visible to the naked eye. “Yes, there’s a man.”
“When it’s good between a man and a woman, the bread rises higher, but when it’s sour, the dough seems to struggle, and the taste is flatter.” He patted her on the back. “Just a word of wisdom. I became insanely successful when I met Belle. There were no accidents in that regard, ma petite.”
The notion of becoming more successful because of love appealed to her romantic side. “I appreciate your wisdom, Andre. I hope you will always share it with me.”
“As long as you are here, Margie,” he said. “Now, you will show me what you can do with the bread. First, you will form a traditional baguette. Until you have made it perfectly, I will not be satisfied.”
When he inclined his head toward the tray filled with rising balls of dough, she reached for her first one. It felt like the softest pillow in her hands. In that moment, she decided that was the way she’d envision them—as pillows. Breasts would never work for her. She laid the dough on the pastry cloth and reached her hand out to the nearby container of flour to add some more to the cloth.
“Do not use too much flour,” he said, shaking her hand free until she was only holding a pinch. “The downfall of many bakers is their over-use of flour.”
“Grandma Kemstead said the same thing about the cinnamon rolls,” she told him.
“She knows then,” Andre said. “Now, roll it into a circle.”
She used the heel of her hand like he did. The dough was so alive, she could feel the bubbles burst at her touch. “You make it look so easy. Getting the thickness even as you roll it out is a challenge. Do you never use a rolling pin?” That’s what she used for the cinnamon rolls.
“Never for bread.” He gave a wicked wink. “A rolling pin for bread is like a kinky sex toy. You only bring it out when all else fails.”
Margie disagreed, but she declined to comment. Somehow, bantering with Andre about the sensuality of bread felt dangerous, and she wanted to get to know him better before she threw back a comment so incendiary. Instead, she rolled the bread until she felt it was even and then tucked it together three times like he’d shown her. Rolling it into a baguette that resembled a woman’s arm proved more challenging.
“Mine looks more like a rabbit’s leg.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and jostled her good-naturedly. “You practice. I made an entire tray of bread dough for you today. But to inspire your imagination as you learn the basics, let me show you something else.”
He grabbed another ball of dough and rolled it into a perfectly formed baguette. Then he used some kitchen shears to cut the top of the bread every few inches.
“You see? It is a completely new presentation.” Then he leaned in with a cocky grin. “But there’s still more I can do.” He connected the ends of the bread and made a wreath. “Sometimes we make it this way, and then serve it with fresh berries and cream in the middle. People love it. And it’s so simple. All it takes is a little imagination.”
“Wow!” she said, touching the cut ends of the bread. “You’re incredible.”
“Wait until I teach you how to braid baguettes together.” He leaned back against the stainless steel counter. “You won’t believe how beautiful that can be. But that’s an advanced lesson. For now, you practice making baguette. Then I will show you how we bake the bread.”
She glanced over at the ovens and saw Fabian and Ronan working in tandem, taking out an enormous batch of piping hot golden bread loaves.
“You will have your own baguette to take home, ma petite,” Andre said. “Be sure to savor it. There is nothing like sampling the first baguette of your hands. It is like a first kiss.”
Margie immediately thought of her first kiss along the Seine—how the willows had wrapped her even closer to Evan, how his mouth had felt as it moved in urgent, heated passes over her own.
“And
“When it’s good between a man and a woman, the bread rises higher, but when it’s sour, the dough seems to struggle, and the taste is flatter.” He patted her on the back. “Just a word of wisdom. I became insanely successful when I met Belle. There were no accidents in that regard, ma petite.”
The notion of becoming more successful because of love appealed to her romantic side. “I appreciate your wisdom, Andre. I hope you will always share it with me.”
“As long as you are here, Margie,” he said. “Now, you will show me what you can do with the bread. First, you will form a traditional baguette. Until you have made it perfectly, I will not be satisfied.”
When he inclined his head toward the tray filled with rising balls of dough, she reached for her first one. It felt like the softest pillow in her hands. In that moment, she decided that was the way she’d envision them—as pillows. Breasts would never work for her. She laid the dough on the pastry cloth and reached her hand out to the nearby container of flour to add some more to the cloth.
“Do not use too much flour,” he said, shaking her hand free until she was only holding a pinch. “The downfall of many bakers is their over-use of flour.”
“Grandma Kemstead said the same thing about the cinnamon rolls,” she told him.
“She knows then,” Andre said. “Now, roll it into a circle.”
She used the heel of her hand like he did. The dough was so alive, she could feel the bubbles burst at her touch. “You make it look so easy. Getting the thickness even as you roll it out is a challenge. Do you never use a rolling pin?” That’s what she used for the cinnamon rolls.
“Never for bread.” He gave a wicked wink. “A rolling pin for bread is like a kinky sex toy. You only bring it out when all else fails.”
Margie disagreed, but she declined to comment. Somehow, bantering with Andre about the sensuality of bread felt dangerous, and she wanted to get to know him better before she threw back a comment so incendiary. Instead, she rolled the bread until she felt it was even and then tucked it together three times like he’d shown her. Rolling it into a baguette that resembled a woman’s arm proved more challenging.
“Mine looks more like a rabbit’s leg.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and jostled her good-naturedly. “You practice. I made an entire tray of bread dough for you today. But to inspire your imagination as you learn the basics, let me show you something else.”
He grabbed another ball of dough and rolled it into a perfectly formed baguette. Then he used some kitchen shears to cut the top of the bread every few inches.
“You see? It is a completely new presentation.” Then he leaned in with a cocky grin. “But there’s still more I can do.” He connected the ends of the bread and made a wreath. “Sometimes we make it this way, and then serve it with fresh berries and cream in the middle. People love it. And it’s so simple. All it takes is a little imagination.”
“Wow!” she said, touching the cut ends of the bread. “You’re incredible.”
“Wait until I teach you how to braid baguettes together.” He leaned back against the stainless steel counter. “You won’t believe how beautiful that can be. But that’s an advanced lesson. For now, you practice making baguette. Then I will show you how we bake the bread.”
She glanced over at the ovens and saw Fabian and Ronan working in tandem, taking out an enormous batch of piping hot golden bread loaves.
“You will have your own baguette to take home, ma petite,” Andre said. “Be sure to savor it. There is nothing like sampling the first baguette of your hands. It is like a first kiss.”
Margie immediately thought of her first kiss along the Seine—how the willows had wrapped her even closer to Evan, how his mouth had felt as it moved in urgent, heated passes over her own.
“And
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