coconut cream on the cooled banana macaron shells and sandwiching them together. Clémence helped. Making macarons was a simple kind of happiness, like enjoying a beautiful garden, or wearing nice clothes.
“Try one,” Sebastien said.
When she bit into the banana-coconut macaron, the flavors exploded in her mouth. It was melt-in-her-mouth delicious, as all Damour macarons were.
“Amazing.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Sebastien said.
“So what’s the deal with you and Maya? Have you told Berenice and your family yet?”
“No, but Berenice came over to my place yesterday and I made sure I left a pair of leather chaps on the coffee table for her to comment on.” Sebastien chuckled at the memory.
“Did she ask you about it?”
“Of course. She’s nosy. I told her I had them because I was going to a leather bar in the Marais.”
The Marais was a gay-friendly neighborhood in central Paris. “What did she say?”
“She asked me if I was gay. I said I wasn’t, but that I was going to this leather bar.”
“How did she take that?”
“She didn’t believe me. She wanted to come to the bar, but I told her females weren’t allowed.”
“Discrimination. What are you doing with leather chaps, anyway? You bought them just for the joke?”
“No. They’re Ted’s. Why would I buy leather chaps?”
“So aren’t you afraid Berenice is going to tell your parents? Aren’t they pretty religious?”
Sebastien smiled slyly. “She’ll probably tell them. It’ll be good for them. I want to be there to film their reactions.”
“You’re cruel,” Clémence said. “In the most delicious way.”
“I’m not a baker for nothin’. They always have their noses in my personal life. I’ll give them what they deserve. I like to see them sweat.”
“Speaking of sweating, are you making any progress in your ballet class?”
“Not really,” Sebastien said. “I’m sick of doing pliés. Maya loves it, but I think I’m going to bail.”
“Well, you don’t need to do something you don’t enjoy just because your girlfriend’s into it.”
“Maya’s into doing things together in general. Maybe I’ll just invite her to do one of the things I enjoy.”
“Such as?”
“Watching football.” Soccer.
“I’m sure she’ll be riveted,” she said sarcastically.
“A new sports bar just opened up near my place.”
“What a romantic experience that would be for a young couple. Hey, why don’t you just play football with her? Like, on a co-ed team.”
She saw cogs turning in his head. “Hmm. That’s not a bad idea.”
“It makes sense. She sounds like a doer, and you sound like…the opposite of that. How did you meet, anyway?”
“My friend Ted. He was the one who introduced us. She’s his sister’s friend—”
A loud cough interrupted their conversation. Inspector Cyril St. Clair stood by the doorway. Caroline, the manager, came up beside him looking apologetic.
“He wanted to see you and I couldn’t stop him.” Caroline said to Clémence. “Sorry.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t bring my officers with me,” Cyril said. “With all the paparazzi outside your door, Damour, that would give them something to talk about.”
“What do you want, Cyril?” Clémence was on a first-name basis with the incompetent inspector, with whom she’d never seen eye to eye.
“Oh you don’t know? Another murder, and it involves another one of your products—surprise, surprise. And you know what else is surprising? It involves you.”
The Inspector was in his mid-thirties, he had a hawk-like nose, cold green eyes, and a crude smile. He was insolent, short-tempered, and overly sarcastic. She was used to his behavior, but it didn’t mean she tolerated him.
Clémence sighed. “Caroline, can we use your office, please?”
“Go ahead,”
“Try one,” Sebastien said.
When she bit into the banana-coconut macaron, the flavors exploded in her mouth. It was melt-in-her-mouth delicious, as all Damour macarons were.
“Amazing.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Sebastien said.
“So what’s the deal with you and Maya? Have you told Berenice and your family yet?”
“No, but Berenice came over to my place yesterday and I made sure I left a pair of leather chaps on the coffee table for her to comment on.” Sebastien chuckled at the memory.
“Did she ask you about it?”
“Of course. She’s nosy. I told her I had them because I was going to a leather bar in the Marais.”
The Marais was a gay-friendly neighborhood in central Paris. “What did she say?”
“She asked me if I was gay. I said I wasn’t, but that I was going to this leather bar.”
“How did she take that?”
“She didn’t believe me. She wanted to come to the bar, but I told her females weren’t allowed.”
“Discrimination. What are you doing with leather chaps, anyway? You bought them just for the joke?”
“No. They’re Ted’s. Why would I buy leather chaps?”
“So aren’t you afraid Berenice is going to tell your parents? Aren’t they pretty religious?”
Sebastien smiled slyly. “She’ll probably tell them. It’ll be good for them. I want to be there to film their reactions.”
“You’re cruel,” Clémence said. “In the most delicious way.”
“I’m not a baker for nothin’. They always have their noses in my personal life. I’ll give them what they deserve. I like to see them sweat.”
“Speaking of sweating, are you making any progress in your ballet class?”
“Not really,” Sebastien said. “I’m sick of doing pliés. Maya loves it, but I think I’m going to bail.”
“Well, you don’t need to do something you don’t enjoy just because your girlfriend’s into it.”
“Maya’s into doing things together in general. Maybe I’ll just invite her to do one of the things I enjoy.”
“Such as?”
“Watching football.” Soccer.
“I’m sure she’ll be riveted,” she said sarcastically.
“A new sports bar just opened up near my place.”
“What a romantic experience that would be for a young couple. Hey, why don’t you just play football with her? Like, on a co-ed team.”
She saw cogs turning in his head. “Hmm. That’s not a bad idea.”
“It makes sense. She sounds like a doer, and you sound like…the opposite of that. How did you meet, anyway?”
“My friend Ted. He was the one who introduced us. She’s his sister’s friend—”
A loud cough interrupted their conversation. Inspector Cyril St. Clair stood by the doorway. Caroline, the manager, came up beside him looking apologetic.
“He wanted to see you and I couldn’t stop him.” Caroline said to Clémence. “Sorry.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t bring my officers with me,” Cyril said. “With all the paparazzi outside your door, Damour, that would give them something to talk about.”
“What do you want, Cyril?” Clémence was on a first-name basis with the incompetent inspector, with whom she’d never seen eye to eye.
“Oh you don’t know? Another murder, and it involves another one of your products—surprise, surprise. And you know what else is surprising? It involves you.”
The Inspector was in his mid-thirties, he had a hawk-like nose, cold green eyes, and a crude smile. He was insolent, short-tempered, and overly sarcastic. She was used to his behavior, but it didn’t mean she tolerated him.
Clémence sighed. “Caroline, can we use your office, please?”
“Go ahead,”
Similar Books
