Chocolate Macaroons and a Dead Groom (Poppy Peters Mysteries Book 2) (12 page)

"Val is Destin's
la amie
…she's his girlfriend."

"Dang. What did he do to piss her off?" I scan the current state of the kitchen and the remaining patches of clean flooring. There aren't many.

Marta steps over a mess of flour and tainted croissant dough with a rag in her hand. She bends down to start cleaning, glancing up at me and Dandre. Marta frowns.

"Well," she barks. "Are you just going to watch me?"

I want to glare at her and smugly say yes.

Even as a joke though, she won't find it funny.

I follow Dandre and grab a rag of my own to start tossing scraps into the trash. The faster we clean, the sooner we can assess the damage to today's pastry count. My heart sinks as I scoop handfuls of my perfectly glazed chocolate éclairs and dump them in the trash. I bite the corner of my lip as I do. It's like watching my little works of art being chucked down a drain.

When the kitchen is close to being clean, Destin returns wearing a dry uniform. His face is red like he spent the last thirty minutes rubbing his cheeks raw with a loofah. He hangs his head, looking embarrassed. Dandre tosses him a wet rag, and he starts cleaning as fast as he can. He shakes his head, mumbling to himself as he scrubs the remnants of powdered sugar from his workspace. Marta hops to her feet and begins counting pastries.

I walk toward Destin and carefully nudge him on the shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll live," he responds. "That is, if I'm not murdered in my sleep tonight."

"I see you're still alive," I comment. All day yesterday, Destin kept his head down. I watched him brace himself every time Jean Pierre retreated to the back garden for a breath of fresh air. Destin knew he would get an official talking to. He just didn't know when it would happen.

This morning came and went fast. I made the morning éclairs again, and this time I kept a fixed eye on them until they were gently placed behind the glass up front along with all the other pastries.

"Oui." Destin strolls past me throwing a clean towel over his shoulder. He is actually grinning today, which is an improvement on yesterday's scowl. I don't know what happened with his girlfriend Val when he went home for the day, but I can only guess that either they made up or broke up.

Dandre keeps a close eye on Destin like he's the doughnut of the day. I clear my station, ready to make myself a café au lait and nibble on a day old croissant in the back garden. People-watching through the iron gates has been my primary way of soaking in Paris. The early mornings and long hours don't leave much time for me to do anything else but work, eat, and sleep. It's like rehearsals for
The Nutcracker
all over again. The hype never goes away until the new year. My muscles aren't as sore, and I don't lament over pictures of raspberry cheesecakes in random cookbooks, but the work is just as hard.

Destin takes a deep breath and heads out back for a breather. I take off my chef's jacket and hang it up next to my purse. Discreetly, I dig for my pocket notebook. The one I decided to start carrying around Paris with me to jot down thoughts and observations. I quickly note the way Dandre sets multiple timers to make sure nothing is overcooked or browned unevenly and the way Marta likes to cool her hands in the freezer before she works with tart dough. Cold hands keep the butter in the dough from melting too fast.

I follow Destin outside. The evening sky is settling in. The bakery is closed, but we have special orders to prep before we leave for the day. Jean Pierre is meeting with a client about a custom wedding cake, and Marta is reviewing tomorrow's deliveries from suppliers.

The air is crisp and much warmer than expected for a Parisian spring. It makes me want to leave work early and do some window-shopping. I need to fill up my camera with pictures before I head back home. I glance at Destin as he stretches his arms and legs. He rubs the side of his face, flashing his black tattoo that spreads across his knuckles.

"So," I casually say. My curiosity won't extinguish. "What happened with Val?"

He exhales and leans against the back wall of the bakery. His gaze moves along the tops of buildings in the distance and stops when he reaches the dimming sky.

"Valentine," he replies quietly. The way he says it, French accent and all, sounds romantic. Poetic even. "She is the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me."

"I see." I nod. "Unfortunately, I can't relate. My ex-boyfriend is definitely one of the worst things that has ever happened to me, but I can't say that he was the best too."

"Oui." Destin cracks a smirk. In his solemn stare into the heavens, I see a glimpse of the Destin I met on my first day at Le Croissant. The teaser. The joker. The master of quiche Lorraine, and
brioche des rois
. "So you
are
single?"

"Oui," I smugly answer.

"Valentine wants me to quit my job," he admits, crossing his arms.

"Why?"

"I forgot our
anniversaire
again."

"If that's why she doused you in butter and sugar yesterday then maybe you should think about a fresh start?" I suggest.

"I did this last year too," Destin continues. "And the year before that. And before that. And before that—"

"Got it," I interrupt. "So yesterday was years and years worth of bottled-up frustration. Makes sense."

"I love my job, but I also love Valentine." He pauses, hanging his head the way he did after his girlfriend stormed out of the kitchen yesterday. "Chef Gautier took a chance on me and…"

"Before you say it, you haven't failed anyone. The life of a pastry chef is turning out to be much harder than I ever imagined. I'm not sure a balance between bakery and babe even exists."

"I am nothing without Valentine," he says quietly. "I am nothing without Le Croissant."

"Then win back both." My suggestion seems next to impossible, but it brightens him up. If our roles were reversed I would most likely resort to picking one and regretting my choice later. I'm much better at giving advice than I am at taking my own.

But I suppose lots of people are like that.

"
Que
?"

"Apologize to Valentine and to Chef Gautier. Win them both back."

"I can speak to the chef, but Valentine I am not sure."

"When was your anniversary?" I ask.

"Last weekend."

"So surprise her with a romantic night out and beg." I chuckle.

"I can't," he sighs. "Her brother just arrived from Zürich. She won't leave him. Unless…" He glances at me with a growing grin.

"Oh no." My eyes widen. "I'm a wreck when it comes to blind dates. I'm
not
tagging along."

"S'il vous plaît, Poppy," Destin pleads. "It was your idea."

"So?" A schoolgirl response is the only comeback I have.

"I'll wash your dishes," he offers.

"Tempting." I tilt my head, toying with the idea.

"You can convince her that my cooking is bien." He clasps his hands together and looks at me eagerly.

"You've
never
cooked for her?"

"Eh?"

"
Destin
," I scold him. "Now I'm afraid to ask how long you two have been together."

"We grew up together," he admits.

"Oh Destin," I mutter. "You are an absolute cream puff." He wrinkles his forehead, a little confused. "It's not just the anniversaries and your affair with puff pastry. Maybe she's frustrated because she wants to know where the two of you are going."

"Going?"

"You know, if you're
the one
or if she should start looking elsewhere?"

"She is
the one
." He says it firmly, his eyes drifting off like he's searching through a file cabinet in his head. He looks at me with a sparkle in his eyes as if saying it out loud brought him to some realization that he shouldn't let Val slip away…even though she's insane.

"Fine, I'll tag along." I cave, but only because I don't want to fly back to the states kicking myself because I never got the chance to flirt with a French man or dance at a Parisian night club. "If it means that much to you, I'll go talk you up and keep her brother company. If he turns out to be a perv, you owe me."

"Merci," he thanks me. "You will not regret it."

"If Michel deports me for breaking the rules, I'm blaming you."

"He won't find out," Destin assures me.

*   *   *

The puffs of smoke coming from Val's mouth don't distract me as much as her dress does. I can't really say what the typical French woman looks like, having not really met any so far. But I imagine that Val fits the mold. Her outfit makes me feel like I'm on my way to a high school bonfire. A simple skirt and heels are all I have.

Val is wearing a black, strappy dress, and it's skintight. Her heels have just as many straps. She tugs at the pocket of her studded jacket and puts out her cigarette when she sees me. I agreed to meet Destin after work in front of Le Croissant. It's late enough that the bakery is pitch black inside, and Michel isn't around to see me breaking his number one rule—no fraternizing with coworkers after hours. I still don't understand why it matters, especially since in two weeks I'll be back overseas.

I grabbed a bite of what I had in my fridge before leaving, but it wasn't enough. My stomach is growling as I approach my date for the evening. I straighten the hem of my skirt and double-check my posture before he spots me.

Destin steps forward looking relieved. I can feel the tension in the air. Val has her back turned, and she's having a separate conversation with her brother. Who knows what about? Destin has his hands in his pockets. He's wearing slacks and a men's blazer that makes his shoulders look wider than they are. Or maybe he really is fit, and I just never noticed through the chef's jacket.

"Poppy, just a second." Destin grabs my arm and pulls me away from the others. He shouts something in French, and I briefly see Val roll her eyes.

"She doesn't look happy," I comment. And I haven't even had the chance to get a good look at my date. All I know is that he isn't short.

"Poppy." Destin glances over his shoulder, making sure his girlfriend isn't watching. "I have been thinking about what you said." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny jewelry box. My heart races.

"Is that what I think it is?" I whisper.

Destin nods.

I don't know him or Val well enough to give an official nod of approval, but he said that he loves her. Freak-outs and all. I smile and cover my mouth as Destin hurriedly puts the tiny ring box back in his pocket.

"Do you think she will say
yes
?"

"No," I answer.

Destin frowns.

"Oui," I correct him. "I believe the French say
oui
." If an engagement ring isn't the ultimate apology than I don't know what is.

"Oui," he repeats.

I nudge him back toward the group. If all goes well this might turn out to be the best night of Valentine's life. Either that or we'll all end up looking like Destin did when he forgot their anniversary. I press my lips together, trying to ignore the chilly night breeze as I walk toward my date for the evening.
I really need a scarf. I see them everywhere around here.

"Poppy, this is my girlfriend, Valentine," Destin officially introduces me. Val looks different when she's not fuming. She sports a half-smile.

"I'm not as erratic when I'm sober," she responds. I can barely make out a French accent when she speaks. Her words are flawless. "And this is my big brother, Jules."

"Nice to meet you, Poppy." Jules speaks just as clearly as his sister. He's taller than me but not by much. He's long and lanky like Val with longer hair that he parts to the side. My eyes lock with his, and for a second I'm entranced. Not because I feel an instant attraction to him, though he isn't bad looking, but because the ice blue rings around his pupils remind me of someone back home. A West Coast charmer that asked me out last year.

Looking at Jules for too long is like staring into two ocean pools.

Jeff has eyes like that.

"You too." I respond as soon as I realize I'm staring.

He's going to think you're into him if you don't look away.

"What's the matter?" Val comments, assessing the look on my face.

"Nothing."

"Poppy, is it?" Val walks toward me. I remind myself that there aren't any pots or pastries around for her to throw at me.
No, but there are purses and shoes. Very expensive shoes.
"Just so you know, I'm very good at sniffing out liars."

"Easy, sis." Jules steps in and grabs my hand. "Let's not spoil the evening before it has even begun."

"Oui," Destin agrees. He leads his girlfriend down the street toward the nearest metro entrance.

"Sometimes my sister is a little over the top," Jules says as soon as Destin and Val are out of earshot.

"So you heard about yesterday?"

"Don't tell me she locked him out again," Jules mutters, glancing up ahead at Destin.

I start to wonder if I should have said something more when Destin showed me the tiny jewelry box with Val's engagement ring. What do the two of them have in common besides their childhood? Maybe Destin needs someone more put together and conservative in his life.

But what do I know?

"Does that happen a lot?" I can't help but pry. Plus, the more questions I ask about Destin and Val, the less time there will be to talk about myself.

"Once in a while, I think." He glances at me, and his ice blue eyes throw me off again.

"Sorry," I blurt out. "You just…you remind me of someone."

"I hope that's a good thing." A street lamp illuminates his face a little more, and I see his sharp features. His chin is cleanly shaven, and his suit jacket is perfectly tailored to fit his frame. He has pride in step like the late Lord Dovington, and the cuff links on his shirt are silver race cars. Formula One from the looks of it.

"It's definitely not a bad thing," I answer. I remember the way Jeff used to sneak up behind me during class just to make me jump when he whispered in my ear. Georgina went scarlet when she found out that her eye candy asked me out instead of her. I went along with it because he was a nice guy, even though I can thank him for being held at knifepoint in the student bakery. I don't know if he'll be returning to Calle Pastry Academy next semester, but at least we parted on good terms.