Sweet as Pie Crimes by Anisa Claire West Page B

across from me and was gesturing to a barista to take his order.
    “Um, I guess so,” I replied slowly, my tongue and the roof of my mouth on fire.  Another kind of flame fanned its way through my body as well as he grinned at me.
    “Good.  I’ve been wanting to meet you for the longest time.  But you kept running away from me.  I hope I didn’t scare you.” His manner was gentle and calm in bold contrast to the manic stalking behavior he had displayed on the street.
    “Maybe a little,” I admitted, feeling my heart palpitate and knowing it was too soon for the caffeine to take effect.
    “ Je regrette .  I’m so sorry.  I’ve just never seen a woman like you, and I’ve been dying to paint your portrait.” His speech was smooth…and rehearsed?  Or was that just his natural charm?
    “But I’m not a model.”
    “Well you should be.  Look at your skin.  Pure milk chocolate.  And you have the body of a ballet dancer.  You are every artist’s dream subject.” He captured my gaze again as the compliments flowed from him like water from a fountain.  “I’m Patric, by the way.”
    He reached across the table, clasping my hand in his and lightly touching the top of it to his lips.  “Isabelle,” I whispered shakily before reining my nerves in and speaking more assertively.  “You know, today your sister came to the bakery where I work.  She tried to convince me to have coffee with you.”
    “And now we find ourselves sitting across from each other here in this café.  It must be fate,” Patric drawled as I nodded uncertainly.  “My studio is right next door to your bakery if you’d like to see my work sometime.”
    “Thank you.  Maybe I will.” I was no longer scared of Patric in the context that he would hurt me…physically.  But I was wary of him in a different way, a way that made me fear that burning my tongue was just the beginning of the pain he could inflict.
    We spent the next two hours exchanging personal stories and learning about each other over continuous cups of espresso that I knew would keep me wired until dawn.  My books and paper forgotten, I found myself enraptured listening to his rags to riches tale of growing up in the mountains of southern France, painting more than 300 canvasses before actually selling one, and finally making enough profits to be able to move to Paris.  In turn, Patric intently listened to my memories of girlhood in Barbados and my homesickness trying to adapt to urban life.
    “I know what you mean.  Paris is an intimidating city for me too, and I’m French.  I can imagine how you feel, Isabelle.” His eyes glowed with compassion.
    Patric’s solicitousness encouraged me to open up even more, as no one had listened to me so patiently since I had flown away from my island like a questing nomad.  “So now you understand why I was a little scared when you kept calling out to me.  I’m new around here.” I smiled shyly, inwardly angry at myself for melting so completely under Patric’s tutelage.  I hadn’t confided so much in a man since my ex-boyfriend from Barbados bulldozed my heart when I learned he was cheating...with 3 other girls!  Loneliness had plagued me more than I realized since losing William, and now my emotions were gushing uncontrollably.
    “I understand.  This city has its dangers.  Actually, just the other night I saw a robbery at Collette’s Pastry Shop.” Patric poured the last drop of espresso down his throat as my eyebrows lifted in surprise.
    “You saw that?! So did I!”
    “Yes, I was looking out the window and noticed someone leaving the shop carrying some sort of bag,” Patric said nonchalantly.
    “I was there when it happened!  Right afterwards, I went into the shop and found that a tray of cream puffs, of all things, had been stolen.  I called the police and told my boss…and my roommate.  But no one takes me seriously!  Now I know I’m not crazy if you saw it too!” I said excitedly, feeling