event itself will be like.” Meghan thought to herself as she faded into a deep, jet-lagged slumber.
That evening, Meghan and Molly walked arm-in-arm through the streets of Paris as they marched toward the event space.
“Oooo lalala,” Molly gasped as the two women ventured out into the chilly evening. “This city is just très élégant--that means very elegant, did you know that?”
Meghan smiled kindly. “You are right. I cannot believe we are here. This is so different from Sandy Bay, the little town where I live. Everyone here is impeccably dressed, the architecture is so magnificent, and the language is just so beautiful to hear.”
Molly grinned. “This is going to be an adventure, that’s for sure! I’m dying to make some wonderful memories here. My work as a baker at home in Atlanta has kept me busy for so many years, and this is my first real chance to see the world. I’m going to make the most of it!”
“Me too,” Meghan agreed. “Let’s make the most of it, Molly.”
When Meghan and Molly reached the Palais Brongniart, the event space for the LeBlanc St. James Food and Baking Convention, they both applied a layer of fresh lipstick and fluffed their hair.
“We should look our best when we strut in there,” Molly ordered Meghan as they walked across the threshold. “In Atlanta, we believe that ladies should look and act our best, so let’s show the bakers and chefs of Paris what we are made of!”
Meghan nodded. She liked Molly’s spirit; the woman was a bit overbearing, but Meghan was happy to have made a friend early on her European trip. “Yes, let’s show them what we are made of.”
The Palais Brongniart was located in the center of the Second Arrondissement, one of the trendiest neighborhoods in Paris, and Meghan immediately understood why the venue had been chosen; it was upscale and tasteful, and hundreds of small booths filled with food, baking equipment, drinks, and displays lined the aisles of the main hall. “This is amazing!” Meghan cried as she took in the many vendors and demonstrations in the main hall. “There is so much to do here.”
“Escargot, Madam?”
Meghan turned to see a waiter dressed in all black holding a tray in front of her. “Sure!” Meghan exclaimed, taking one of the finger foods and placing it delicately in her mouth as the waiter nodded and walked away.
“What is escargot?” Meghan asked as she struggled to keep the morsel in her mouth.
Molly’s eyes widened. “They are snails, Meghan! You’re eating snails!”
Meghan choked down t
he last piece and tried not to gag. “That’ll teach me not to try to be too fancy, here,” she sputtered as Molly laughed. “Hopefully some of the other little finger foods are a little easier to take.”
Molly pointed at a crowded booth to the left and nudged Meghan. “Look!” Molly said. “It’s a demonstration on cupcake batter tools. Let’s check that out.”
“Sounds good,” Meghan agreed as the two women walked to the booth. Four speakers sat at a table in front of the crowd, and Meghan and Molly quietly slipped into the back row of chairs.
“And then, you use ice to chill the batter! That helps bring the flavor out of the mix,” one of the panelists, a middle-aged man with an American accent, informed the crowd. “Use as much ice as possible, and you will have the most flavorful mix you could dream of.”
Meghan furrowed her brow. “That doesn’t make sense…” Meghan said, a bit too loudly, to herself.
“Ahem! This is a panel discussion,” the man declared as he stared at Meghan. “Do you have something to add, Miss….?”
Meghan gulped. “Miss Meghan Truman,” she said softly. “I own a small bakery in Sandy Bay, a small town in the Pacific Northwest. I just don’t think the ice method is a great idea for making cupcake mixes flavorful.”
The man glared at Meghan, and she could feel the crowd staring at her. “Oh?”
Meghan took a deep breath. “The ice can be helpful to cool the mix, but ultimately, won’t it dilute the flavors, not enhance them?”
The man stared into Meghan’s dark eyes, and she felt her body stiffen. “Do you know who I am?”
Meghan shook her head as he cleared his throat. “I am Andrew Meekse, the founder and owner of Little Hen, the finest chain of luxury bakeries in the Midwest. What would you know, Meghan Truman, about luxury bakeries and fine baking?”
Meghan’s face grew hot as the crowd stared at her. “I….I….”
“She’s right, you know,” said the panelist sitting next to Andrew Meekse. “Meghan, I’m Monica Baptiste, Parisian pastry chef and award-winning baker. Andrew, Miss Truman is correct; adding significant amounts of ice to cupcake batter will only dilute flavors. The science behind her statement is accurate, and I must agree.”
Meghan sighed a breath of relief as Monica smiled across her way. “Meghan? Please stand up,” Monica instructed.
Meghan’s eyes widened, but she obediently rose from her chair.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Monica purred in a thick French accent. “This convention is a space for new things, disagreement, and learning. Let’s all give a round of applause for Meghan Truman, the American girl who taught Andrew Meekse something new today!”
The crowd laughed and applauded good-naturedly, and even Andrew Meekse smiled at Meghan. Monica had charmed the audience, and Meghan was thankful for her intervention.
After the panel ended, Molly squeezed Meghan’s arm. “That could have gone badly.”
Meghan closed her eyes. “I know! I just need to keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to get into any trouble while I’m here in Paris, and one close call was enough.”
3
“MONICA BAPTISE MAY KNOW THE FRENCH way of doing things, but I can assure you, my technique for flavor enhancement is one of the most revered in the industry right now, Miss Truman!”
Meghan bit her bottom lip as Andrew Meekse rambled. Andrew had approached her in the dining room of the hotel nearly an hour ago, and after Meghan had politely waved, he sat down beside her and started discussing the events of the previous evening. Still fighting a crippling case of jet-lag, Meghan struggled to maintain her usual kind spirits; Andrew had been talking for the majority of the conversation, and Meghan was growing weary of his condescending tone.
“And just between the two of us, Miss Truman, Monica Baptiste is just a wealthy woman who needed a hobby. She isn’t a real baker; she needed something to pass the time while she waits for her inheritance.”
Meghan’s dark eyes widened, and she nervously twirled a strand of her dark, wavy hair in her fingers. “I think I left my purse up in my room,” Meghan said quietly as she eyed the doorway, hoping to end the conversation with Andrew sooner than later. “I must fetch it before I leave for the convention. If you’ll pardon me….”
Andrew gave Meghan a wolfish grin, his hazel eyes dancing as he watched Meghan rise from the table. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye now,” he haughtily declared. “Your little interuption last night was unexpected, but I’m so pleased I could teach you something today!”
Meghan raised an eyebrow. She did not feel as though she and Andrew saw eye-to-eye; he had been arrogant and rude during their conversation, and she did not appreciate the way he was discussing Monica Baptiste. Meghan forced herself to smile, and she quickly walked out of the dining room.
“That’s enough Andrew Meekse to last a lifetime,” Meghan muttered to herself as she impatiently waited for the elevator. “I thought he was too much at the panel last night, but being cornered today in the dining room was more than I needed, especially being so exhausted from my jet-lag. It looks like I’ll need more coffee to wake myself up from that dreadful little chat...and perhaps a fresh croissant as well!”
A few hours later, Meghan walked into the Palais Brongniart for the second day of the convention. She breathed in the smell of French pastries, licking her lips as she imagined all of the new, exotic foods she would have an opportunity to taste during her stay in Paris.
“Perhaps I can do some French treats at Truly Sweet when I return,” Meghan thought to herself as she eyed a little cart brimming with desserts. “I’m sure the people in Sandy Bay would love it if I explored French baking….”
“Attention, mesdames et messieurs,” called out a thick, French-accented man on the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to announce our two morning seminar presentations! In the Blue Room, we have a presentation on finger foods and French delicacies! Come sample new local recipes and see what beautiful Paris has to offer!”
“Yes!” Meghan exclaimed, eager to explore some local foods. “That’s perfect for me.”
“Or, mesdames et messieurs,” the speaker continued. “Would you like to learn more about the French way of impressing your guests? Have a special someone to cook for?”
“I do,” Meghan thought as she pictured Jack’s handsome face. “I do have someone special to cook for….”
“We are très content to announce our second morning seminar. In the Green Room, located just across the hall from the Blue Room, our panel of experts will be discussing French apéritifs--appetizers--to woo and win your friends and guests. Join Andrew Meekse, Monica Baptiste, and our other esteemed guests and panelists for this discussion!”
Meghan crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wanted to learn more about French appetizers, but she did not look forward to crossing paths with Andrew Meekse again. Still, she thought of Monica Baptiste’s warm smile and support from the night before, and she set off in the direction of the Green Room.
“Meghan,” Molly cried out as she entered the room. “I’m so glad you chose this seminar. Sit with me, Sugar.”
Meghan smiled, happy to see a familiar face. “Did you sleep well?”
Molly nodded. “I slept like a dead woman, Meghan. That jet-lag really took it out of this old lady.”
Meghan beamed. “I hear you,” she said, lowering her voice as the panelists entered the room and took their seats. “I was dead tired after our day yesterday, and Andrew Meekse didn’t help anything.”
Molly gestured at the front table where the panelists were seated. “His chair is empty,” Molly hissed. “Maybe you lucked out and he won’t be here?”
Meghan shrugged. “It’s fine either way,” she replied. “He talked to me for nearly an hour this morning at breakfast, and he thinks that he’s won me over.”
One of the panelists rose from his chair. “Excusez-moi,” he said, glancing around the room. “It is time to begin, but we appear to be missing two of our panelists
. Andrew Meekse? Are you here? And Monica Baptise? Monica? Are you here?”
Meghan looked around the crowded room. “Maybe he cornered her like he caught me this morning,” she whispered to Molly. “He creeps me out, that is for sure.”
As soon as Meghan finished speaking, Andrew entered the room and strutted to his seat. He waved to the audience, making eye contact with Meghan and giving her a wink. “Ugh,” Meghan groaned. “He’s here.”
“I hope Monica Baptiste is on her way,” Molly said under her breath. “I liked her spunk last night, and her accent is just divine.”