Page 46 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
Chuckling, Dean snagged a chair and flopped down. “Fine. I’m not sure words could capture this evening anyway.”
“It wasthatgood?” Madison asked, her usually suspicious nature never on vacation.
He decided to be honest. “Yes. But she didn’t mention the cave, and I didn’t push. She also didn’t talk about her job plans other than to say they were a work in progress, so I did what you said on the talking points. I shut up and listened.”
Kyle nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s better that way. Keeping things separate. I like that. She’s clearly a serious professional.”
“So am I,” Dean felt obliged to point out.
“I agree.” Brooke pointed at him. “What did she think of your shirt? Assuming you showed her.”
He gave a naughty smile. “Oh, she asked to see it. And in case anyone wants to know, she gave me a gold ribbon like the good sommelier she is.”
“Wait!” Thea exclaimed. “What does your T-shirt say?”
When he opened his jacket, a chorus of groans sounded.
“Hey, Madison,” Dean drew out, “from what Kyle told us, you need some help. I know I’m a legendary kisser with a new gold ribbon, but I’m sorry to say I can’t help you out with your kissing technique.”
She threw a cork his way. “You guys need to let that kiss with Kyle go. I have. I forgot about it right after it happened.”
Kyle’s head swung her way. “Hey, I’ve got an ego here.”
“You know…” Sawyer interrupted. “All this kissing talk does remind me of the perfect quote by Christopher Marlowe.”
More groans, but Dean was intrigued.
“It’s fromDoctor Faustus,” their brainiac friend said, pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss: Her lips suck forth my soul, see where it flies! Come Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven be in these lips.”
Dean fought another naughty smile as he stood and started for the stairs. “Nice one, Sawyer. Good night, everyone!”
No one followed him, and when he reached his floor, he walked over to the window and opened it. The stars were still shining as brightly as they had been on the boat when she was dancing in his arms.
“Ah, Jacqueline,” he whispered to the night, “heaven surely was in your lips.”
That was it. He was cribbing poetry.
He was falling in love with the beautiful Jacqueline.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Madison entered the kitchen as Pierre crooned, “Bonjour.”
She looked over to give him her usual morning nod—she needed coffee before managingBonjour—but the sight of him was like being doused with cold water. The parrot was wearing a white apron withChef’s Little Helperwritten on it in black, along with a ridiculous chef’s hat.
“Très joli, non?” he asked, flapping his wings to show off his new threads.
It was pretty all right. “Dean!” she called despite the early hour. Dream boy was walking around on cloud nine right now, and he was acting like the court jester who’d just found himself a girlfriend, meaning his joking had reached insufferable—and apparently tailor-made—levels.
Brooke had better not have found him the tailor for that ridiculous outfit!
“Oui, mon amiDean,” Pierre informed her in French, rocking on his perch in the corner. “Pierre is chef too. BRAAAAAAAK.”
“Oh. My. God!” Her culinary helper was beaming, so she dialed back her rant. “Dean sure has a sense of humor, doesn’t he?”
“Oui,” Pierre agreed. “Duck with cherries! Duck with cherries! Let’s go.”
Her nemesis dish made her want to howl. Since becoming a chef, she’d had one Holy Grail in every menu—a dish that stood out above all others. She sweated over it. She swore over it. She even whispered sweet nothings to it when no one was around. Ultimately, it clicked.
