Amidst The Stars

Mistakes

  The first week of university passed by in a blur. Every day of classes was a whirlwind of note-taking and questions, jotting down deadlines and drafting essays. The only calm part of the day was the half-hour he and Madeline spent in various cafes around the city before he had to return to Huang's to cook until it was nearly ten at night.

  Yao decided to add steamed red date pudding to the menu, and the sticky-sweet layered dessert quickly became just as popular as the egg tarts and custard buns. Huang's still wasn't as busy or well-known as the restaurants in the city centre, but they already had a few regular customers who ordered the same things every visit.

  One afternoon, Madeline wasn't at the school gates after class. She wasn't at the bus stop, either, nor was she at The Cove. Vicente crossed the street from the cafe to the Boulangerie and opened the door; maybe she'd be there. He was greeted, as usual, with the smell of butter and cinnamon.

  Nobody was at the counter. On display in the case beneath it was a pure-white chiffon cake, topped with shredded coconut and powdered sugar like snow, and next to it stood a mint-green pound cake covered in emerald leaves. There was another mille crêpe, too, its glossy amber glaze glinting in the light.

  "Er, excuse me?"

  He looked up. A boy had just emerged from the kitchen. There was a smudge of flour on his round glasses, and his apron was half-covered in streaks of bread dough. He looked at Vicente, continuing softly, "may I help you?"

  The boy looked like a male version of Madeline; he had to be her twin brother. "Matthieu?"

  Bright blue eyes widened. Matthieu asked, "how do you know my name?"

  "I'm friends with Madeline, she told me about you."

  "Ah, then you must be Vicente." Matthieu relaxed. "Madeline talks about you a lot."

  "I hope she doesn't say anything bad."

  "Nothing terrible. She says you're a great baker, even better than our older brother. I tried some of the tarts she saved for me the other day, and I have to say you're quite skilled." He brushed his hands clean, taking off his apron and folding it. "If you're looking for her, by the way, she's gone out. You can wait until she's back."

  While Vicente sat down at one of the tables, a few more customers arrived at the Boulangerie. Some of them bought delicate boxes of croquant cookies, some left with a long ficelle loaf. Matthieu was manning the counter and smiled at the customers; a few regulars showered him with compliments and questions about his daily life.

  Madeline arrived twenty minutes after Vicente showed up, sweeping through the door holding several bags. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, making her features look so piercing they appeared as though they could cut through steel. The dark-plum strap of a leotard was poking out from under her shirt. "I'll take over, Matthieu," she said, "just let me get changed."

  Matthieu nodded absently while flipping through a notebook. "Do it quickly. You don't want to keep your friend here waiting."

  She glanced briefly at Vicente, who waved stiffly, and set down one of her bags behind the counter. Then she left the Boulangerie again, her bun bobbing behind her.

  "Our apartment is right above here," Matthieu said, probably just to fill the silence. He busied himself with tidying the counter, wiping it clean of breadcrumbs, and stepped out from behind the counter to push in one of the chairs. "Knowing Madeline, she'll come back down in over half an hour after drifting off, so you can leave if she takes too long."