cookies, tarts, and smaller treats lined the counters. Behind the main counter a giant chalkboard listed the menu in swirling script along with a doodle of the product, helpful for an English speaker like me.
She raised one of the domes. “You must try these. They are called langues de chat. I pulled them out of the oven five minutes ago.”
A long, thin, golden cookie sparkled with its generous dusting of fine sugar. The grainy texture crumbled into a pile of buttery richness on my tongue. The citrus zest of the lemon added a bite to the creaminess of the vanilla, balancing out the sweetness.
My fingertips brushed the stray crumbs from the corners of my lips. “Oh, this would be so good when paired with my aunt’s teas. Can I get a box?”
“Of course,” Ines replied. She began packing them into a brown paper box with the bakery’s logo. “You also want lunch, yes? I can put the order in for the croque monsieur and croque madame. Your aunt ordered them the last time she was here.”
“How do you know my aunt?” I asked.
“My mother met her at the farmers’ market a year ago. Evelyn mentioned that she had been to Málaga, where my mother is from. They became fast friends.”
“Did she ever mention why she decided to open her tea shop here?” I asked.
Ines wrote something down on the lid, which I presumed was the name of the biscuits. Tucking her pencil behind one ear, she cupped her chin. “She said she wanted to be here for decades. That this is her chance to be happy.”
I didn’t understand what that meant. I’d never questioned my aunt’s happiness. She appeared content or, at least, never appeared miserable. What was she missing back home that could be found here?
Ines must have noticed my confusion. She leaned against the counter. “Oh, don’t worry. Old people have their personal mysteries, which they keep locked up in their chests. After all, they spent a lifetime accumulating all sorts of regrets and wishes. My grandmother once told me that my grandfather wasn’t her first lover! He died without knowing the truth. I’d like to think he was happier for it.”
Her raspberry lips broke into an impish smirk. I laughed.
The scent of melted Gruyere made its way from the sizzling grill in the kitchen. In my brief time in the city, I learned that the difference between the croque monsieur and the croque madame was the egg atop the croque madame. It would have been wonderful if my gorgeous former tour guide could have continued to expand my culinary and epicurean knowledge.
“How long will you be staying in the city?” she asked.
“A few weeks. I’m helping my aunt in her shop. There’s something I need to deal with while I’m here.”
The tiny bell above the front door rang. A handsome man with a long, dark ponytail carried a large wooden box and stepped inside. Ines tucked a stray curl behind her ear. He set the box on the counter and leaned toward her.
I didn’t speak their language, but I understood their body language. His hazel eyes studied her face as if every word she spoke was precious oxygen. She watched him under a thick sweep of her curled lashes. Their hands moved with their voices in a tantalizing dance where the briefness of a touch sent sparks of gold into the air.
I moved away and pretended to browse the crispy baguettes in the baskets until the handsome stranger left.
“I’m sorry about that,” Ines said.
“Are you two . . . ?”
She shook her head and giggled. “No, Luc and I aren’t dating.”
“Can I ask why not? You have an obvious connection. Is he married? Are you married?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s complicated.” Her dark brows furrowed. Someone called out from the kitchen. She excused herself and returned with two takeaway boxes. “There are frites in there as well. It was a pleasure to meet you, Vanessa. Please stop by again and relay my regards to your aunt.”
I waved goodbye.
As I left the bakery, a single blue morpho butterfly hovered before my face, darting in a spiral pattern. Another arrived. The pair fluttered away, came back, left, and returned, as though waiting for me. Magic was in the air. Only the jaded could ignore it. I followed the dancing couple. Soon more butterflies joined the company. They undulated in the air like a sea of cerulean petals, urging me onward.
Three days ago, I followed a flying scarf. Today, a