Let Them Eat Cake

by Sandra Byrd

  “How long would I stay?” I asked.

  “You can earn an apprentice certificate in six months,” Luc said. “You’d be well qualified to bake or even cook commercially after that. It’s not the Culinary Institute of America”—he shrugged—“but you’d be working in a real French bakery every day. One that has been in business since before the time of Napoleon.” I could hear the Gallic pride. “And then?”

  “And then you could come back to work in the U.S. You would have no problem finding a good job. I had to approve this with my family before proposing it to you, but they all agree—even, reluctantly, Margot and Patricia. Alexandra, I think you enjoy the cooking and the baking more than the café management.”

  And you know, he was right.

  “Or,” he continued with a mischievous grin, “you might just find that you fall in love with France, or a Frenchman, which would be understandable. And perhaps you’d stay in France and become a true Frenchwoman and live happily ever after. France, after all, is the place where Cinderella began.”

  It was true. France was the original setting of the Cinderella story. Pictures of myself as Drew Barrymore in Ever After came flashing through my mind. Unfortunately, one or more of the evil stepsisters, Patricia and Margot, would be there too.

  “May I—may I think about it?” I asked. A month ago there would have been no question, but now there were complications. A future with Allrecipes.com. An apartment I loved. A potential new church home. And a guy I was beginning to like quite a lot.

  “Oui, “ Luc answered. “But not for too long, because my maman will have to find someone else to help if it does not appeal to you. And if it does, she will have to begin to get a work permit for you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Can I let you know right after my brothers wedding? In about ten days?”

  “Oui.” We both stood up. He kissed me on each cheek, and it felt nice. Then we walked out to the café, where he greeted a long-time customer.

  “It’s the worlds most beautiful hairdresser,” he said. “She’s returned.”

  Flirting Frenchmen. I guess some things never change. But I did know how he felt about Marianne, and that was reality.

  I tightened my apron.

  “So?” Sophie said. “What do you think?”

  “Did you know about the offer?” I asked.

  Her eyes didn’t leave my face. “Yes. He asked me what I thought, after having worked with you every day. And to make sure that I’d be okay here at L’Esperance if you decided to go. I told him you’d be great there, but that I’d miss you of course. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, still a little dazed. “I don’t know. But thanks for recommending me.”

  I told her about the Allrecipes.com offer. “If I took it and remained in town, would you be mad at me for leaving you but not going to France?”

  “No,” she said. “Follow your heart.” Then she nodded toward the counter. “Those came for you while you were in with Luc.”

  I followed her gaze to a lovely bouquet of field flowers purchased from Pike’s Market. I opened the card and read it with a pounding heart, then sighed. It made things even more complicated.

  Plus on desire une chose, plus elle se fait attendre.

  The longer you wait for something, the more desirable it

  becomes.

  Iknew Type A Dan would be exactly on time, and he was. My mother popped her head into my room. “I think your friend is here.”

  Type ? Lexi wasn’t quite ready. I was standing in front of my bed with my bathrobe on, trying to decide between two outfits.

  Outfit No. 1: khakis and a light sweater.

  Outfit No. 2: a slim-fitting jean skirt and the romantic white blouse. I ran my finger along its edge, deciding what kind of mood I wanted to cast.

  “I like that one best too,” Mom said.

  Yes. It felt right.

  Mom closed the door behind her, and I finished getting dressed, slipping in some small pearl earrings and running a light gloss over my lips before heading out to the living room.

  When I got there, my parents stood at the front door with Dan. Dad had probably opened the door before Dan even rang the bell. Dan looked attractive and kind, but now that I knew him better, mischievous and fun too.

  “Hi,” I said. “I see you guys have met.”

  “Would you like to come in?” Mom asked Dan. With most of the furniture gone, there was no place to sit.

  “Oh no,” I said. “I think we’d better get going. You guys have plans too, right?”

  “Yes,” Dad said.

  Dan shook their hands and held the screen door for me. Dad—my father—winked at me. I blushed, which made me feel like a teenager, and I quickly turned away as he grinned. May he be cursed with eating fish for a week.

  We walked to Dan’s truck, making small talk, and he opened the passenger door and let me in.

  “Truck runs fine now,” Dan joked. I thought of something salty to say, but bit it back. Sometimes humor is better left unsaid.

  We drove across the bridge and downtown, near Pike’s Market, and parked in front of a Volvo dealership up the road. Dan came around and opened my door, which I appreciated.

  We walked down the street—close enough to be together but not close enough to touch—to the restaurant. We were shown to our table, an intimate setting for two by the window. Yellow twinkle lights cast a romantic glow, as did a candle between us.

  The waiter took our beverage orders and brought us some bread. Dan pointed to the basket, indicating I should go first. The bread had a rustic, grainy feel, like cornbread, only smoother. A tiny pot of honey butter cozied up alongside the basket.

  I glanced at the cubist art on the wall and then at Dan. It was sweet of him to try to find a place that felt intimate and romantic and that would still satisfy my desire for unique food experiences.

  “What would you like?” Dan asked.

  I scanned the menu: cold tapas, hot tapas, cheese, ceviche, meats, fish. So many choices.

  “What do you like?” I asked.

  “A cheap date,” he said, teasingly. Then he pointed at the menu.

  I laughed. Cheap dates—dates wrapped in bacon and served with marinated eggplant—were a tapas offering.

  “I think you’ve chosen the wrong girl, then,” I said, playing along. We picked a few items to share, and an entrée each, and the conversation continued to flow. In spite of our joking and lighthearted topics, the date felt like it was going somewhere; we were connecting on a meaningful level. I think we both felt it.

  The waiter came back and took our orders. Shortly thereafter, he brought a wooden plate of Spanish cheese.

  “So, how has your week been?” Dan asked, slicing into some cheese and popping an olive into his mouth.

  “Eventful,” I said, not willing to share the France opportunity yet. Maybe later tonight. I wanted to see how the evening went. “How about you?” I asked. “Busy at work?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. We’re finishing up the case I’ve been working on for the past month. My boss was ready to set me on another huge commitment, but I negotiated with him to have a little more free time. Like I told you I would.”

  I liked a man who could follow through. “The new Relaxin’ Man Dan?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. He flipped open his wallet and withdrew a card. “Here.”

  I read it. “‘Daniel Larson. A Positive.’ It’s your blood donor card!”

  He laughed that infectious laugh. “After I saw the vampire card in your car and how you were using it to remind yourself to be positive, I thought that was clever. So mine is A Positive. As in, ‘make A Positive change.’”

  I handed it back to him. “I’m glad you’re not type ? Negative.”

  “Me too,” he said.

  The waiter returned with our Cheap Dates, which we laughed over, and a small white plate of blue cheese soufflés drizzled with cranberry preserves. It was all I could do
not to lick the plate.

  I reached for my water glass at the same time as Dan reached for his. Our hands bumped and stayed touching for a moment.

  I felt the vibe travel through my fingers and up my arm like an emotional artery right to my heart. It wasn’t like the heat of my crush on Luc, but it wasn’t sisterly, either. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I didn’t hurry to take my hand away.

  I looked up at him, and he held my gaze for a minute. I saw it in his eyes. He’d felt the vibe too.

  “Well,” I said, quickly withdrawing my hand. “The food is great so far. Amazing restaurant choice.”

  Spanish music strummed in the background, and I looked across the room and into the open kitchen like any foodie would.

  Dan noticed the direction of my eyes. “You like the kitchen as much as the food, don’t you?”

  I laughed. “I do. I feel at home when I’m cooking and creating. As much as I like to eat,” I waved my hand over the terrific offerings, “I like to cook even better.”

  The waiter brought our rum-glazed salmon and tenderloin with truffles.

  “So tell me about the church you take bread to,” Dan asked as we began our main courses. “Do you still do that?”

  I nodded. “I did tonight. It’s my grandmother’s church. A soup kitchen.”

  “What church do you go to?” he asked.

  I told him about my mom’s church, but that I was looking.

  “Oh, I know that church,” he said. “I’ve never been there, but I know of it.”

  I put a steamed bun on my plate while I casually asked the next question. “Do you go to church?”

  “I’m a Christian,” he said firmly, answering my real question. Tanya would really be jazzed at this. And, honestly, so was I. Dan continued. “I’ve been kind of in and out lately, because I’ve been so busy at work. But the new ‘Relaxin’ Man Dan’ has decided to sign up to teach the sixth-grade boys’ Sunday school class for the summer. I need to get my life balanced, you know, and this is a part of it. If I have to be there every week to teach the boys, it will be good accountability for me to make sure I’m actually in church myself. I go to a church in my neighborhood. Church on the Hill.”

  “I just visited there,” I said, astonished. “I didn’t see you.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been skipping church to get my work done or work out or whatever. I had a feeling when you said you’d visited a church in my neighborhood that it was that one. There aren’t too many in that area that attract…well…younger people.”

  I tasted the rice buried under my salmon. What was that spice? Smooth, hot, tomato-flavored, all at once. “That’s great, about the Sunday school.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I wish I didn’t need some outside mechanism to make sure I get to church, but I do.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said. “I’ve just begun driving myself to church too.” When he looked quizzically at me, I explained what I meant about taking responsibility for my own relationship with God and how, more often than not, it had been parked or stalled.

  We ate dinner and talked about the bakery. I showed him my burn scar, and he seemed appropriately impressed and concerned.

  “What are you working on now?” I asked.

  “It’s actually print copyright,” he said. “I’m pretty excited to work on it. I think that in another year, I’ll have paid enough dues to pick more of my own work within the firm. It’ll be time for the newly enlisted to do the heaviest lifting.”

  The waiter came by and asked if we wanted dessert. “I have a plan for that,” Dan said to me. “If you don’t mind waiting.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m full now anyway.”

  He paid, and we headed outside. I was almost sad to leave the restaurant—its warm smell, the laughter, the music. It would have been nice to dance together, and when I mentioned this to Dan, he agreed.

  “Would you like to walk on the beach?” Dan asked as we got into the truck. “I know of a place kind of close, and if you want, we could start a fire and roast marshmallows.”

  It sounded perfect. Just what I needed.

  We drove a couple of miles, the windows down and the early summer air blowing through my hair. He turned on a country music station, and we chatted on the way to the beach about the time he and his buddies tried to start a band of their own. “Never made it past the basement as far as the garage,” he joked.

  When we arrived, he opened the door for me again. No wonder Dad liked him. Dad had made a mental X through Greg’s name in college when Greg let me open my own door.

  Hey, I’d said then. At least he turned the engine off until I got in. But now, well, I could see the difference.

  Dan opened the back of his truck and handed me a blanket and two roasting sticks as well as a bag of marshmallows. He grabbed some wood and a pack of matches, and we hiked down toward the water. The wind puffed lightly, whisking up the sand, which rose and curled like steam above some nearby driftwood. The waves crashed an early lullaby.

  There were enough people that I didn’t feel creeped out, but not so many that we couldn’t have our own spot.

  The sky went from blood orange-red to eggplant purple, sun dunking into the water like a cookie into coffee.

  “Hey, want to see something fun?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He followed me closer to the water. I bent over in the dark and drew my name in the sand. As I did, each letter lit up and then died out before I wrote the next letter.

  “How did you do that?” he asked.

  “It’s bioluminescence,” I explained. “The same organisms that pollute the clams glow in the dark for a few seconds when you touch them.”

  He drew his name, and each letter glowed and died as he did.

  I drew a glowing smiley face next to each of our names, and then we walked back to the blanket.

  He lit the fire, and we talked. I was surprised how easy it was to make conversation; I never had to think of topics to fill an uncomfortable void. He told me about his parents, who lived in Enumclaw, and his sister, who was on her year abroad in Belgium.

  Belgium is right next to France.

  We roasted marshmallows in silence for a few minutes. I was glad I’d worn the white frilly shirt. When I’d bought it, I’d intended to wear it with Luc. That seemed a lifetime away, sitting under the stars now. But the thought of Luc and of Dan’s sister living a year abroad brought France to mind. I needed to be honest with Dan.

  “Speaking of living abroad,” I said, “I had something interesting happen this week.”

  He handed me a toasted marshmallow. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Luc offered me a chance to live in France and work at his family’s bakery.”

  “Oh.” Dan sat a moment in silence. “I’m sure it’s a great opportunity for you.” His flat tone told me both what I did and did not want to know. “How long would you be there?”

  I had to be honest. “At least six months. I’m not sure after that.”

  He looked crushed. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said, though I had a growing suspicion. “I need to pray about it for a few more days.”

  “I’ll pray too,” he said, lifting his chocolate eyes to meet mine. He smiled, his eyes twinkling slightly as another thought occurred to him. “Although we might be praying for different outcomes.”

  I smiled back and took a small bite of the marshmallow.

  “When do you have to answer him?”

  “After my brother’s wedding, in a week or so,” I said. It was time to address the other thought I’d had in the back of my mind all night. “And about that wedding: I am, of course, a bridesmaid. But I haven’t yet decided on an escort.”

  I loved how that sounded, like I had an army of guys waiting for me to call them up and give them the nod. “I wondered,” I continued, “if you might be free. I know its really short notice.”

  He said nothing for a moment. I had the feeling he was ab
sorbing the fact that, despite considering moving away, I still wanted his company.

  “I’d like to come,” he said. “Thanks. Let me know the details.”

  “Sure.”

  “Say,” he said, changing the topic, “in my new quest for recreation, I agreed to sign up for a summer softball league.”

  “I used to play softball,” I said, as we packed up the blanket and he threw sand on the fire. “Catcher.”

  “Well, if you’re here this summer, maybe you can join.”

  I agreed, and we drove home in a comfortable silence.

  When we got to my house, Dan spoke first. “I’ll wait to hear from you about next weekend.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Thanks so much.”

  “No problem at all,” he said. He reached toward me, and for a second I thought that he was going to kiss me goodnight. Instead, he opened his glove box and took out an envelope.

  I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved about the kiss. Well, that’s not exactly true.

  “I thought you might enjoy this,” he said. “Open it later tonight.” He put it into my hand, and I felt that soft and strong touch. He came around to open my door and walked me to the porch.

  “Goodnight, Lexi,” he said as I opened the door.

  “Goodnight, Dan. Thanks for one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.”

  He smiled, looking both strong and vulnerable at the same time.

  Once inside, I sat on my bed and opened the envelope. I pulled out a piece of paper. Where had he found this? Of course. It was the piece of paper I’d grabbed off the floor of the Jetta in order to give him my phone number on our first date.

  As I read it, I smiled and then laughed out loud. The job. The apartment. The church. And now the guy! This decision was getting much harder than it might have been.

  Happily Ever After

  Once upon a time there was a POSITIVE single person who never attended the Impact Group. This person was TOO BUSY TO BE confused, because he or she had expected to be at a LITERARY COPYRIGHT job right now instead of the HIP HOP one she or he was working.