Read Online Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet by A. Gardner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A. Gardner
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remembering the look on my parents' faces when I told them I wanted to leave the dancing world behind. They thought I'd gone mental.
"Well, you look great." He nods. Please, don't blush .
"Thank you." I try to act casual, but I know that he's staring, and his eyes burn like two miniature lasers. "My mom accused me of having an early mid-life crisis when I told her I wanted to go to the same pastry school in Georgia that my grandma went to. I think she even told my relatives that I was seeing someone for my little problem ."
"Ouch." Presley clasps his hands together over the railing. Short bursts of laughter coming from groups of other guests fill in any awkward silences. "But you did it anyway. I'd expect nothing less from you."
"My first semester was torture," I continue. "Day one I made a fool of myself trying to make the school's famous peach pie. It was a mess. My instructor was horrified." Horrified to death.
"I bet you're exaggerating," he responds, chuckling again.
"Not at all. The filling was like liquid peaches, and the crust…don't even get me started on the crust." I can't help but smile widely, even though I was a total mess that week. Enough time has passed for me to laugh about it now.
"I'm sure you'd kick that pie's butt now," Presley adds.
"Oh, I did. Several times. I even won a contest that set me up with an internship in Paris." I take in the night breeze as I think of my bite-size apartment across the road from the Le Croissant bakery. I was surprised it could even be called an apartment when I first arrived because it felt more like a closet with a tiny bed that folded into the wall. I had to fold my bed in order to walk from wall to wall.
"I've never been to Paris," he replies. "Though I've always wanted to go."
"You would love the food."
"Eh, maybe not the fancy stuff," Presley admits. "I'm a big guy. I need more than just a bird's portion of food on my plate."
"You would be surprised how full you get when you use real ingredients," I say. "I'm talking butter and full-fat cream."
"Well, when you put it that way." He leans in closer. "Where do I sign up?"
Bree's warning comes floating back into my head. My eyes dart to his lips—lips I once dreamt about kissing. My feelings of whimsy disappear into the night as our eyes lock together. My heart races, and my head buzzes with past images of the two of us.
"For Calle Pastry Academy?" I attempt to lighten the mood, but my heart is still drumming. "Keep in mind that everything you bake gets graded. You can't just pull it out of the oven and eat it."
"No." He grins. "I mean when are you taking me to Paris?"
"How about we get through the next twenty-four hours," I answer.
"That's fair." Presley's hand inches closer to mine, and I can't help but look at it. Before I know it, our fingers intertwine, and I feel the warmth of Presley's breath on my cheek. He moves towards my lips. My torso freezes like a bucket of sorbet. I don't know whether to turn away or let him kiss me.
I don't have time to figure it out.
Crash!
A woman screams. And just as quickly as Presley presses his lips against mine, he pulls away. A crowd is gathering on the opposite end of the deck. Another woman screams and points at the ocean. A worried look overcomes Presley's face. He clenches his fists, prepared to take on whatever happens next.
"Man overboard!" someone shouts into the crowd.
CHAPTER TEN
Staff members clear a path as a wet figure is pulled back into the boat. Luckily, the vessel isn't moving too fast and water in the Gulf is warm. A woman gasps as the victim of the fall passes her. I narrow my eyes, trying to get a good look through the crowd in front of me. It's no use.
"Who is it?" I ask. "Can you see anything?"
Presley shakes his head.
"Wait right here," he instructs me. "I'm going to figure out what's going on."
I take a deep breath as Presley pushes his way through the crowd. Our evening together is turning out to be what I had hoped
"Well, you look great." He nods. Please, don't blush .
"Thank you." I try to act casual, but I know that he's staring, and his eyes burn like two miniature lasers. "My mom accused me of having an early mid-life crisis when I told her I wanted to go to the same pastry school in Georgia that my grandma went to. I think she even told my relatives that I was seeing someone for my little problem ."
"Ouch." Presley clasps his hands together over the railing. Short bursts of laughter coming from groups of other guests fill in any awkward silences. "But you did it anyway. I'd expect nothing less from you."
"My first semester was torture," I continue. "Day one I made a fool of myself trying to make the school's famous peach pie. It was a mess. My instructor was horrified." Horrified to death.
"I bet you're exaggerating," he responds, chuckling again.
"Not at all. The filling was like liquid peaches, and the crust…don't even get me started on the crust." I can't help but smile widely, even though I was a total mess that week. Enough time has passed for me to laugh about it now.
"I'm sure you'd kick that pie's butt now," Presley adds.
"Oh, I did. Several times. I even won a contest that set me up with an internship in Paris." I take in the night breeze as I think of my bite-size apartment across the road from the Le Croissant bakery. I was surprised it could even be called an apartment when I first arrived because it felt more like a closet with a tiny bed that folded into the wall. I had to fold my bed in order to walk from wall to wall.
"I've never been to Paris," he replies. "Though I've always wanted to go."
"You would love the food."
"Eh, maybe not the fancy stuff," Presley admits. "I'm a big guy. I need more than just a bird's portion of food on my plate."
"You would be surprised how full you get when you use real ingredients," I say. "I'm talking butter and full-fat cream."
"Well, when you put it that way." He leans in closer. "Where do I sign up?"
Bree's warning comes floating back into my head. My eyes dart to his lips—lips I once dreamt about kissing. My feelings of whimsy disappear into the night as our eyes lock together. My heart races, and my head buzzes with past images of the two of us.
"For Calle Pastry Academy?" I attempt to lighten the mood, but my heart is still drumming. "Keep in mind that everything you bake gets graded. You can't just pull it out of the oven and eat it."
"No." He grins. "I mean when are you taking me to Paris?"
"How about we get through the next twenty-four hours," I answer.
"That's fair." Presley's hand inches closer to mine, and I can't help but look at it. Before I know it, our fingers intertwine, and I feel the warmth of Presley's breath on my cheek. He moves towards my lips. My torso freezes like a bucket of sorbet. I don't know whether to turn away or let him kiss me.
I don't have time to figure it out.
Crash!
A woman screams. And just as quickly as Presley presses his lips against mine, he pulls away. A crowd is gathering on the opposite end of the deck. Another woman screams and points at the ocean. A worried look overcomes Presley's face. He clenches his fists, prepared to take on whatever happens next.
"Man overboard!" someone shouts into the crowd.
CHAPTER TEN
Staff members clear a path as a wet figure is pulled back into the boat. Luckily, the vessel isn't moving too fast and water in the Gulf is warm. A woman gasps as the victim of the fall passes her. I narrow my eyes, trying to get a good look through the crowd in front of me. It's no use.
"Who is it?" I ask. "Can you see anything?"
Presley shakes his head.
"Wait right here," he instructs me. "I'm going to figure out what's going on."
I take a deep breath as Presley pushes his way through the crowd. Our evening together is turning out to be what I had hoped
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