6. Pascal

"Mon Dieu!" I gasped, my breath quivering as I released my load and let the shower water wash away all evidence of my new guilty pleasure—picturing my sexy neighbor Monsieur Sanders in his shower, his muscles flexing as he masturbated, wishing desperately that he was with me in my own shower.

Now that I had met him, had seen that easy-going smile up close, I could imagine him standing there with me beneath the cascading water.

Smiling at me.

Kissing me.

Gnawing on my earlobe, his beard brushing against my neck.

The thought of him was proving to be a distraction strong enough to prevent me from falling down a rabbit hole while searching for my uncle's treasured recipe. Had I not had visions of Monsieur Sanders to keep me occupied from time to time, I fear I might have let my culinary quest consume me altogether, which it threatened to do every once in a while.

Indeed, I had already knocked down a section of plaster and brickwork in the bedroom on the possibility that Monsieur Flannery had hidden the recipe in the walls.

I had checked all the light fittings, cut open the mattress lining, pulled up several boards on the staircase and scoured the ceiling cavity much to the shock of a family of pigeons that had managed to make a home for themselves thanks to some loose roof tiles that clearly needed fixing.

Still, I found nothing.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around me, then walked into my bedroom and glanced at the closed curtains.

I felt the lure of him.

I tried to fight the urge to take a late-night peek through the curtains.

I gave in so easily I had to wonder why I bothered to resist in the first place.

Stepping up to the window in my towel, I slowly pulled the curtains open an inch.

The moment I did so I regretted it, for there he was doing exactly the same in his window, peering through a sliver wide enough to let the light out and draw my attention straight to him.

The second we saw each other we both pulled our curtains closed.

My heart pounded with embarrassment, with annoyance at being caught trying to spy on him.

And yet, there was an undeniable sense of excitement rippling through me.

How long had he been standing there, peering out?

Was he hoping to catch sight of me as badly as I wanted to catch sight of him?

Palpitations of delight sent my chest into a flutter and my spent cock twitched with joy.

Was Monsieur Sanders himself a rabbit hole that I was teetering dangerously near?

I had to be careful not to replace one obsession with another. I realized I needed something else entirely to keep my mind from spiraling.

Thankfully I knew exactly what that something should be.

"The patisserie," I said aloud, as though hearing it would sharpen my focus. "You need to get the patisserie up and running pronto, Pascal. Otherwise, people will begin to question what you're doing here."

I decided that first thing in the morning I would get the patisserie into shape.

I would clean out the ovens, I would dust off the chairs and tables, I would make a list of suppliers.

I'd work on a sign for the business and simply call it Pascal's Patisserie.

And I'd hire some painters to give it a fresh new look.

Red, white and blue.

The French flag.

Oui, oui! Magnifique!

Yes, I had things to do.

Monsieur Bud Sanders would have to wait for my attention.