Page 44 of The Perfect Ingredient
Jean laughs. He looksdelightedwith the idea.
“You’d really want me to come?” he asks then, voice small.
“I’d sooner die of boredom in this place than leave you behind.”
Jean flushes deeper, eyes bright. My own heartbeat kicks at the sound of those words.
“I’ll show you things.” Hessou takes Jean’s hand and kisses his knuckles. “Things most people never hear of. There’s a cave in the mountains of Yemen where the air is so full of myrrh you’ll hallucinate from breathing. There’s a temple in Kyoto where the monks cultivate a rare moss that, when burned, releases an earthy fragrance that I could never replicate. There’s a perfumer in Cairo who only makes oils for the dead.”
“And when I’ve shown you both my world,” Hessou continues, “Louis will show his. He’ll make us taste whatever poison he’s been dreaming up. And then…”
He trails off.
“And then?” I ask, leaning forward.
He smiles.
“Then we go find a place none of us know. And make it ours.”
Jean has already agreed—I see it in the looseness of his shoulders, in the steady way his eyes hold Hessou’s face.
Hessou sees it too.
He rises, unhurried, letting his robe fall open another inch, and circles the table with soundless steps. When he reaches me, he comes behind my chair and folds his arms across my chest.
I exhale and let myself sink back into him. His mouth grazes my neck. One kiss. Another. Then a pause to breathe me in like he always does, as if scent were more honest than words.
“He’s already said yes. But go on, ask him.”
I smile, resting my hands on his forearms.
“Jean, what do you think?”
Jean stands, his chair scraping across the floor. He’s all warmth and color, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and leaving a smear of cream behind.
Then he kisses me with sticky, sweet lips. It’s a perfect kiss.
His hands find my hips, and I barely have time to gasp before I’m lifted off the chair like I weigh nothing at all. The world tilts. I laugh, caught between surprise and excitement, my feet dangling a foot off the floor.
And then I’m on the table, thighs spread wide to accommodate his bulk. My robe slips, but I don’t care. My palms land flat against the wood, leaning back a little, exposing myself more for him.
Jean steps between my knees and rests one hand on my thigh, the other cupping the side of my jaw, gentle now, thumb brushing my bottom lip. This time, the kiss is slow and indulgent, with much more confidence than ever before.
“I think,” he whispers, forehead against mine, “that I’d go anywhere, if you asked.”
Hessou comes up behind Jean, his hands sweeping up Jean’s chest before reaching forward to brush across mine. He kisses the back of Jean’s neck, then leans in farther to catch my temple.
“I thought I’d make a career here,” I say. “Grow old with the oven. Let the seasons pass.”
“The bakery will be here when we return.” Hessou says. “But for now, let’s go. Let’s leave our mark in the world with more than just sugar and perfume.”
I smile into the crook of Jean’s neck, let my lips trace the salt clinging there, feeling him shudder under my touch. He nuzzles into my chest, breathing deep, his hair damp against my skin.One of his hands strokes my thigh, the other exploring slowly beneath my robe.
Hessou’s lips trace along the curve of my ear, then down the side of my neck.
“I’d like to feed you from my fingers on a train through the Alps,” he murmurs on my skin. “Make you open your mouth like a good boy while the mountains rush past the window.”
Jean lets out a soft breath, and I feel him smile against my chest.
