Page 43 of The Perfect Ingredient
Outside, the village is still. The square is swept. Church bells won’t ring for another hour. It feels like time has slowed down just for us.
Hessou puts his fork down. His silk robe falls open a touch at the collar, giving me that long line of his chest. He leans back with the grace of a cat, one hand ghosting over Jean’s bare knee beneath the table.
“Well, now that your masterpiece is finished…” His eyes land on me, amused. “What’s the excuse, mon cœur?”
I don’t answer. I collect the last streak of custard with my finger and clean it off slowly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say. “You know what I want.”
“Oh, I know. You want to shut yourself in this kitchen, buried in flour and sugar, making fifty variations of the same tart until your hands fall off.”
“That was the plan. Until you ruined it.”
He laughs.
Jean looks between us, blinking. “Ruined?”
“Improved,” Hessou corrects. “Expanded. Set on fire, kissed it better, and then wrapped in velvet.”
He reaches over and curls a hand behind my neck. I don’t resist when he pulls me forward and kisses my mouth, still tasting of us.
“I want to go,” he murmurs against my lips. “We said we would.”
Jean sets his fork down. “Go where?”
“Everywhere. Everywhere I’ve touched with my nose. Everywhere I’ve stolen scents. Everywhere Louis has read about in his dirty little cookbooks.”
“Dirty? They’reantique.”
“They’re pornographic.”
“You mean… you two have traveled together before?”
“Years ago,” I say. “Before I knew what I was doing. Before the patisserie. Before everything.”
“Before you broke my heart,” Hessou adds, smiling like he wants me to hit him.
“I did no such thing.Youran off to Germany.”
“I ran off to mourn you in style,mon amour.And to learn a few things I wouldn’t learn from licking sugar off your fingers.”
Jean swallows.
He likes that image.
“Well,” Hessou says, “it’s time we do it properly. The three of us out in the world.”
He leans forward, eyes bright with the particular intensity of when he’s serious. When it’s not just about fucking or teasing or smelling out someone’s secrets for the fun of it. This is the Hessou that terrified his professors, seduced investors, created scents that left women in tears and made men forget themselves.
Jean shakes his head.
“I’ve never been on a train, let alone a ship. I don’t even own a passport.”
“You’ll have one,” I say. “We’ll see to it.”
“I don’t speak anything but French.”
“We’ll teach you,” Hessou says. “I can teach you while I fuck you. You’ll learn fast.”
