Dinner for One Read Online Free Page B

of these to go?” He’s stuffing another chunk in his mouth before the last word is completely finished. He makes that same noise again.
    Bastien stares at him, running through the appropriate and not-so-appropriate responses he could say. He doesn’t think this should be as sexy as it is. He finally settles on, “Sure,” feeling like he’s been struck dumb. He has to clear his throat his voice sounds so hoarse. “So you like it, then?” He’s thinking that might be an understatement.
    “It’s absolutely fantastic,” the guy says after he swallows another mouthful, long throat working. “Did you make it?” His pink tongue peeks out to swipe at the corners of his mouth.
    “I did,” says Bastien, unable to keep the pride from his tone.
    The guy gives him a speculative look, licks icing from his finger. “Care to share the recipe?”
    Bastien’s cock jerks in reaction, eyes on the way he’s sucking the icing off his thumb, and he licks his own lips in an unconscious response. He forces himself to focus and shakes his head, smiling. “It’s a secret. A good chef doesn’t give their secrets away.”
    “Isn’t that the truth,” laughs the man good-naturedly, lowering his hand to his pocket.
    When he hands over the money for the extra pastries, their fingers brush. Bastien can feel a blush blooming on his cheeks as heat gathers in his face. He quickly ducks his head as he looks for the man’s change.
    “So, are you a chef, then? Or do you just do school bake sales?” His tone is conversational, not at all awkward or stilted.
    Bastien gathers up the to-go boxes, glancing at the man from underneath his lashes. He looks genuinely interested in the answer, a small smile quirking his lips at the corners. “I’m a chef,” he says, smiling back shyly in response. “I’m just helping my sister out with this.”
    “Any place I would know?” asks the man, propping his hip against Bastien’s table. Making himself comfortable.
    Bastien ignores the skip of his heartbeat and answers while he’s sliding a pastry carefully into the first to-go box. He’s watching to make sure the top of the pastry doesn’t try and make a break for it. With an audience as beautiful as this guy, he wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to embarrass himself. “L’amour Dans La Ville,” he says.
    There’s a moment of silence, and then the man begins to cough. Bastien looks over at him, startled, brows furrowing in concern. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Do you need water?” The last thing he wants (or needs) is someone choking to death on his food.
    He waves his hand in front of him, shaking his head. He’s got the weirdest expression on his face. A little like he swallowed a lemon. “No,” he says, once he stops coughing. “No.” He clears his throat. “Just swallowed wrong.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes.”
    Bastien side-eyes him, but he’s eating the pastry once again, and other than a flush over his cheeks, he looks fine. He goes back to getting the religieuses into the boxes. He’s acutely aware of the man watching him as he works. He knows it’s in his head, but he swears he can feel the man’s gaze like a tangible stroke over his back.
    “How’d you end up there?” the man asks eventually, breaking what had somehow become an awkward silence.
    “I own it,” answers Bastien. “Well, co-own it, really.”
    “And you’re French?” He clears his throat. “From France, I should say. You’ve got a hell of an accent.”
    “ Oui ,” says Bastien, turning his head to flash the man a smile. He gets a startled laugh and small grin in response. He’s lived in America for several years now, but his accent is still very prominent.
    “I’ll have to check it out sometime,” he says, sounding like he means it. He takes the bag full of boxes Bastien hands to him. He holds it carefully, shifting from foot to foot. “Thank you.”
    “My pleasure,” says Bastien warmly. The guy starts to walk away.