Macarons at Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page B

some of the street names—but he felt like he’d been walking in circles for hours through darkened brick-lined streets, past scores of stoops and closed shops.
     
     
    T HERE WAS a light coming from the corner on the opposite side of the street, bright and cheery, beckoning. Tristan found himself walking a little faster, trying to get closer. It was rarely really dark in the middle of the city, but still, he was somehow drawn to the bright windows.
    When he got there, he realized it was a bakery, obviously closed, but someone was there. The shop was empty but lit up, glowing gold in the night. The walls were bright yellow, the floors black-and-white checkerboard. There was an eclectic collection of bright barstools along the window and the bakery’s lone counter. The shelves were empty for the night, but Tristan could imagine them full of all sorts of gooey, drippy treats, biscuits and cakes, puddings, and mouthwatering buns straight from the oven. There was something magical about the tiny little room, from the checkered floor to the painting of a winged jar of honey flying across the wall with a whimsical little trail of stars behind it. “Honeyfly Cakes and Cookies,” it read under the jar. Tristan liked it. It didn’t make a great deal of sense, but it still made him smile.
    He heard the faint buzz of the radio and soft singing coming from around the corner. He walked around to investigate. When he found the source, Tristan’s mouth went dry. He blinked and looked again. You’ve got to be kidding me. Nobody bloody looks like that. He’d found the kitchen door of the bakery, propped open, probably to let out the ovens’ stifling heat. But that wasn’t what made Tristan stare. It was the baker. He was beautiful . One of the most beautiful men Tristan had ever seen. Maybe even the top of the list. He was dancing along with the music whilst he worked with one of those bag things, squeezing bright pink dough onto trays. Tristan went to move closer, and stubbed his bare toe on the corner of the building.
    “Ow! Bloody fucking wanking shit !”
    The beautiful baker looked up, obviously startled. He froze, staring at Tristan, who wordlessly stared right back. Disapparating would be a fantastic talent to have right about now. Tristan was embarrassed that he looked like a Peeping Tom. And he was also never wearing those stupid sandals ever again.
    “Sorry, um, I’m not a creeper. I promise. I’ll be going now. Just on a walk. Yes. Clearly. Good night.” He nodded and backed away quickly, wishing he could simply disappear.
    “Hey, wait.” Tristan stopped and looked up at the voice coming from the open door. The voice matched him. Mellow, tenor, friendly. “Are you lost?”
    “A little,” Tristan said truthfully. “I think I’m close to my flat, but for the life of me, I can’t find my way back there. All these streets tend to blend together and I get turned around.”
    The beautiful man smiled. “Why don’t you come in here for a little while? Take a break.” He beckoned. “You look like you could use a cookie, and I could use someone to talk to.”
    Tristan didn’t even consider saying no.

NYC B LACK AND W HITE C OOKIES
     
    A Manhattan classic and a favorite at the Honeyfly Bakery.
    Soft, cake-like cookies slathered in gooey black-and-white icing. Always a winner!
     
    For Cookies
1¼ cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
⅓ cup buttermilk
½ teaspoon vanilla
⅓ cup unsalted butter, softened
½ cup sugar
1 large egg
     
    For Black or White Royal Icing
1½ cups icing sugar or 1½ cups confectioners’ sugar
1 tablespoon clear corn syrup
2 teaspoons lemon juice
¼ teaspoon vanilla
1 tablespoon water (approx.)
¼ cup cocoa powder (for black icing)
     
    Preheat oven to 350°F.
    Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt in medium bowl. In small bowl or cup, mix together buttermilk and vanilla. Beat butter and white sugar together in a large mixing bowl with an electric mixer