A recipe of love

Letter

Weeks passed, and with each letter exchanged, Nathaniel and Margaret's correspondence grew more intimate, more passionate. The letters became a secret indulgence, a daily ritual that filled Nathaniel's thoughts with longing and anticipation. Every evening after his work at the café or his lessons at the pâtisserie, Nathaniel would find a quiet moment to read Margaret's words, his face reddening as he imagined the day they would be reunited. The letters were filled with promises, desires whispered in ink, and the raw passion between them seemed to leap off the page.

It wasn't long before Etienne, Nathaniel's new friend and confidant, took notice of the effect these letters had on him. Etienne, always sharp-eyed and quick to tease, would catch Nathaniel grinning or staring off into the distance after receiving a letter. His knowing smirks turned into outright laughter when Nathaniel, despite his best efforts, could not hide the blush that crept up his neck each time Margaret's words entered his mind.

One afternoon, they were walking along the Seine after their lessons, the late sun casting a golden glow over the cobblestones. Nathaniel had just received another of Margaret's letters that morning, and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it, her tender yet heated words echoing in his mind.

"Ah, *mon ami*," Etienne began, nudging Nathaniel with a grin, "you are like a schoolboy, always with that look on your face after these letters arrive. Does she write poetry, or... something else?" His eyebrow arched with a mischievous glint.

Nathaniel, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, tried to laugh it off. "She- she writes beautifully, that's all," he stammered, glancing away to avoid Etienne's amused gaze.

Etienne chuckled heartily, shaking his head. "Ah, but you cannot fool me. I see how you are after these letters, blushing like a debutante!" He switched effortlessly between French and English, as he often did when teasing Nathaniel. "*C'est une correspondance passionnée, non?*" he asked with a sly smile. "*Tu rougis comme un garçon amoureux!*"

Nathaniel rubbed the back of his neck, feeling even more self-conscious. "*Oui, c'est...* I mean, yes, she's... very passionate," he admitted, his voice low as he glanced around to make sure no one could overhear. "But you wouldn't understand, Etienne. She's the love of my life, and-"

Etienne threw his head back with laughter. "Oh, *mon cher Nathaniel,* do not mistake my teasing for a lack of understanding. I have known love, and passion, too. But the way you carry on!" He clapped Nathaniel on the shoulder. "*Tu es perdu! Completely lost!*"

Nathaniel couldn't help but laugh along, though he was still embarrassed. "I suppose I am," he admitted, his thoughts turning to Margaret and the way her last letter had left him breathless. "She... she writes things that make it hard to think of anything else."

Etienne's eyes lit up with mischief. "*Ah! Des choses très osées?*" he asked, leaning in as if to pry the secrets from Nathaniel's mind. "Does she make you blush with every line, *mon ami?*"

Nathaniel, who had been so careful about keeping the more intimate details of their correspondence private, felt his face burn even brighter. "I'm not going to discuss the details with you, Etienne," he said, though his smile gave away the truth.

Etienne threw his arms up dramatically. "Oh, *mais pourquoi pas?* What are friends for if not to share in such sweet tortures of love?" He paused, lowering his voice as though speaking a great truth. "*L'amour, c'est une folie,* but it is also *la plus grande des joies.* Don't you agree?"

Nathaniel nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "I do. But it's also private, and what Margaret writes... it's meant only for me."

Etienne nodded solemnly, though the teasing light never left his eyes. "*Très bien, très bien.* I shall respect the sanctity of your letters, but you cannot deny me the joy of watching you turn scarlet every time one arrives."