Page 2 of Tasty Tentacles

I take a quick bite from the pastry and set it down, then fold my creepy deformities back into their public-friendly positions, tucked out of sight.

“Those look tasty,” he says, taking one of the pastries from the box. “Is there coffee?” he asks between bites.

“I’ll get it started,” I say. My boyfriend always has the best ideas. Coffee will contrast perfectly with the delicate pastry: hot and bitter against light, sweet, and flaky layers. My tentacles try to dance at the thought, but I keep them tightly leashed.

As the coffee machine is pumping away, he snags the last pastry. I walk over and grab the remains of mine and slip it back into the box, closing it up for later. One will be plenty to give Albert his review.

I ask, “May I get you some breakfast?” He often forgets to eat when he immerses himself in his work, so I do my best to keep him fed.

“Fine, but it needs to be quick. Gotta get to a rehearsal, and I still need to shower.”

“I’ll make you something you can take along. Go get cleaned up.”

I’ve done this many times, so it all goes like clockwork. Two generous slices of the fresh sourdough, lightly toasted, egg, prosciutto, some arugula, and a mild aioli (nothing too spicy this early). Just how he likes it.

He emerges from the bedroom as I’m filling up his travel coffee mug, looking like a sex god wet-dream-come-true. Even though he’s only wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt, he makes it look like he’s just stepped off the runway.

On his way to the door, he says, “Remember, you have your appointment this afternoon. Like we discussed.”

“Of course. I cleared out my schedule.”

“Send me a text when you get some answers. I’ll be rehearsing all day, then I’m out with the guys this evening, so I’ll be late.”

When I have the place to myself, I retrieve the rest of my pastry, make myself a coffee, and settle down at my graphics suite. The deadline for designing the GenSystems annual report is staring me in the face, and I need to finish my holiday card and send it to my client list and family, but I’m determined to squeeze in a few minutes to start some decorations. Christmas is rapidly approaching, and I want to put up the tree this year before the season slips away. Mom always had ours up weeks before this, and some holiday spirit is just what Enzo needs to take his mind off his busy rehearsal schedule.

I let my tentacles break off another piece of the pastry, sitting back to enjoy the sensation. They love the textures and there’s so much to explore—layers to tease apart, leading to tender buttery crevasses and hard burnt sugar. Would these pastries be good for our Christmas dinner? This will be my first holiday celebration with Enzo, so I want everything to be perfect. Maybe not…they seem more like a breakfast treat, not a formal dessert. I’ll probably fall back to my standby: one of Albert’s bourbon pecan pies. Can’t go wrong with that!

Which reminds me, I need to get a headcount from Enzo. He’s been vague about how many of his friends are joining us, if any. They all know about my deformities, but they may not want to deal with them during their holiday celebration.

But that will all have to wait—there’s work to do before decorating, and a doctor’s appointment, and a walk in the park.

I feed the last piece of pastry to Jake. He’s such a good boy and I value his opinion, so I ask, “What do you think, buddy? Is it a winner?”

2

BERTIE

“Go, go,” Camila says. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?” I ask, although I know it’s true. With her unflaggable strength and dedication, she keeps my bakery running…has done for years.

“No problem. Wednesdays are always slow.”

“Thanks, Cam,” I say as the front bell rings and Hideo comes in the door. “I owe you one for this.”

“I’ll just add it to your tab,” she says with a wink.

I’ve been looking forward to this all day. My husband and I don’t have lunch together often, apart from those rare days when we both synchronize our days off, but we gathered as much holiday spirit as we could find and made it happen today.

I grab the little bag with two of the new kouign-amann and take my handsome husband’s arm. Even after all these years, he takes my breath away. Tall, handsome, fit, with those high cheekbones and luminous gold skin. And that trim beard, the glossiest black. I stumble, picturing his equally glossy nest of pubes, my favorite place in the entire world. Why he ever said yes to this chubby baker bear, I’ll never know, but I’m not complaining. He’s all mine, my shogun warrior, bravely battling the ravages of time every day at the clinic.

He gives me a sweet little kiss, and we’re out the door.

“I grabbed some sushi on the way over, if you don’t mind.”

“Perfect!” I answer. “Let’s go eat in the park. It’s a beautiful day, and I think they decorated the tree.”

I watch for it, and there it is. He gives the exasperated scowl that’s my constant companion during the winter holiday season. I know he misses the snow and winter chill, but honestly, I don’t understand. Anything that needs to be shoveled off your driveway in the freezing cold is something that needs to be avoided at all costs. I’ll stay right where I am, thank you very much, warm and cozy on the west coast. Snow is something to enjoy on vacation, then leave behind and return to warm winter sanity. If, that is, we ever find time for another vacation. It’s daunting to look at the calendar and realize we’ve lost another year.