What emerged from the ether was a wiry young man, pawing with large mitts at forearms covered in flour, creating a cloud of white powder that gave his entrance an angelic quality. His eyes wrinkled as the particles clouded his vision, but his wry smile showed through the confectioner’s fog. “Don’t worry, they don’t bite,” he said with a chuckle. He pulled off the glass lid to the display and offered up one of the buttery treats. “This one’s on the house.”
Amanda reached forward, taking it with hesitant fingers, trembling at his cordiality. The green apron, which covered a white collared shirt, was embroidered with blue vines that twisted along the seams, and stitched in the top right hand corner was a name: Eddie. “They’re not just good to look at y’know.” Eddie leaned against the counter, leaving white fingerprints on the glass. Amanda took a moment to examine not only the pastry in her hands but Eddie’s face as well. There was evidence of wear, a scar along the jaw line, a few wrinkles beginning to form around the eyes from too much squinting, or laughter. It was not the face that one might associate with a pastry chef. It was more like a veteran, or a former athlete, someone who wasn’t sensitive, who didn’t care about piping frosting delicately around the base of a wedding cake. That made his allure all the more powerful and with the realization that there might be much more than meets the eye, Amanda took a bite out of the croissant.
Her bliss must have been evident as Eddie let out a small chuckle. She spoke with a hand to her mouth, attempting to be polite despite mumbling with flaky pieces of dough peeking through her chops. “This is incredible. I mean, really.”
“Glad to be of service.” Eddie did not move from his position against the counter, his weight resting on his soiled palms. He seemed to delight in watching her eat and Amanda blushed at the attention. She shifted under his stare, forcing herself to focus on the butter that had accumulated on her fingertips instead of the intense glare of his azure irises.
“Could I, uh, get about a dozen of these to go?” Amanda asked, placing the pastry in her left hand, and beginning to sift in her purse for the proper payment. Eddie frowned, though he turned the moment she looked up, reaching for a small box and a few pieces of tape. The croissants landed in their carrying case with soft thuds, similar to the manner Amanda’s heart beat within her chest. She lifted four bills from her wallet and placed them on the counter, pulling away from the exchange, attempting to distance herself. He pulled out a Sharpie and quickly scrawled something on the inside of the lid. “That’s three with tax,” he breathed, handing her the box with a sigh and that same wry smile.
Amanda reached forward, taking it with hesitant fingers, trembling at his cordiality. The green apron, which covered a white collared shirt, was embroidered with blue vines that twisted along the seams, and stitched in the top right hand corner was a name: Eddie. “They’re not just good to look at y’know.” Eddie leaned against the counter, leaving white fingerprints on the glass. Amanda took a moment to examine not only the pastry in her hands but Eddie’s face as well. There was evidence of wear, a scar along the jaw line, a few wrinkles beginning to form around the eyes from too much squinting, or laughter. It was not the face that one might associate with a pastry chef. It was more like a veteran, or a former athlete, someone who wasn’t sensitive, who didn’t care about piping frosting delicately around the base of a wedding cake. That made his allure all the more powerful and with the realization that there might be much more than meets the eye, Amanda took a bite out of the croissant.
Her bliss must have been evident as Eddie let out a small chuckle. She spoke with a hand to her mouth, attempting to be polite despite mumbling with flaky pieces of dough peeking through her chops. “This is incredible. I mean, really.”
“Glad to be of service.” Eddie did not move from his position against the counter, his weight resting on his soiled palms. He seemed to delight in watching her eat and Amanda blushed at the attention. She shifted under his stare, forcing herself to focus on the butter that had accumulated on her fingertips instead of the intense glare of his azure irises.
“Could I, uh, get about a dozen of these to go?” Amanda asked, placing the pastry in her left hand, and beginning to sift in her purse for the proper payment. Eddie frowned, though he turned the moment she looked up, reaching for a small box and a few pieces of tape. The croissants landed in their carrying case with soft thuds, similar to the manner Amanda’s heart beat within her chest. She lifted four bills from her wallet and placed them on the counter, pulling away from the exchange, attempting to distance herself. He pulled out a Sharpie and quickly scrawled something on the inside of the lid. “That’s three with tax,” he breathed, handing her the box with a sigh and that same wry smile.
