Read Online Paris Cravings: A Paris & Pastry Novel by Kimberley Montpetit - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kimberley Montpetit
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his cheek, and he’s watching me dance.
I feel my face turn bright red at the very moment I spin out of control. Jean-Paul dashes forward, reaching out to keep me from falling. Our fingers catch and my heart actually forgets to beat.
His hand—it’s so warm—so perfect—so incredible in mine. A strange jolt races through my fingers and right up my arm, sizzling the hair on the back of my neck.
What’s happening to me? I’ve never felt anything like this before in my life. I stare at Jean-Paul and he gives me a confused smile. I’m sure he thinks I’m a complete idiot.
I don’t mean to be having these feelings about this French guy. Believe me, I’m really not that sort of girl. Really.
Six Months Earlier
Parvati, Sera, and I were soon a threesome. We did homework at Sera’s house, watched movies at my place, and Parvati even invited us over to her elegant apartment for dinner one night. Mrs. Eswana had hired a daily cook since she was buried under with thesis research.
We sat on cushions at a low table and dined on spicy chicken and rice, sweet breads and tea. For Eleanor Roosevelt girls, we felt très chic and very grown-up. Her mother came out of the study, dropped a kiss on Parvati’s silky dark hair and told us in her British accent that we were darling girls and should come again sometime.
We clinked cups and Sera graced us with a memorized school quote: “As Mrs. Roosevelt used to say, ‘The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.’”
We fell onto the floor in giggles.
“I think I reached out eagerly and consumed too much food,” I said, so stuffed I could no longer move without groaning.
Parvati smiled demurely. She had a way of doing that without looking like an idiot.
Parvati’s famous connections in Bollywood spread through the school, and the next day all the girls were coming over to our lunch table to ask questions and gush over the girl from India as if she was a rock star and they were her groupies.
“Your cousin is Aishwarya Rai?” Lacey Smith asked, leaning dangerously close to the pool of unused ketchup on her tray. “ She’s the most beautiful actress ever!”
Sera was drooling, too. We’d just watched Aishwarya Rai in Bride and Prejudice over the weekend.
Parvati took a delicate bite of her Hamburger Delight, compliments of Eleanor Roosevelt’s state-of-the-art cafeteria menu, and nodded. “I got to be one of the dancers in the market scene. Did you know that she just signed for a movie with Johnny Depp? Aish said she’d try to get me on, too.”
The girls were now hanging on her every word.
“What’s Bollywood?” Stacy Stewart whispered next to me.
“The India version of Hollywood,” I whispered back. “But they make even more movies than we do here in the States.”
“Wow.” Stacy bit into her apple, chewing slowly. “She must get a lot of frequent flyer miles going back and forth.”
I laughed into my yogurt as Mathew suddenly appeared at the end of the cafeteria table and beamed at us, his hair wet from the locker room showers, his skin scrubbed and fresh. I imagined how good he probably smelled and melted just a little inside. “How are all you ladies today?” he asked.
There were a few giggles and hellos around the table as tuna sandwiches and Hamburger Delight were forgotten. I smiled up at him, thinking how lucky I was to have a boyfriend everyone liked and admired.
“Hey, Perotti,” someone yelled across the room. Mathew winked at me and said he’d be right back. I nodded and finished off my lunch. Five minutes until the bell rang. I had an Algebra test next period and worried whether I’d studied enough. Xs and Ys were flying like mush through my brain from a study session the previous night.
Sera elbowed me in the ribs. “Check that out.”
My gaze followed her finger. “What is she doing?”
While
I feel my face turn bright red at the very moment I spin out of control. Jean-Paul dashes forward, reaching out to keep me from falling. Our fingers catch and my heart actually forgets to beat.
His hand—it’s so warm—so perfect—so incredible in mine. A strange jolt races through my fingers and right up my arm, sizzling the hair on the back of my neck.
What’s happening to me? I’ve never felt anything like this before in my life. I stare at Jean-Paul and he gives me a confused smile. I’m sure he thinks I’m a complete idiot.
I don’t mean to be having these feelings about this French guy. Believe me, I’m really not that sort of girl. Really.
Six Months Earlier
Parvati, Sera, and I were soon a threesome. We did homework at Sera’s house, watched movies at my place, and Parvati even invited us over to her elegant apartment for dinner one night. Mrs. Eswana had hired a daily cook since she was buried under with thesis research.
We sat on cushions at a low table and dined on spicy chicken and rice, sweet breads and tea. For Eleanor Roosevelt girls, we felt très chic and very grown-up. Her mother came out of the study, dropped a kiss on Parvati’s silky dark hair and told us in her British accent that we were darling girls and should come again sometime.
We clinked cups and Sera graced us with a memorized school quote: “As Mrs. Roosevelt used to say, ‘The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.’”
We fell onto the floor in giggles.
“I think I reached out eagerly and consumed too much food,” I said, so stuffed I could no longer move without groaning.
Parvati smiled demurely. She had a way of doing that without looking like an idiot.
Parvati’s famous connections in Bollywood spread through the school, and the next day all the girls were coming over to our lunch table to ask questions and gush over the girl from India as if she was a rock star and they were her groupies.
“Your cousin is Aishwarya Rai?” Lacey Smith asked, leaning dangerously close to the pool of unused ketchup on her tray. “ She’s the most beautiful actress ever!”
Sera was drooling, too. We’d just watched Aishwarya Rai in Bride and Prejudice over the weekend.
Parvati took a delicate bite of her Hamburger Delight, compliments of Eleanor Roosevelt’s state-of-the-art cafeteria menu, and nodded. “I got to be one of the dancers in the market scene. Did you know that she just signed for a movie with Johnny Depp? Aish said she’d try to get me on, too.”
The girls were now hanging on her every word.
“What’s Bollywood?” Stacy Stewart whispered next to me.
“The India version of Hollywood,” I whispered back. “But they make even more movies than we do here in the States.”
“Wow.” Stacy bit into her apple, chewing slowly. “She must get a lot of frequent flyer miles going back and forth.”
I laughed into my yogurt as Mathew suddenly appeared at the end of the cafeteria table and beamed at us, his hair wet from the locker room showers, his skin scrubbed and fresh. I imagined how good he probably smelled and melted just a little inside. “How are all you ladies today?” he asked.
There were a few giggles and hellos around the table as tuna sandwiches and Hamburger Delight were forgotten. I smiled up at him, thinking how lucky I was to have a boyfriend everyone liked and admired.
“Hey, Perotti,” someone yelled across the room. Mathew winked at me and said he’d be right back. I nodded and finished off my lunch. Five minutes until the bell rang. I had an Algebra test next period and worried whether I’d studied enough. Xs and Ys were flying like mush through my brain from a study session the previous night.
Sera elbowed me in the ribs. “Check that out.”
My gaze followed her finger. “What is she doing?”
While
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