Maybe she was just losing her mind over things described in books and all those great romances. She had begun to think they might have hyperbolised thoseconflagrations that flared up in one’s heart. All she could feel was one tiny spark, barely a lit match to start a small fire. But it was there.
“Ready, set,” Celine said, not meeting his eye. “Game on, Jacques.”
Taking hold of his wrist, she clasp their hands once more. “May the best player win.”
The match began. Their thumbs wrestled. Celine’s rested on top.
“Aha!” she exclaimed in victory. “Question number one, do you have any tattoos?”
Jacques hesitated; then cast her a weird look. “That’s what you are dying to know about me, if I have any tattoos?”
“I’m sorry, my brain blanked,” she moped. Jacques only looked away and didn’t answer. “Well?” Celine nudged him. “Do you?”
Still, he did not reply. Celine’s eyes widened.
“Mon Dieu, you do! Where?” she exclaimed excitedly. “Show me, show me!”
Jacques tried to squirm away from her, colour rising to his cheeks. “I will not show youhere.” He chuckled. “So don’t even try to strip me in the middle of the street.”
Celine gasped, acting scandalised. “Why, is it someplace unmentionable?”
“No!” She glanced at him through narrowed eyes, and to her surprise, Celine found Jacques still laughing. “I’m not Bastien.”
That sounded of interest. “Doeshehave one?”
“Actually,” Jacques said after his spirits had calmed down, “he doesn’t. This was supposed to have been our white flag. Hedragged me to the parlour, urged me to go first, then after I was done he wimped out.”
She had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from bursting out in laughter. “And you didn’t resent him for it?”
“I did, a little.” Jacques winced. “That’s why the next day I hid dried beef in his suit and watched as his two Dalmatians chased him down the street and ripped the clothes off of him.”
Now the laughs poured out of her unrestrictedly. Celine would have given all the money in the world to witness that scene first hand. “I never knew you were a Machiavelli.”
He shrugged. “Now you do. Okay, round two.”
Jacques was struggling with his non-dominant hand, but since Celine was curious about his questions, she let him win.
“I want to know how you usually drink your coffee,” he said when the match was over. “The exact recipe.”
Celine tilted her head. “And you made fun of my tattoo question. Why do you want to know?”
“Because I want to make it for you every morning,” Jacques replied seriously. “I am very particular about mine, so if I’m going to be in the kitchen, I might as well make yours too.”
The thought of Jacques being adorably domestic sent a shiver through her heart. “So,” Celine pondered, “I get two plates of dessert at dinner and my coffee in bed. What do you get?”
“You,” Jacques said without hesitation. “And that’s all I want.”
Ever so slowly, Celine hid her face into her hands and let out a muffled squeal. She was weak, she could admit that at least.
Jacques’s shoulders started shaking with amusement. “What was all that?”
“Nothing,” Celine replied meekly. “Let’s play another round.”
Jacques won again.
“I want to know your biggest dream,” he said. “One that hasn’t come true yet, and if there is something I can do to make it happen, I want to try my best.”
Celine’s next breath came up short. Everything was going so well, even her heart was slowly thawing at the life Jacques was painting for her, but to tell him about the competition this early…she should, she knew that. It was only fair.
