He watches me as I look at the balls on the plate from all angles, smiling. ‘Yep, like one of your corbelled roofs, hold everything in place while it sets and make sure it’s not lopsided.’
‘Quality control?’
He nods. I watch him cement the balls together with the caramel, the way he applies the lightest of touches. The pastry puffs just stand there like magic once I let them go. It really is a work of art. ‘I have a question. Fabien called Odette his “choue” – what does that mean?’
Ben chuckles under his breath. ‘Literally, it means cabbage, but I think the French use it more to denote sweetheart, as a term of affection. The French do that, they’ll take a random word and as long as it’s said affectionately in a French accent then it’s endearing.Ma petite croquembouche.’
‘That’s a mouthful,’ I say.
He looks to me, forcing a smile.
‘You’re getting distracted, chef. Keep dipping your balls.’Is this a chef thing? Maybe there’s too much at stake with this cake, it’s not a time to joke.His eyes are creased, drawn maybe. ‘So, if and when you ever get married, would it be like this?’ I ask. I guess it’s a relevant question given where we are, but he still raises his eyebrows at me as he singes his fingers in caramel.
‘This feels swish, too swish,’ he tells me. ‘I like that it’s a big family dinner but I don’t think I’d spend such a long time taking photos, waiting for the sunset.’
‘Right? There was a lot of posturing and fluffing out of the veil.’
He’s quiet, focused, and I can’t tell if I’ve scared him off. Maybe I need to change the subject. The caramel sets quickly and we get to the top of the pyramid. Ben checks it from all angles and nods. ‘It’s not the biggest ’boucheI’ve ever seen but we’ll pretty it up.’ I shake my head, laughing. ‘Here, you can do the last three puffs,’ he says sandwiching two together. He hands them to me, like I’m putting a star on the top of a Christmas tree, and then dips a final puff in caramel for me to balance on the top. I hold it there for a moment. ‘Now let go.’
I smile as we both step back to inspect our work. ‘It’s so glossy.’
‘But this is the best bit,’ he says and he dips his fork into the caramel and starts whipping it lightly over the pastry. The caramel lands in wisps like spiderwebs. I marvel at how such an effect is created by such a simple action.
‘Can I have a go?’ I ask. ‘That looks like fun.’
He hands me the fork but holds onto my hand to mimic the action, standing slightly behind me. I can feel the warmth of his skin next to mine and the way he doesn’t quite let go of my hand. I hand him back the fork and he wraps a few more strands around it, looking at it carefully to make sure it’s as perfect as it can be.
‘A few more touches and she’ll be done. She can stay in here for a bit so she doesn’t wilt in the heat,’ Ben says. I like how this extraordinary piece of confection already has feminine pronouns, an identity. ‘Teamwork,’ he says, putting a hand to the air but as I go to meet his hand, he grabs mine and pulls me in, landing a kiss on my lips, slow and prolonged, before resting his head against my forehead.
‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Hi.’
‘Thank you, catering assistant.’
‘You’re welcome…retreat manager,’ I reply.
And then he kisses me, gently. I can’t quite read the kiss. It’s the way he cups my face with his hands, a different emotion runs through it. He steps back, his gaze curious, maybe a little sad.
‘Fuck me, that is immense, Benjamin!’ Jess says, walking into the kitchen, marvelling at thecroquemboucheon the counter.
‘Thank you, Jess. It was a team effort,’ he replies.
‘They’re doing the first dance if you guys want to come out and watch?’ she says.
We walk out to the patio overlooking where the couple have made their way to a small square of dancefloor below. They move slowly, Odette’s head nestled into Fabien’s chest. Zara and Bella are already partnered up on the patio, doing a slow dance under the stars that have come out to play. I look up as Miguel offers Jess his hand for a turn.
‘I guess that leaves you and me,’ Ben says and he bows, takes my hand and twirls me into him. He does look tired. It’s been a day, so I say very little, nestling my head in his chest, swaying from side to side, our legs tangled with the movement, our hips touching. I can hear the waves crashing below, the stars of the night sky framing this scene.
Why does this never feel like it’s real?Like this is not what life is supposed to look like. It’s too polished, too perfect.You are perfect. He pulls me in close and I hear his heartbeat, loud and clear. It’s all too much. Go back to what I know or stay here with an emotion that feels so sure, a feeling that could propel me into the next part of my life.I think I’m falling in love with you, I whisper so he can’t see my mouth moving.
‘What was that?’ Ben asks.
‘Nothing,’ I reply.
36
DAY SEVEN
