A peace offering of pastries sat between us. Maybe this morning could be salvaged after all.
“Is this for us to share?” I asked, eyeing a chocolate croissant that was making my mouth water.
“No, I got it for myself.” The dripping sarcasm in his voice was not attractive. He laughed at his own joke while I just stared at him and tried to get over my hurt ego. “Of course this is for us to share. I made this.” I must have made a funny face, because he explained. “This is from the bakery I manage. We sell here.”
“Oh!” That made more sense. I picked up the butter knife on the table and cut the croissant in half, not willing to reveal my true and eternal affection for these babies yet. I didn’t always trust my reason when it came to chocolate croissants. Better he didn’t know how vulnerable I was around them just in case he used them against me to grab a second date. “It looks amazing. Where do you work again?”
“The Green Patisserie,” he said. “It’s all right. The owner is a total bitch, but it’s pretty well known around town.”
I swallowed my croissant, surprised at how dry it was. Where was the chocolate? Or the butter? Unforgivable. Also, I didn’t like how many times he’d used the word bitch when it came to women in the short time we’d been sitting here. I tried to steer him back to neutral ground. “I’m still learning the food scene here. I went to CAI for school.”
“Oh, really?” he asked, a disgusted note to his voice. “That’s an interesting choice.”
Did he have a problem with where I went to school too? Geez, this guy had a lot of opinions.
I took another sip of my coffee and tried to reason away his behavior. I could give him a break. Maybe I was just being sensitive. Maybe I’d let my own insecurities get in the way. Maybe he was perfectly cool, but also nervous?
“Where did you go to school?” I asked him, determined to let go of my building resentment of this guy and give this date a chance.
“Oh, just a little place called Le Petit Paris. It’s like the best pastry school in America.”
I hadn’t heard of it. But again, I wasn’t a pastry chef. “Oh… cool.”
“Yeah, it’s a big deal. I’m kind of disappointed with where I’ve landed. But I’m looking at this like a stepping stone for where I want to go. Have to build a resume somewhere, right?” His eyes narrowed slightly, before he added. “Well, you don’t have to, but the rest of us do.” Then he laughed loudly.
I let out a patient sigh and looked around the coffee shop for some options. Maybe the espresso machine would magically catch fire and I would have a reason to run out of here, waving my hands wildly and screaming at the top of my lungs. Maybe the bathroom would spontaneously flood, and it would turn into one of those save yourself scenarios. Maybe the apocalypse would start, and zombies would invade and I would finally get to try out all the sweet moves I’d learned from those self-defense classes and watching seasons ofBuffy the Vampire Slayeron repeat for my entire life.
But alas, everything stayed perfectly normal. No spin, flip, stake-to-the-brain moves for me.
“Not everyone can be as lucky as me,” I murmured, not feeling lucky at all. This guy had no idea how hard my job was. I’d told him I had to fire someone already, but that must not have clicked for him.
“That’s for sure,” he agreed, taking a big bite of the fruit tartlet, spitting crust as he did it.
The door opened, jingling the little bells hanging above. I glanced up, hoping for zombies. Instead, Vann Delane walked inside.
I dropped the remaining chocolate croissant on my lap.
He clocked me immediately. By his wide-eyed expression, I could tell he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
Damn.
Double damn.
Why did he always have to see me at my very worst?
Without realizing what I was doing, I leaned closer to Matt and laughed, like what he had just said was the most hilarious thing in the world. And not the worst.
Vann’s eyebrows drew down in surprise. I waved at him. Very nonchalantly. Like I should win an award for how nonchalant that wave was.
Matt turned around to check out who my attention was on. “Do you know that dude?” he asked when he went in for another bite of tart.
“I’m good friends with his sister,” I explained. Then I took a sip of coffee so I didn’t have to look at either man.
Vann got in line to order coffee and I tried to salvage the conversation with Matt. “So… what do you want to do with your career then?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said where you work now is only a stepping stone. What’s your ultimate goal?”
