I had no doubt anything that came out of this delicious-smelling place would be more than fantastic. I was also going to have to add extra time on the treadmill—something I tried to avoid—for all the carbs in my immediate future.
“Sure.” Jacques disappeared and returned a few moments later carrying a stack of shallow round rolls as big as large salad plates. He tucked them into a paper sack and handed the bag to me.
“God, I hope this is calories by the gram,” I said, weighing the bag with my hands. “These don’t weigh a thing.”
“I like this one,” he said. “She can come back without you. You knock on my door when you need bread.” He smiled at me, and I felt Ford move closer to my side, his hand on my back taking on an almost proprietary feel.
“Why did you have to go and do that? We both know how good your bread is. I was counting on being Charlotte’s supplier. The keys to the kingdom. What does she need me for if she can come direct to the source?”
“Man, if you can’t figure that out on your own, you don’t deserve her. Come see me whenever you want, beautiful. For bread or anything else.”
“Stand down, asshole,” said Ford.
The peeing in the corner, antler rubbing routine would have left me cold, if it wasn’t so obvious there was real affection between the men.
Ford reached for his wallet and got waved away for the second time that day.
“Your money’s no good here. But the next time you come, you can bring me a bottle of those bitters you’re so proud of.” He gripped Ford’s shoulder again before retreating deeper into the room. “Take your bread and your beautiful woman and leave me to my ovens. It was good to meet you, Charlotte.”
“You too,” I said, clutching the bread like a well-earned treasure. This whole trip to gather ingredients had started to take on something of the feel of a quest. With the meats, cheese, and bread procured, I couldn’t imagine what was left.
“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” asked Ford as if he’d just discovered something about himself.
“Isn’t that kind of the point? We’re making muffuletta, remember.” I shifted the bag of almost weightless bread to my other arm and didn’t fight it when Ford took my hand. I liked the way it felt to walk with our fingers twined together. The way we moved down the alley to the street as one entity instead of two separate people. I didn’t love what any of that said about me or what we were doing together, but I was more than comfortable shoving that aside to look at later. Or never.
“I don’t want to wait that long.”
Which begged the question, exactly how long did it take to make sandwiches and how many steps must I be overlooking?
“Come on. I know a place.”
“Of course you do,” I said as he steered us down another out-of-the-way side street.
He stopped in front of a small storefront, pausing with his hand on the door. “I know it’s going to be difficult, but I need you to try not to be jealous.”
“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes for good measure. “If this bread tastes as good as it smells, I have every intention of throwing you over for Jacques as soon as the last crumb is gone.”
“That’s my girl.”
He pushed open the door, and I breathed in the slightly burnt smell of caramelized sugar. And ignored the way my pulse kicked up at themy girlcomment. It had been a long damn time since I’d been a girl and almost as long since anyone had called me his.
“Hey, Miss Flora,” called Ford, following me into the small shop.
A small round woman with dark skin and kind eyes perched on a stool behind a tidy glass display case filled with every variety and configuration of pralines and pecan turtles I could imagine.
“Child! Where’ve you been? It’s been an age and a half since you’ve come to see me. Come on in here.”
She opened her arms and Ford stepped around the counter to let the woman foldhim into a hug. I was a little jealous—not of the woman and Ford—but of the warmth in her greeting. Something about the almost maternal way she spoke to him gave me a twinge of homesickness.
“Who did you bring to meet me?” she said, coming up for air and turning her attention to me.
“Miss Flora, I’d like you to meet Charlotte. We’re having a bit of an adventure today, and I couldn’t let it end without some of your pralines.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Flora.” I offered the older woman my hand, but she hopped off her stool without taking it, moving Ford out of the way so she could pull me in for a hug. She smelled like sugar and spice and toasted pecans, and the feeling of homesickness grew and abated the longer the hug lasted.
Hugging strangers was another thing to add to the odd things that happened with Ford, but it wasn’t one I could regret.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Charlotte. Ford doesn’t come to see me as often as he should, and he’s never brought anyone to meet me. You must be special to him.”
