All of him stood at full attention again. Her eyes were cast down. Had she noticed?
“Also, I could tease you or whisper things in your ears.”
“Fine. What would be next?”
“You would need to find a way for us to be alone. That’s the tricky part since you can’t possibly invite me for lunch or dinner. We’re already scheduled for our upcoming meals.”
“So I would need to invite you out for an after-dinner stroll, possibly along the river banks of the Seine, and pray for the weather to hold.”
“See? You’re catching on. That sounds like a good plan—”
“What’s a good plan?” Ariane walked up to them.
“Now that we’ve thrown all the diced vegetables in the boiling water, the plan is to get started on the pie,” answered Mary without hesitation. “Do you think it’s okay if we prepare the crust and slice the apples to get them ready for baking and then turn to the fish?”
“Absolutely. I guess you don’t need me for now. I’ll go back to helping the two love birds.”
“So where were we?” asked George.
“We were about to clean up the vegetable peels,” Mary said, bumping him with her hip. She slid the peels into the sink.
“What are you doing?” George asked.
“Disposing of the peels, but I can’t seem to find the garbage disposal switch.”
“Because there won’t be one.”
“Why not?”
“No one has them in this country.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. See, I can teach you something too. People here just throw things in garbage bags.” George bumped her in turn with his hip, and she took the peels out of the sink.
She laughed. “How long have you been in Paris?”
“For a few months, almost a year. I’m starting to know the town quite well. Maybe I could take you around for a walk after tonight’s class.”
“What a lovely idea. It’s so thoughtful of you. I would love to,” answered Mary with a satisfied smile.
George wondered if she was always so clear about what she wanted. Come to think of it, he wouldn’t mind that! Better to know what he was doing than go pecking in the dark… Well, that was obviously a figure of speech. He wasn’t into drawing the curtains and turning off all the lights. Curiously, he thought she would be okay with some light, too.
❦
CHAPTER THREE
Peter
PETER WAS HAVING A GREAT time. Who would have thought peeling and chopping vegetables could be fun? Of course, Charles’s wicked sense of humor helped. But what made the experience truly enjoyable was Ariane. Somehow, one look at her had been enough to crack open the door of the cage he had locked himself in when his wife died. Meeting her was a turning point. He wondered if finding Ariane was sheer luck or if Mary—who had been trying to get him out of his shell for a while—had seen pictures of Ariane before she booked the class. That was ridiculous. How could she have known he would fall for Ariane? She wasn’t like Kristina at all.
Nevertheless, the woman was gorgeous. She had no angles, just curves—delicious-looking curves. Her face was round, her eyes were almond shaped, and the arches of her lips were deliciously curvy. She smelled like vanilla or maybe cotton candy. Everything about her was sweet. Even when she scolded him for not following the instructions—which he was starting to do on purpose to make her pay more attention to him—her voice was soft and melodious. The cherry on the top of the delicious creature was her French accent.
“Voilà, Peeeter, it’s puuurfect zat way,” she said, sliding between Charles and him to check how they were doing. She leaned over to help him fold the cooking paper in which they were wrapping the lemongrass-sprinkled fish filet on a bed of lime. “Zis way it will not dry. You want it to be able to raiz its temperature but to remain very moist and spicy.”
Hell, yes! Hot, moist, and spicy. He couldn’t have said it better himself.
Peter looked at her and smiled as she opened the door of the preheated oven. She told him to put the fish on the center of the middle rack. He was usually the bossy one in relationships, but around the kitchen, he would let her be in control…a little. If things between them moved in the proper direction, he would set things straight and lay out his rules for play. Peter closed the oven door and watched Ariane walk toward Jena and Thomas.
“Hurry, hurry, Peeter,” said Charles, imitating Ariane’s accent. “The fish will be cooked in a few minutes, and you have not set up your apple slices on the dough.”
Peter laughed. “Man, you’re taking this too seriously. It’s not open heart surgery—it’s just dinner.”
“Yes, but as long as we’re doing it, we should try to do it right. Don’t you think?” asked Charles.
“You’re damn right about that. When a man sets out to do something, he’s gotta do it right,” Peter answered, still staring at Ariane’s back.
“For some strange reason, I think you just sidetracked this conversation.”
“Would you get out of my mind?” Peter feigned anger. “There’s not enough room for two, and anyway, you wouldn’t enjoy the film I’m playing in my head nearly as much as I do.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that. So while you watch your brain-made X-rated movie, I’ll set up your apple slices,” said Charles in mock contrition. “There must be something in the air tonight, and I’m unfortunately the only one immune.”
“What do you mean?” George noticed a bit of sadness in Charles’s voice.
“Well, there’s the newlyweds. They can’t keep their hands off each other. Every five minutes, he stands behind her and, under the pretense of watching what she’s doing, he presses so hard against her I don’t think there’s room to slide a piece of cigarette paper between them. Come to think of it, I think they’re the source of the pheromone overload in the room. They contaminated your sister and ‘The Thing.’ Those two are working very, very closely… Much more physical proximity than necessary,” observed Charles.
“Now that you mention it, he does look a bit like Michael Chiklis with a crew cut, and they do seem attached at the hip.”
“And then there’s you and Ariane. Every time she comes near you, your jeans become too tight. Don’t roll your eyes at me. You’re standing next to me. I can’t help noticing. Anyway, I’m surprised you haven’t found an excuse to whisk her away to another room to carry out whatever fantasies you’ve been having about her. But now it’s too late. Dinner will soon be ready!”
❦
They all removed their aprons and moved to the adjacent dining room. It was a rectangular room a third of the size of the workshop with a table that could seat about eight, possibly ten. The windows of one wall opened to the courtyard while the three other walls were decorated with a few paintings in the style of Arcimboldo. Perfectly fitting for a cooking school to have faces made out of food. In the corner opposite to the door to the workshop was a tiny spiral staircase. It led down, probably to the basement, and to the upper floor. Peter wondered if it could be his stairway to heaven. Did Ariane live upstairs?
They started with the vegetable soup they had pureed with a hand-stick blender. Charles made horrible jokes about what a horror movie producer would imagine doing with that instrument. The soup had been fine, nothing to write home about, until Ariane made them add a dash of spices and a couple of spoonfuls of crème fraîche, the wicked French cousin of the American sour cream.
“Amazing how a little fat changes everything,” Mary said when she tasted the soup after stirring in the cream.
“Yes, it does make everything more mellow,” Peter answered, looking in Ariane’s direction. She had freed her hair from her bun just before they sat down to eat. He loved the way her curls framed her face. She had also removed her apron. The top four buttons of her shirt had popped open, and the view was irresistible. He had an urge to bury his face in the visible valley to check if her skin was as soft as it seemed.
Feeling alive again wa
s so strange, like waking up from a very long sleep. The fish was good, tender and flaky, but he couldn’t care less. He was devouring Ariane with his eyes, and she had noticed. He tried to read her thoughts. Initially, he had seen puzzlement on her face, as though she was surprised by his persistence. Since then, whenever her eyes met his, she blushed a little.
Yep, she had more than a casual interest too. His stare left no ambiguity about what he wanted. And the only thing he did was stare. Not his fault he had nothing to distract him during the meal. Peter was sitting between Jena and Mary. Jena only had eyes for Thomas and managed to eat the entire meal without letting go of her husband’s hand. Mary ignored Peter as well. She barely said two words to him, engrossed as she was in her conversation with George.
So he had nothing else to do than to watch Ariane. She was right across the table from him, between Thomas and Charles, listening to cute stories about the mishaps of the young actor’s life. She watched Charles with a smile, and periodically, she looked in George’s direction.
Charles was right; Peter needed to find a way to be alone with her. Seven was a crowd!
Jena and Thomas would rush away as soon as they could—they wouldn’t be a problem. Charles would get the hint; he caught on real quick. The problem would be his sister and her teammate…or maybe not. He had offered to walk with her back to the hotel. That was a splendid idea. Now Peter just had to wait for the end of the meal.
❦
As they were about to start dessert, a tall guy in his late twenties or possibly early thirties walked in. He let himself in and just symbolically knocked on the door of the dining room. He asked, in broken English, if there was room for one more. Ariane jumped up and looked really happy to see him. Peter’s mood turned somber. The man was good looking and seemed right at home in Ariane’s place. Peter mentally kicked himself. He should have known she already had someone in her life.
Ariane took the arm of the newcomer and said, “Mais bien sûr, Jean-Michel, viens t’asseoir avec nous.” Ariane gave Jean-Michel her seat next to Charles, who flashed her a killer smile. The man looked about to burst with joy.
A light bulb switched on in Peter’s brain. Jean-Michel was Charles’s plus one. Good for him. No more feeling left out. Never in his life had he been so happy to be seated across from a gay couple.
Jena and Thomas took the new arrival as a cue to make a quick escape. They promised to be back at nine thirty a.m. sharp. Ariane walked them to the door. When she returned, she brought Jean-Michel a plate with a slice of pie and cutlery.
Jean-Michel took her hand in both of his and said, “You know the way to a man’s heart does go through his stomach.”
“Then I guess Charles is in luck because he’s the one who baked that pie,” said Ariane, winking at Charles. She walked around the table and took Jena’s seat next to Peter.
A few minutes later, Mary left with George for their planned evening promenade. Jean-Michel finished his pie, declared it delicious, and congratulated both the baker and the teacher. He offered to take Charles out for a drink and show him around Le Marais. He also offered to bring Ariane and Peter with them.
Ariane declined, saying that she had to prepare for tomorrow. Peter said he would stay and help her. After they left, Ariane looked around the kitchen and then at Peter leaning against the dining room door.
Pulling down the storefront window curtains, she said, “Actually there is nothing to do right now. I have a cleaning lady who comes in and gets everything cleaned and ready for the next session. I just thought they would rather be left alone…”
“I’m glad you did,” said Peter, “because I so want to be alone with you too.” He took a couple of steps closer to Ariane. He put one hand on the back of her neck and the other on the small of her back to draw her in. She looked up as her body nestled against his. Amazingly, she felt like a perfect fit. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the second I saw you.” He bent his head down to kiss her.
❦
CHAPTER FOUR
Mary
WALKING OUT OF ARIANE’S COOKING school with George, Mary wasn’t sure how she felt. She had never been daring and direct with a man. She had never been a shrinking violet, either. Shy and proper were not her style. She was assertive in all aspects of life, but her coming on so strong was a first. Then again, what she felt when she first saw George was a first as well.
When she had walked in the room and seen him, her heart literally skipped a beat. A few minutes later, she noticed him staring at her and her heart did a little happy dance. The rhythm increased when Ariane paired them together to work. Mary was happy. She was getting a chance to get a closer look.
She had liked everything she saw. That was a real surprise since she didn’t favor dark and somber men. But then again, what she found most irresistible was his smile. Maybe because he didn’t flash it every thirty seconds as Charles did. Where Charles was champagne, all fresh, light, and bubbly, George was bourgogne, deep, rich, and a darker color with a strong bouquet. Mary knew her wine, and she liked them rounded and powerful. She was drinking him up.
George was all about power. She was fascinated by his large hands and arms and shoulders. They should belong to a lumberjack, not to a writer. What would those hands feel like on her skin? Would they be light as feathers, strong and possessive, or both in turn? She couldn’t wait to find out.
They turned left after leaving Ariane’s workshop and quickly faced a lovely church, Saint Pierre du Gros Caillou. Mary read the name out loud and asked, “Is something wrong with my French, or is the name of the church Saint Peter of the Large Stone?”
“Nothing wrong with your French. If you go in, which you should in the daytime when it’s open, you’ll be able to read about the history of the church. When it was built, a few years before the French revolution, this street was at the border of Paris. The large stone was the geographical landmark of the limit of the territory of the city. Beyond it was ‘la plaine de Grenelle’ where vegetables were grown for the Parisians.” George gestured toward the very built-up area south of them.
Mary enjoyed the way his face came to life when he spoke about history. Sliding her arm in his, she asked, “So where will you take me now?”
“I thought we could walk to the river bank, watch the barges pass by on the Seine.”
“Sounds good.”
They walked down avenue Bosquet, crossed the quai d’Orsay, and passed the entrance to the Paris Sewer Museum by the Alma bridge. They leaned into each other, elbows resting on top of the stone parapet. Underneath them was an empty two-lane street and then the river.
George said, “It’s very quiet because the Maire of Paris decided to make a promenade of the high-speed left-bank road. It used to be as busy as the FDR drive in Manhattan or South Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. Right now, the Parisians are not too happy about it because it has considerably slowed down traffic. Actually, they’re furious. Maybe they’ll love it in a few years. Who knows? When the Eiffel Tower was built, everyone said it was a disgrace to have such an industrial structure in the middle of the city, and now it’s the main landmark.”
“You love Paris. Do you plan to stay here for good?” asked Mary.
“I’m not sure. I could, but then again, I could live just about anywhere. That’s one of the perks of being a writer. Once you’ve done your research, you don’t need to be in a specific location. With the internet, sometimes you can do research without ever walking out of your home,” answered George. “What about you? From your accent, I would say New York? What do you do?”
“I live in Manhattan. I’m a midwife. So, in theory, I also have a job I can do anywhere in the world. However, it’s a very regulated profession now. The licensing requirement is probably a good thing, but it makes moving to a different country or even another state a real pain. The administration has us running like rats in a maze with paperwork.”
“Did you ever practice outside of New York?”
“Yes, I was really
lucky to get a couple of chances to do so. Just out of school, I worked in South America, and then a few years later, I worked in Africa.”
“Wow, that must have been a challenge.”
“It was a fabulous experience. It was exciting and dangerous.” Noticing George’s raised eyebrows, Mary explained. “I was never in any physical danger. I didn’t go to war zones or anywhere life threatening. But sometimes I would find myself alone, in the middle of nowhere, with an emergency. I got to do things that, at home, only doctors are allowed to do.”
“You mean you performed medical acts over your pay grade?”
“Precisely.” Mary looked down at the river. “I really shouldn’t have, but I did it anyway. It was either that or watch the mother or the baby, or both, die.”
“That must have been quite a rush.” George put his large hand on her arm.
Mary faced him and smiled. “Yes, it was. I was lucky and it turned out right!”
George shifted and put his other hand under her chin, tilting her head up to face his. “Let’s see how right this will turn out.” He leaned over to tenderly press his lips against hers, waiting for a green light to explore further.
Mary slipped one hand on the back of his neck and pressed against him, meeting him with hungry need. Their lips parted. Mary crushed her breasts against his chest while both his hands found their way to the small of her back and then further down, pushing her into him. His erection pressed into her through their clothes, and she felt a surge of desire knock the breath out of her.
One hand remained on her butt while the other traveled under her top, gently caressing her back. Her hands sneaked in the back pockets of his jeans and kneaded and pressed on his muscular butt, as if they could possibly get any closer with their clothes still on.
Learning Curves 1 - French Cooking 101 Page 2
