Patissier San To Oujo San Novels & Stories

"Do you like the place?" "I feel weird." I jumped as a fish swam right past my head. Sebastian laughed. "This place is called Ne Juge Pas. 'Do not judge'." The waitress came over. I looked at the menu and panicked. "Soupe à l’oignon? Cassoulet? Rat—Ratatouille? Do they serve rats?" I whispered. Sebastian bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Two Coq au vin, the flamiche, salade niçoise, crepes, and a chocolate soufflé with a bottle of red wine," he told the waitress.

"Try it, Mr. Tanarro!" "I already said no!... – He didn't lift his eyes from his laptop. – Sotomayor is taking too long!" "Miss Jina must be busy with the clerk," Kántaro said, smiling. "Don't you know?" Kentzuque asked while the brunette looked at him curiously. "The European bakery is famous for two reasons. First, for the exquisite taste of its pastries and the excellent coffee they make. And secondly, because all the workers are very attractive men..."

As he pours, he chats amiably about stats and facts I have already memorized a million times over. He leaves us to retrieve macaroons and chocolate, which I know come from Dalloyau, the world-famous French patisserie, founded in 1682. Yeah. 1682. I am speechless. Almost. Jameson and I clink rims. We sip. And I say, “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I mean… You heard what I said about the movie.” “Every single word. Always.” I stare at him, completely dumbfounded and awestruck.