Clobbered by Camembert Read Online Free PDF

Kaitlyn Clydesdale’s partner?”
    “Not really.”
    “She ran into me at Le Creperie on Avenue Italie in Paris. She said I made the best crepes she’d ever tasted.”
    He did make good crepes, as light as clouds. I would never forget the time, right after college, when he had brought me crepes in bed, on a tray decorated with a rose in a vase. But that was beside the point. He had walked out on me. In the middle of the night. A man doesn’t do that and return expecting instant forgiveness. Or any forgiveness, for that matter.
    I squelched my emotions, found my spunk—sans the armor—and started across the street. Chip grabbed my arm. I wrenched free and glowered at him.
    He threw his arms wide. “Hear me out, please.”
    He gazed at me with imploring eyes, and something stirred. Mind you, I didn’t exactly melt, but I was curious. I said, “Thirty seconds.”
    Townspeople scuttled by on either side of us. The gentleman who owned the Igloo Ice Cream Parlor gave me a guarded look, as if to ask if I was all right. I offered a reassuring nod. He moved on.
    “Kaitlyn said she had a hometown business she wanted to start.” Chip laced his fingers behind his neck.
    Was he flexing his muscles to impress me? Oh, please.
    My right foot started to tap, and I smiled to myself. My grandmother did the same thing when listening to a fish story. Liars never prosper, she said.
    “After a year running her business,” Chip continued, “Kaitlyn will back me so I can open my own restaurant.”
    “Your own restaurant?”
    “Yeah, you know, the one I’ve always dreamed of starting. Chip’s Creperie.” He swiped his hand in front of him as if painting the sky with neon. “Doesn’t it sound swell?”
    Swellheaded, more likely. “Aren’t there enough creperies in France?”
    “Here. She’ll back me here. In Providence. I’m moving home. For good. The restaurant won’t be on the main square, of course. Retail space is at a premium. But I’ll find a location on the north side. Someplace with lots of foot traffic.”
    I stiffened. No, no, no. I needed a clean break. I needed to move forward with my life. I did not want my ex-fiancé hovering over my shoulder and judging my relationship with Jordan. My head started to throb. What horrible thing had I done to deserve such a lot in life?
    “What the heck do you know about bees?” I demanded, sounding shrewish, but I couldn’t help myself. If the rumor was accurate and Kaitlyn Clydesdale intended to turn the cattle farm into a honeybee farm, then according to Chip, she expected him to run it. But that wasn’t possible. “You hate the sight of spiders and ants and all sorts of tiny creatures. How in the heck will you suit up in a beekeeper’s uniform and cultivate the buzzing horde?”
    “I’ve been studying up on bees. They’re docile.”
    “Are you kidding me?” My voice grew louder. “They’re not docile. What if you get stung?”
    “I’m not allergic.”
    “You’re impossible.”
    “But adorable.” He traced a finger down my sleeve.
    I recoiled. “Goodbye, Chip. Good luck.” With my insides quivering in confusion, I strode across the street. When I entered The Cheese Shop, I could feel him gazing at me, but I didn’t look over my shoulder. I gave myself a mental pat on the back for my keen resolve.
    * * *
    “Chérie.” My adorable grandfather, Pépère, stood behind the cheese counter, fiddling with the buttons of his navy blue jacket that appeared close to bursting. After a second, he gave up and ruffled his feathery white hair. “Bah. It is not cold enough to bother. Come here while there are no customers.” He beckoned me to the kitchen at the rear of the shop. “It is nearly three o’clock. Load me up.”
    “Just a sec.” On my way through the store, I tweaked the displays. I turned out the labels of the jars of jams and the many gourmet vinegars on the shelves, and reassembled hatbox-style containers and waxed rounds of cheeses on the five