My heart thumps a little harder.
“The lanterns were a nice touch. Very Prince Charming of you,” I say.
“Thought you’d appreciate the drama of it all.” He glances over his shoulder with a half-smile. “Come in. Lock the door.”
With the click of the latch, the entire world outside disappears.
His place is cozy, and I appreciate the exposed brick that lines the long wall. If I close my eyes, it’s almost like I’m back in my loft in Tribeca. The furniture is modern but used, and I can imagine him sitting there, shoes off, relaxing. The wooden floor has large rugs spread across with a funky pattern. I move farther into the kitchen and notice there are even dirty dishes in the sink. I’m actually shook.
“What is this place?” I ask, stopping beside him, leaning against the counter so I can watch him.
“My secret escape.” He adjusts the flame on the gas stove.
“Oh, am I the first girl you’ve ever brought here?” I ask jokingly.
“Actually, yes.” He smirks, wiping his hands on a rag that’s beside me.
We’re suddenly too close before he reaches past me to pour wine into two glasses.
“Stop. You might make me feel special,” I say, loving that he’s sharing his secrets with me.
“You should.” He hands me a glass.
The moment grows too intense, and I glance away, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “Your humble abode reminds me of something I’d see in New York.”
“Funny you say that. My penthouse in the city was identical to this. When I decided to sell my real estate, I hired a designer to re-create the space. My heart is always in Montclaire, but I love New York. Sometimes, when I’m in here, I can imagine I’m back there again.”
I watch his hands move confidently over the ingredients, but I can’t help but notice the sadness in his voice. He reaches for a wooden spoon like he’s done this a thousand times.
“I had no idea you were so …domestic. I’m impressed.”
He looks at me with one eyebrow raised. “Really?”
“Kind of, yeah. I mean …” I gesture toward him. “Did you forget who you are?”
“IfonlyI could.”
This is Louis unguarded. He’s letting all of his shields down.
“I enjoy my privacy. And I always thought …” He focuses on the sauce in the pan like he’s considering whether to continue speaking or not. His eyes come back to mine. “I always thought I’d have a wife whose company I enjoyed, who I could cook for. Prepare my queen something with my own hands instead of having staff do everything for us. But dreams are just that.”
His words float through the air. I think about the required dates, his obligations, and how he could barely meet my eyes when I asked if he was being forced. It’s a conversation I’d rather avoid because I’m not sure I want to know.
“Are you self-taught? Or did you have a Michelin-starred chef coach you?” I ask.
“This is all me, babe. I’ve watched a lot of YouTube videos. I’ve requested cuts of meat from the kitchen butcher that made him think I’d lost my mind.”
“Like?” I’m intrigued.
“Oxtail. Beef cheeks. Whole fish with the heads still on.” He shrugs. “It’s impossible to learn without trying. I failed until I didn’t.”
He dips a clean spoon into the pan and blows on it before placing it to my lips. “Try it.”
Our eyes meet as I lean forward and taste the gravy.
“I think I just fell in love,” I whisper as the flavors burst in my mouth. It’s savory and salty, and I want more.
“It’s called a demi-glace. Took me four attempts to perfect it. The first time, it was inedible. Second was passable. Third I burned because Delphine barged in, complaining about something insignificant. This is my fourth attempt. The way it should’ve always been.”
