Chocolate Macaroons and a Dead Groom (Poppy Peters Mysteries Book 2) by A. Gardner Page A
Authors: A. Gardner
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shakes his head. Another cool breeze rushes by us, and I rub my hands together. The weather here changes from sunny to jacket weather pretty quickly. I'm glad I wore tights.
With great force, Destin cuts our baguette with a plastic knife. He then proceeds to spread a dollop of the creamy looking cheese in a plastic container onto his bread. It looks like goat cheese mixed with herbs. He slices a tiny tomato in half and takes a bite of his concoction. He looks up at the blossoming tree above us as he does, slowing falling back onto his elbows.
Dandre grabs two pieces of baguette and sandwiches two pieces of harder cheese in between. His first bite is followed by a giant crunch. He chews quickly, then pops a whole vine tomato in his mouth like it's a jumbo grape. I look down at my choices, grab a baguette, a random sample of cheese, and take a bite. The bread tastes sweeter than I expected, and it's a nice contrast from the tanginess of the cheese. I grab the plastic knife and stab a tomato, cutting it in half. I place it on my baguette and take another bite. It's simple. It's homegrown. Perfection .
Though I still want to try a cassoulet. I don't care what Destin says.
"You guys do this every day?" I ask. Destin pulls himself out of deep thought to look at me. He rubs his eyes, taking a deep breath and looking down at his baguette.
"When it doesn't rain," he answers.
"I like it," I comment. "I feel like I can think here." I take another bite and so does Destin. Dandre moves on to his third slice of baguette. Destin watches him and can't help but smirk.
"He's in love with it," Destin jokes, pointing at the way Dandre is eyeing the cheese on his sandwich. Dandre shrugs.
"There's nothing wrong with that." I study what's left of our spread and decide which cheese to try next. "What about you, Destin? Why did you want to work for Chef Gautier?"
"Jean Pierre?" He shakes his head. "No. No." His tattooed knuckles brush against his chin. "I work for Le Croissant . My father worked there."
"He was a pastry chef?"
"Front counter," he corrects me. "He would come home and talk about the food like it was his first born son. So, I decided to remind him that I am number one. That's when I decided to go to pastry school."
Dandre chuckles, taking another bite of his gummy candies.
"Number one," Dandre repeats lowly.
"So, what's Dandre's story?" I ask, watching him shake his bag of sweets. He frowns as he looks in the bag, which now seems significantly lighter. "Besides his obvious obsession with sweets."
"He did not go to pastry school," Destin says. Dandre looks up at him, puzzled. "When we were young, he was called the pastry thief of the seventh arrondissement." He chuckles so hard he lets out a hoarse cough. " Voleur . Thief."
Dandre hangs his head jokingly and laughs along with his cousin. He nods and nudges me.
"Jean Pierre catches me," Dandre says, his English lacking the finesse of Destin's. He laughs even louder, his face turning cherry red. "He was so mad."
Dandre can barely force the words out of his mouth. He covers his face and takes a deep breath. The thought of Jean Pierre throwing a fit in front of a chubby little boy is enough to make anyone chuckle. Dandre attempts to calm himself down, but the two of them start laughing again as soon as their eyes connect.
"Okay, you two are definitely related." I crack a smile. My brother Mark and I used to laugh that way together. "I can hear the resemblance."
CHAPTER TWELVE
After changing my clothes, I walk back into the kitchen at Le Croissant. Michel looks up at me and nods when I pass his office. Marta must not have said anything about my outburst at the inn. I'm shocked to see that Marta, who hasn't had much sleep either, is busy arranging strawberry pistachio tarts to put on display. She works quickly, and there is flour all over her uniform as if she's been here since early this morning.
She watches me enter the kitchen out of the corner of her eye. Marta
With great force, Destin cuts our baguette with a plastic knife. He then proceeds to spread a dollop of the creamy looking cheese in a plastic container onto his bread. It looks like goat cheese mixed with herbs. He slices a tiny tomato in half and takes a bite of his concoction. He looks up at the blossoming tree above us as he does, slowing falling back onto his elbows.
Dandre grabs two pieces of baguette and sandwiches two pieces of harder cheese in between. His first bite is followed by a giant crunch. He chews quickly, then pops a whole vine tomato in his mouth like it's a jumbo grape. I look down at my choices, grab a baguette, a random sample of cheese, and take a bite. The bread tastes sweeter than I expected, and it's a nice contrast from the tanginess of the cheese. I grab the plastic knife and stab a tomato, cutting it in half. I place it on my baguette and take another bite. It's simple. It's homegrown. Perfection .
Though I still want to try a cassoulet. I don't care what Destin says.
"You guys do this every day?" I ask. Destin pulls himself out of deep thought to look at me. He rubs his eyes, taking a deep breath and looking down at his baguette.
"When it doesn't rain," he answers.
"I like it," I comment. "I feel like I can think here." I take another bite and so does Destin. Dandre moves on to his third slice of baguette. Destin watches him and can't help but smirk.
"He's in love with it," Destin jokes, pointing at the way Dandre is eyeing the cheese on his sandwich. Dandre shrugs.
"There's nothing wrong with that." I study what's left of our spread and decide which cheese to try next. "What about you, Destin? Why did you want to work for Chef Gautier?"
"Jean Pierre?" He shakes his head. "No. No." His tattooed knuckles brush against his chin. "I work for Le Croissant . My father worked there."
"He was a pastry chef?"
"Front counter," he corrects me. "He would come home and talk about the food like it was his first born son. So, I decided to remind him that I am number one. That's when I decided to go to pastry school."
Dandre chuckles, taking another bite of his gummy candies.
"Number one," Dandre repeats lowly.
"So, what's Dandre's story?" I ask, watching him shake his bag of sweets. He frowns as he looks in the bag, which now seems significantly lighter. "Besides his obvious obsession with sweets."
"He did not go to pastry school," Destin says. Dandre looks up at him, puzzled. "When we were young, he was called the pastry thief of the seventh arrondissement." He chuckles so hard he lets out a hoarse cough. " Voleur . Thief."
Dandre hangs his head jokingly and laughs along with his cousin. He nods and nudges me.
"Jean Pierre catches me," Dandre says, his English lacking the finesse of Destin's. He laughs even louder, his face turning cherry red. "He was so mad."
Dandre can barely force the words out of his mouth. He covers his face and takes a deep breath. The thought of Jean Pierre throwing a fit in front of a chubby little boy is enough to make anyone chuckle. Dandre attempts to calm himself down, but the two of them start laughing again as soon as their eyes connect.
"Okay, you two are definitely related." I crack a smile. My brother Mark and I used to laugh that way together. "I can hear the resemblance."
CHAPTER TWELVE
After changing my clothes, I walk back into the kitchen at Le Croissant. Michel looks up at me and nods when I pass his office. Marta must not have said anything about my outburst at the inn. I'm shocked to see that Marta, who hasn't had much sleep either, is busy arranging strawberry pistachio tarts to put on display. She works quickly, and there is flour all over her uniform as if she's been here since early this morning.
She watches me enter the kitchen out of the corner of her eye. Marta
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