21. Cuisine Française

21

Cuisine Fran?aise

Hayley

After two long days apart, Maxime returned yesterday, and we spent his entire day off together at the store, stealing kisses at every turn. He left soon after we closed up because the girls and I were planning to go live on Instagram to thank everyone who visited the store and to draw in more customers.

So far, the store has been a wild success—more so than we expected. But we also temper our expectations because we know it's the grand-opening effect. That said, we don't want to lose our momentum, and since the street is still a third empty, we don't get a lot of foot traffic from passersby. Communicating online gives us our best shot at finding romance readers in the area. Competition is tough in New York. Plus, this is just what we do. We're Bookstagrammers before being bookstore owners.

We also worked out a schedule. We've all been working nonstop, but that's not healthy for us, and we won't make it long if we keep going like that, so we decide to rotate. There will always be at least two of us working while the other has a day or a half day off.

Today is Alice's turn to relax, and she went to see a Broadway matinee and did some shopping for her date tonight.

Emma is organizing books in the back, and I'm making some marketing graphics on the computer when Marissa, Coach Martin's daughter, enters the store.

"Hey." I greet her with a bright smile. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. You bought half our inventory last time." I laugh, even though it's not far from the truth.

She chuckles, shaking strawberry-blonde hair. "I know. I have issues."

"Marissa," Emma says, coming from the back. "Don't tell me you've burned through your whole Tbr yet. Otherwise, I'm going to be seriously jealous. "

"I wish. Sorry if I'm imposing, but I wanted to ask if I could pick your brains about opening a business. I've always wanted to have my own coffee shop, and I fell in love with this street. The space across the way would be perfect. I just don't know where to start. My friend Beth wants to team up with me, but she doesn't have any entrepreneurial experience either."

"We'd be happy to help!" I say with a bright smile. "You'll have to catch Alice, too, because we all have different skill sets. Alice is in charge of our newsletter. She also writes ad copy and built our website. Emz takes care of the business side of things. She ran the crowdfunding campaign and does all the admin work, like registering our business name or setting up our point of sale. As for me, I designed the logo, created the layout of the store, and decorated the interior. I also take care of all our visual marketing, like ads, banners—that kind of thing."

Marissa's eyes widen. "Wow, you guys are like the dream team."

"But if we can do it, so can you," I say, to which Emma nods, but in the meantime, a customer enters the store, and she rushes to greet her. Addressing Marissa, I say, "If you want, we can sit down, and I'll tell you as much as I can, and then you can talk to Emz? "

Her smile lights up the room. "That would be perfect. Thank you so much."

I'm adjusting the decor on the display table when two large arms wrap around my waist. My heart jolts, but I don't let out a squeal because I'd recognize that woodsy, spicy scent anywhere.

"Hey, you." I turn around and drop a soft kiss on Maxime's lips.

He kisses me back more passionately, and I put a hand on his chest to stop him. If he keeps kissing me like that, we'll be making out on the table before I realize what's happening. There's something addictive in Maxime's lips that always makes me crave more.

"Hey, Maxime," Emma calls from behind the desk.

"Hi, Emma," he replies before stealing another kiss, focusing his attention back on me. "Just got out of practice. I have a few hours before I need to be back at the arena for tonight's game. Do you want to grab lunch?"

I wince. "I don't have a lot of time." I'm sure Emma would let me take a longer break, but I don't want to ask for that on one of our first days. We have a schedule in place, and I don't want to mess everything up. This job is important to me.

He tugs me closer. "Maybe I can cook for you? Upstairs."

I arch an eyebrow. "You cook?"

He takes a step back, splaying his hands over his chest. "What a question! Of course I cook. I'm French, it's in my blood."

A laugh bubbles out of me.

"I've been living on my own for a long time, so I had to learn to fulfill my nutritional needs. It's important in my line of work." He winks.

"Okay. We can go now, if that works," I suggest before glancing at Emma. "I'm going to break for lunch. We'll be upstairs. Let me know if you need me."

Emma wrinkles her nose, leaning on the desk. "Ew. Is that code for something else?"

A blush warms my cheeks. "No, of course not. It's just lunch."

I hear her mumble a response, but I can't make it out. Sharing an amused glance, Maxime and I step into the back room and walk upstairs to the apartment.

"What does she have against love, anyway? It's a romance bookstore after all. She reads that stuff, right? "

"Yeah. But like me, she hasn't had a lot of great relationships. She has a hard time letting people in—even friends. As far as romantic relationships go, she has completely sworn off the idea."

I'm not going to reveal more about Emma's past. She's very private, and I would never share what she told me in confidence.

"Hey. Is that yours?" Max asks, grabbing a hockey romance book that's lying on the kitchen table. "Please say yes."

I chuckle and nod. "Yes."

"Is it good? Should I be jealous of this other hockey player who's about to steal your heart?"

"Well, I haven't started it yet. But I'll let you know how it goes." I wink.

Shaking his head, he mutters something about the unfairness of competing with fictional men before grabbing the apron that's hanging in the kitchen and tying it around his waist.

I can't hold in my laughter. Since it's Alice's apron, it's way too small for him, flaring at his thighs and stretching the printed words that read, "Danger: Librarian cooking."

He cocks his head to the side. "Are you mocking me, Nash? Right when I'm about to cook for you. Not cool. "

I cover my mouth with my hand. "I'm not, I swear. You look great. What are you making?"

He gives me a little bow, and I laugh again. "Thank you. I don't know, what do you have?" Opening the fridge, he studies its contents for a minute, tapping his lips with his finger. Then, he closes the fridge door. "Okay, I know. I'll make a poulet aux champignons avec des pates ."

Be still, my heart. I won't be able to handle it if he starts speaking French. He sounds even more sexy in his native language. Totally unfair.

He turns around, shooting me a smile. "Oh, right. I tend to speak French when I'm cooking."

With a nod, I channel my high school French lessons and say, " Continuez, s'il vous pla?t. "

He swallows hard. "That was hot as hell."

"Right back at you."

Somehow, we managed to avoid setting the kitchen on fire with our combined French and made it through lunch alive. The poulet aux champignons Maxime whipped up was delicious. We're now doing the dishes, with Maxime on drying duty. And seeing Maxime's biceps flex as he works is cranking up the thermostat inside me .

I'm rinsing the last plate when Maxime snakes his arms around my waist, pulling me toward him with a sudden urgency.

"Maxime," I giggle, leaning into him. His mouth finds the spot right below my ear, kissing the sensitive skin softly.

My heart pounds as I turn to face him. I clench his shirt, pulling him closer.

His hands dip into my hair as our lips crash, hungry and desperate. Lifting me up by my waist, he sits me on the counter, and I gasp into the kiss. My hands grasp at his shoulders for support, the strength of his arms enveloping me like a lifeline.

He deepens the kiss, sending me straight to heaven. I never knew a kiss could be this good, but that shouldn't surprise me. Maxime Beaumont makes everything better. I'm the luckiest girl in the world. When you look like I do, having such a perfect boyfriend who kisses like a god feels like a fluke.

I wrap my legs around his waist and melt against him, desperate for his touch. When he breaks our kiss, I moan at the loss of contact. He traces his lips down my jaw and neck until they reach my collarbone. I tilt my head backward, reveling in his tantalizing touch .

With a whimper, I tug him back to my mouth, eager to kiss him again, and he smiles against my lips. "Can't get enough of me, Nash?"

I don't even have the power to roll my eyes at his cocky remark. And he's right. I don't think I'll ever get enough of this man's kiss.

Our lips collide again, the kiss igniting my body in a way I didn't know possible. He growls against my lips before taking a step backward. "We have to stop," he says, out of breath. "Or we'll end up proving Emma's assumptions right."

Heat pools in my stomach as I nod, but he closes the space between us, placing a long, chaste kiss on my lips that makes me giggle.

Then, he takes another step backward, his hands raised in surrender. "No, I'm done. Just please, no more speaking French."

I laugh, jumping off the counter. "You're right, we need to put our foot on the brakes. I have to get back to work."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Hey, will you stay with me tonight after the game? I just want to spend more time with you."

I swallow hard, my body coming alive again. "Only if you ask me again in French. "

He chuckles, then takes me into his arms. I place my hands on his chest and fix my eyes on him.

" Est-ce que tu veux dormir chez moi après le match ?"

I brush my fingertips against the light stubble of his jaw. " Oui. Je veux ."

Then, his lips clash into mine again.