Chapter 2: Noa

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Dark eyes pinned me to the spot, and my mouth turned dry. I couldn't utter a word in response. Not that he had spoken yet, but it felt like someone should speak; break the spell so we could move and he could leave. The smile on his face confused me more than his presence in a place where I didn't expect him. Last I heard, he was working up in London. Not that I'd been keeping tabs on him.

His fingers laced around my upper arm like silken ropes, and my breath caught in my throat. He was just as devastatingly gorgeous as he was all those years ago; light brown skin, eyes that changed intensity depending on the light and made you forget all train of thought, and rugged facial hair that stopped him from looking too preppy in his fitted suits.

But I knew the real him and looks weren't everything.

He sank to his knees, his powerfully lean body overshadowing mine even from this new angle, and his exquisite, rich scent overwhelming my judgment. Not today. He wouldn't get the better of me. So what if my body betrayed me by the twists and rolls in my gut? My brain wouldn't, and knew to shut down any emotions before they took over.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. Are you okay?"

Instead of turning away from his scrutinising stare, I held it behind the protective barrier of my sunglasses and pushed myself up despite the pain in my backside. "I'm fine."

"Let me help you with these." With one hand on the floor, he bent and collected my forgotten notes, grouped them into a neat pile and looked over the recipe at the top of the stack. "Oh, this looks tasty. Is that creamed chestnuts and meringue?" Daan beamed up at me from his crouched position. Oddly, there was something slightly satisfying at having him look up to me for a change.

I uncrossed my arms to snatch the papers from him, but he held onto them as he straightened up. My attempt to appear hostile went unnoticed, and that aggravated me more than the flirtatious smile that had no right to be plastered on his face; strikingly handsome face, but that was beside the point.

"Are these your recipes? I'd love to try one someday. If it's not too forward maybe I can see the rest of them over a cup of coffee?" The instant his gaze caught mine, I recognised that glint in his eyes that usually had every opponent and ally begging to be on his side. Well, I wouldn't fall for that again.

My jaw clenched, and I mentally forced myself to release it before reaching for my notes once more. My fingers brushed his as I gripped the sides, and he placed his other hand on my forearm to steady himself.

"This isn't funny anymore, Daan."

I didn't know what game he was playing, but I didn't like it. And then it clicked. He had no clue who I was. The confusion that flashed in his eyes made it apparent. Did I even know who he was anymore? University seemed like centuries ago when in reality it was a handful of years, but the disdain I harboured for him had never faded. Even if my judgement lapsed that one time. It only took once to make a fool out of yourself. His grip slipped down to my wrist and tightened.

"You can let go of me now," I said, my voice clipped, and stepped around him to hide inside the bakery. I pressed a palm to my abdomen the moment I passed the threshold and released a painful breath. My body felt heavy with confusion. Was I disappointed because he was here or because he didn't remember me?

A plump, grey-haired woman stood behind the counter, serving the only customer present. When she was done, she strolled over to where I'd been admiring a row of perfectly formed macaroons. My gaze flittered every so often to Daan, who had yet to leave. He paced in front of the window, his chin tilted down, pinching his bottom lip with his thumb and index finger. Even from here, I could see the deep-set line forming between his furrowed brow.

"How can I help you?" Lady B asked, her features soft and welcoming. She hadn't changed one bit, and that eased any lingering nerves. "Oh, are you here for the interview? Noa, right?" she added, noticing my portfolio wedged under my arm.

"Yes, that's right. Noa Baudet. It's lovely to meet you." I slid my sunglasses on top of my head and held out my hand to shake hers. "Although, this isn't my first visit. I used to come here as a child. Love what you've done with the decor." Gesturing towards the new wallpapered feature wall and ornate mirrored backdrop, I adjusted my angle so I could keep an eye on Daan, but he had disappeared. I bent backwards and away from the counter to make sure he wasn't just out of sight, but I couldn't find him there either.

"Are you okay, love? Have you lost something?"

Annoyance took over for mere seconds before I returned to Lady B, forcing a small laugh out, and handed over my portfolio. "Oh no, nothing important. It can wait."

"Shall we?" she pointed to a bistro-style table and two chairs in the corner of the bakery, under the feature wall.

The area was surrounded by potted plants, and I fought the urge to check if they were real. The leaves held a sheen on the surface that gave them a slightly artificial look. Or they could just be cleaned daily.

"I prefer to stay out here rather than the prep room. I love this little corner and I can see customers coming in." She opened my folder before I could even sit down and flicked through each page, her fingers lingering over my more intricate creations.

"I can see why," I answered.

"Oh, these are really beautiful. I'm curious. What made you pick Brighton over Paris? That's where you said you were when you phoned?"

"I know it might seem like an unusual choice to move away from Paris when you're getting started in the industry, but Brighton's always been my home. And this bakery, well, there's just something about it. My friend sent me your ad for a new manager and I couldn't pass it up."

She pulled out a copy of my CV from a front pocket in my portfolio. She had the same one, but it didn't look like she had any of her own notes on her. "You did all your training there? And before that? Business management and politics? You didn't qualify though?"

The tips of my ears tingled while I thought of how to answer. Would one abandoned degree count against me? "No. But I am fully trained in an array of culinary arts. My uncle is co-owner of the training centre listed just here." I pointed to the section with that added information. "And he owns a patisserie near the centre. He trained me himself and when I wasn't there, I was in the shop. I'd also like to point out that he might've been family, but that doesn't mean he went easy on me. If anything, he worked me harder than the other apprentices."

"Your uncle, Gerrard Baudet?" She paused and lifted her head to make eye contact. A small smile gradually built on her face, and my shoulders loosened at the sight.

"The very one."

If my innovative recipes hadn't lured her in, the name drop would. He was the crème de la crème of pastry chefs, the one everyone wanted to work under. Having the same last name as him, however, hadn't done me any favours when I started my training. It was one thing being his niece when I was simply visiting, but when my work colleagues found out I would be joining their team, they turned as bitter as baking chocolate. There wasn't a soufflé that hadn't been sabotaged that first week. Maybe that was one of the reasons he gave me such a hard time. To keep them off my back.

He was furious when I handed in my notice to move back to the UK. Deep down, I suspected he thought I would just stay with him and work in his patisserie. With Papi gone and my mothers in Spain, he assumed I wouldn't want to leave, but Paris never felt like home.

"And you moved before knowing if you had the job?" Her smile vanished.

No longer sure of where I stood, unease took over. "Well yes, but I—, It's wishful thinking but I really don't want to be anywhere else." Just when I thought I had the job in the bag.

"I think I've seen enough." She tucked my notes away and closed the folder, masking any emotions. I held my breath until she added, "I love how determined you are. And I've already spoken to your uncle. He sings nothing but your praises. Welcome to the team. The team of two, but I have a feeling we're going to get on famously. Now, would you like a cup of tea? I'm parched."

"Yes, please." I let out a sigh of relief and sank back in my chair. I would have to watch that one. She would be lethal in a poker game.

With Lady B in the back, I reached over to one of the plants and checked the texture on the leaf. I was right. Fake. I was still stroking the green plastic when the bell above the door tinkled and Daan barged into the bakery. The light, clear sound didn't fit the atmosphere of the room as it shut behind him. It should have been a horn or a screeching alarm, not something so delicate and inviting. Nothing was inviting about the icy glare he shot my way as he walked the four short steps towards me. Could I even call that walking? More like stomping.

He towered over me, and I swallowed the hard lump lodged in my throat. He finally knew who I was. That could be the only explanation for that sour expression on his face.

"Do I know you?"

Or not.

He tilted his head and studied my face. His gaze never gravitated south while he focused on the area just below my right ear. That might be one point in his favour. This dress usually had people talking at my chest and not directly at me.

"I'm quite insulted you don't remember me, Daan. It hasn't been that long." I tried to sound calm, even though I was anything but on the inside. I glanced at a piece of paper sticking out of my portfolio and folded the corner over. Anything not to acknowledge the way he stared at that fraction of skin.

"Give me a minute. I can't—" He reached out and skimmed the tips of his fingers over the triangle of freckles I realised he had spotted. "Noa," he lowered his voice to a whisper, and goosebumps broke out down my neck.

An invisible thread pulled around my rib cage and pinched from the contact. I shuffled out of my seat and took a step to the side, away from his touch.

"Your hair? It's bloody pink. Why did you do that? And you look—"

I screwed my nose and shook my head in disbelief. "It's just hair. It didn't seem to bother you when you thought I was just some ditz on her back. And what were you going to say? That I look fat? I put some weight on but I don't look that different. I see you're still an arse."

He snapped out of his daze and scowled. "What? No, I wasn't going to call you fat. See you haven't changed. Still hearing words I never said. And never would. I actually think you look good."

"That's cause my tits have gotten bigger."

He was about to reply—probably throw an insult in my face—when Lady B walked back in with two cups of tea in hand.

"Oh Danny, darling, did you forget your keys again? Noa, this is my grandson Daan. He's come down from London to check on his poor old grandmother." She placed the cups on the counter. "Let me get you a cup and you can meet our new manager properly."

What did she say? I couldn't have heard her right. "Your grandson?"

"She's the new manager?"

We both asked, but his grandmother had already disappeared into the other room without giving us an answer. Daan muttered something under his breath, but I didn't have time to worry about him. He wouldn't get in my way.

"Look here, Danny boy, if you mess this up, so help me." I jammed my finger into his hard chest, poking him a couple of times while I had the chance.

His feet shuffled back, and he grabbed hold of my finger. "What will you do? Leave again?"

That was it. "Screw you." A dull pain throbbed at my temple, a warning that a headache was imminent.

"No, thank you. Been there, done that."

God, I disliked him. "If I wasn't here for a job, I'd walk out right now."

"I'll do us both a favour then." He opened the door and paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Tell my grandmother I had to get out of here. Don't care how you word it. I'll ring her." He stormed off, leaving me alone.

Heat travelled up from the bottom of my feet up to the top of my head, and I was so irritated with him, but mostly with myself. Because while I wanted to chew him out for being—well, for just being him—my brain could not stop wondering if he'd changed his cologne since we were last alone together or if he still thought of me, late at night, when the lights were out and his body was lonely.

I hated him, but I hated myself more.

***
Well, well, well. Daan Booker. What do we think so far? Will this spell trouble for Noa? Let's hope so. 😉


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