La Patisserie de la Rosse

CHAPTER FOUR

Beer und Pretzels

.

After a long, lazy breakfast, a perfect three course lunch, and a simply divine afternoon tea of verbena cupcakes, lemon tea, and lavender crème brûlée, Matthew was beginning to seriously consider a few things. The first was never eating again. The second was joining a gym. The third was leaping over the patisserie counter, grabbing Francis by the collar, and kissing the tempting, gorgeous, positively delicious baker harder than he'd ever been kissed before. Matthew brushed his hair from his heated forehead, a little flushed at the thought. All day he'd been fighting these indecent, blush-inducing mental images - all day he'd been losing. Since that intense, knee-weakening, downright lustful kiss the night before, Matthew hadn't been able to stop thinking of Francis in an even more stimulating manner than usual. That single kiss had promised so much more. This entire, perfect Saturday had promised so much more. The glances, the touches, the very brief kisses across the counter; Francis' voice smooth and teasing, his eyes light and sparkling, his fingers lingering gently on Matthew's lips...

"You had better head home soon, my dear."

Matthew blinked sharply, startled at the intrusion on his increasingly inflaming thoughts. "Huh? Home?"

Francis leant casually on the counter, his lips turned in a tiny smirk. He had a smudge of flour under his eye – Matthew thought it was too adorable to wipe away. "Yes, but only briefly. To change for Gilbert's party. Unless you wish to go as you are, covered in flour and chocolate..." Francis winked. "Either way, darling, you'll be fabulous."

Matthew looked down at the mess covering his shirt – the result of a failed baking attempt that had ended in a minor food fight - and felt his shoulders slump. Of course, the blasted party. He suppressed a groan, trying not to acknowledge his disappointment at the reminder. Matthew did not want to go out and share Francis tonight. He did not want to mingle with people he did not know and who would probably forget his name in five minutes. No, Matthew wanted to stay here in this warm, magical patisserie, wanted to smile and wink and brush hands; wanted to touch Francis and kiss him and press against him and maybe even...

"Mathieu? Mon cher?"

Matthew raised his wandering eyes to Francis' knowingly amused gaze. He immediately cleared his throat and ducked his head. "Um, yes. Of course, that's right."

Francis furrowed his brow, concerned. "You don't exactly sound thrilled."

Matthew gave a small shrug. "To be honest, I'm a little nervous."

Francis' expression turned confused. "What do you possibly have to be nervous about? You've already met half the guests already."

Matthew paused. True, he had already met Francis' closest friends – yet that somehow made him even more anxious. They were nice, sure, but also loud and a little overbearing and Matthew was never very good with people, let alone used to their attention, and... "Well... what if they don't like me?"

Francis' look of confusion turned to one of disbelief. "What utter nonsense, they'll adore you – how could they possibly not? Now stop thinking such ridiculous things, dress in something suitably tight and gorgeous, and just be your adorable, charming, fabulous self."

Matthew couldn't hold back a short burst of self-critical laugher. How had he managed to find the one person in the world who could possibly think of him as charming and fabulous? And why, when Francis said it, did Matthew almost believe him? "All right, darling." Matthew flicked his hair sarcastically. "I'll head home, doll myself up, and await your chariot."

Francis laughed brightly and reached for Matthew's hand, entwining their fingers across the counter. "If only I did have a chariot for mon prince. Will a taxi do?"