stance again, then reminded himself to press his shoulders back against the wall so he wouldn’t look so obviously military in a city far from enamored of the military.
But only a few minutes later, Célie came back out, carrying a small, flat, shiny aluminum box aggressively, like she was going to attack him with it.
He almost managed not to jump out of his skin this time when she crossed the street without looking up.
“Here.” She thrust the box at him.
He took it cautiously. Obviously she wasn’t going to hand a bomb to him—not Célie, no matter how mad she was—so this might be a … present?
He was going to go with the idea anyway. Pretend it was a present. Pretend she had given one single thought to his twenty-sixth birthday two weeks ago.
He eased off the tight-fitted aluminum lid stamped with an adamant DR and gazed at the contents. Nine exquisite, tiny chocolates, perfectly square, flat, each with a different elegant motif—a hint of green leaves, or a tendril of white, or a pattern subtly etched into the chocolate.
“You make these?” he murmured, fascinated. Célie did?
Wow, she must love that. Love it with everything in her.
Oh, thank God. Célie had grown up happy . Free. Big. He’d come back to get her out of there, now that he was big enough to carry them both to the top of the world’s glass mountain, but she’d already done it for herself.
All by herself.
He lifted his gaze from the chocolates to her.
She’d forgotten to be angry or cry. She had a little curve to her mouth, utterly smug and trying not to show it.
He smiled at her in pure pride at what she’d managed.
She blinked, and her arms flinched around herself in a protective hug.
So he looked back at the chocolates, his smile fading. He was clearly supposed to taste one. He almost didn’t want to, and he didn’t even know why. This was going so badly, and—parting his lips left his insides vulnerable.
But he swallowed and carefully eased the edge of one thankfully clean thumbnail under the edge of a chocolate and worked it free from the others. Merde , the thing was no bigger than the pad of his thumb.
He looked at Célie again. Her gaze flicked eagerly between the chocolate and his face.
So he slipped it between his lips.
Sensation burst through him, this exquisite, hungry sensation of chocolate melting on his tongue, soft and rich and with some flavor to it he couldn’t begin to identify.
“Wow,” he said, and reached for another.
She smiled, for the very first time since he’d seen her. A real Célie smile, full of triumphant pleasure, her eyes sparkling.
The second one tasted different. Coffee? It melted, too, on his tongue, and the third was mint.
“Wow,” he said again, and tried to take his time on the fourth one, to really look at it, how perfect it was, this tiny exquisiteness. How did she do that?
One of her eyebrows went up, a little scar in it from where she must have tried a piercing while he was gone. Smiling, she watched him eat the fourth, and then the fifth. By the time he finished the box, both her eyebrows were up in this blend of amusement and bemusement. “People, ah, usually savor these over a few days.”
“Oh.” He looked back down at the empty box. The square of metal was barely bigger than his hand. “Chocolate usually melts. In the desert.” Which he wasn’t in anymore. “I didn’t want to waste them.”
She shook her head. He couldn’t decipher her expression.
“Why do they put off eating them, exactly?”
“Money, mostly. That’s about forty euros worth of chocolate, so unless someone is rich, it’s a luxury.”
Forty euros. It was probably a good thing he stuck mostly with supermarket chocolate bars. He’d be spending hundreds a day otherwise.
“Plus, they are works of art,” she told him, with her chin up in the air again.
Damn , she was cute. This sudden, fresh wave of her cuteness washed through him again, after five years of fading
But only a few minutes later, Célie came back out, carrying a small, flat, shiny aluminum box aggressively, like she was going to attack him with it.
He almost managed not to jump out of his skin this time when she crossed the street without looking up.
“Here.” She thrust the box at him.
He took it cautiously. Obviously she wasn’t going to hand a bomb to him—not Célie, no matter how mad she was—so this might be a … present?
He was going to go with the idea anyway. Pretend it was a present. Pretend she had given one single thought to his twenty-sixth birthday two weeks ago.
He eased off the tight-fitted aluminum lid stamped with an adamant DR and gazed at the contents. Nine exquisite, tiny chocolates, perfectly square, flat, each with a different elegant motif—a hint of green leaves, or a tendril of white, or a pattern subtly etched into the chocolate.
“You make these?” he murmured, fascinated. Célie did?
Wow, she must love that. Love it with everything in her.
Oh, thank God. Célie had grown up happy . Free. Big. He’d come back to get her out of there, now that he was big enough to carry them both to the top of the world’s glass mountain, but she’d already done it for herself.
All by herself.
He lifted his gaze from the chocolates to her.
She’d forgotten to be angry or cry. She had a little curve to her mouth, utterly smug and trying not to show it.
He smiled at her in pure pride at what she’d managed.
She blinked, and her arms flinched around herself in a protective hug.
So he looked back at the chocolates, his smile fading. He was clearly supposed to taste one. He almost didn’t want to, and he didn’t even know why. This was going so badly, and—parting his lips left his insides vulnerable.
But he swallowed and carefully eased the edge of one thankfully clean thumbnail under the edge of a chocolate and worked it free from the others. Merde , the thing was no bigger than the pad of his thumb.
He looked at Célie again. Her gaze flicked eagerly between the chocolate and his face.
So he slipped it between his lips.
Sensation burst through him, this exquisite, hungry sensation of chocolate melting on his tongue, soft and rich and with some flavor to it he couldn’t begin to identify.
“Wow,” he said, and reached for another.
She smiled, for the very first time since he’d seen her. A real Célie smile, full of triumphant pleasure, her eyes sparkling.
The second one tasted different. Coffee? It melted, too, on his tongue, and the third was mint.
“Wow,” he said again, and tried to take his time on the fourth one, to really look at it, how perfect it was, this tiny exquisiteness. How did she do that?
One of her eyebrows went up, a little scar in it from where she must have tried a piercing while he was gone. Smiling, she watched him eat the fourth, and then the fifth. By the time he finished the box, both her eyebrows were up in this blend of amusement and bemusement. “People, ah, usually savor these over a few days.”
“Oh.” He looked back down at the empty box. The square of metal was barely bigger than his hand. “Chocolate usually melts. In the desert.” Which he wasn’t in anymore. “I didn’t want to waste them.”
She shook her head. He couldn’t decipher her expression.
“Why do they put off eating them, exactly?”
“Money, mostly. That’s about forty euros worth of chocolate, so unless someone is rich, it’s a luxury.”
Forty euros. It was probably a good thing he stuck mostly with supermarket chocolate bars. He’d be spending hundreds a day otherwise.
“Plus, they are works of art,” she told him, with her chin up in the air again.
Damn , she was cute. This sudden, fresh wave of her cuteness washed through him again, after five years of fading