Mon Chéri

Chapter 1: Croissant

He had picked an iris for her, one of her favorite flowers. Did he know that? She wasn't sure, but as he tucked the flower behind her ear it became clear. He had intent in his eyes. He traced a finger down her cheek, keeping his caramel-colored eyes on her. "Ma Chérie, je t'aime..." She...she...fuck.

What? She...what? What did she do? Fuck, why can't I write?!

You put your head down on your keyboard and groaned. It'd been two weeks since you arrived in Paris, and still, no inspiration had struck you. City of love, they had said. I'll believe it when I can finish the goddamn novel , you had told them. Alas, you were here now, and you were struggling.

Paris, of course, was gorgeous beyond your imagination. You were here for the summer on a break of sorts. The true intent of your trip was more complex but on the surface, it was practically a writer's retreat. So, as much as you wanted to go off and explore the city, you knew that you had to focus. And that was becoming an ever-increasing problem.

As you sat staring at the blinking cursor on your screen, you decided to take a break and get another croissant. You honestly hadn't had anything like the french pastries that they serve here back home, so you pounced on the chance to buy another one. You rooted through your bag and grabbed your wallet, leaving the little table by the wall where you had set up your things. The line was getting longer now, with about four people waiting for their turn at the counter. You sighed and stepped into the line.

As people slowly moved forward, the familiar jingle of the door opening rang through the air. This was nothing unusual, of course, since you were very used to hearing the door open. But as you felt the person come up behind you, your neck tingled. You glanced to the side, hoping for a glance at who they were. It would be too weird if you just turned around and stared at them, so you decided to keep your head straight and forget about it. Besides, it was your turn at the counter anyways.

"Bonjour, que puis-je vous offrir aujourd'hui?" The cashier asked you. Hello, what can I get for you today? You repeated mentally. Sometimes it was hard to keep up with all the french-speaking.

"Salut, Je voudrais un croissant et un thé," you responded, trying hard to get it right.

"Oui. Sept cinquante," the cashier said. "Quel est ton nom?" She had grabbed a cup and was going to write your name on it.

"Um, just put Y/N," you replied.

She nodded. You paid and stepped out of the way until they handed you your things. As you moved, you felt that tingle at the back of your neck again.

This time you looked back at who was behind you in line, and as you did, you felt your stomach flutter.

He was very tall, with beautiful dark wavy hair. Christ, his face looked like he was chiseled from a block of marble. And it was dotted with freckles. If he were in a museum, you would have mistaken him for artwork.

He ordered, but you swear, you didn't hear a word he said. You focused on the way he moved when he talked. It was very distracting, in your opinion. So distracting in fact, that the barista called your name twice before you snapped out of it. "Shit, sorry. Oop- désolé!" you muttered as you grabbed your croissant and tea.

As you walked back to your table, you overheard the conversation between the cashier and the beautiful man.

"Votre nom, monsieur?" The cashier asked.

"Kylo Ren," he said as he tucked his wallet back into his back pocket.

Well, Kylo Ren, I certainly hope our paths cross again...