Page 21 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Perhaps it is just overheated. Return to it in a few minutes to see if it runs again. They are getting older and more temperamental. Much like me some would say.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “I’m not sure you’re that temperamental.”

“Ah, precious angel-faced man, you have known me for two days. I’m sure after a few weeks your opinions will change.”

“No, I doubt it. To be fair all of us creatives are emotional Suki said this morning. I just threw a fit because my machine was being a bitch so…”

“Perhaps that’s true.” He gave me a tentative smile. “What were you working on when the machine stopped. I have yet to do my walkthrough and for that I apologize. The board members have been particularly trying today, some more than others. Perhaps I will do one as you all arrive in the morning to offer my thoughts.”

“I was working on the overcoat. It’s a massive design. I’ve never attempted to make a coat this tailored or worked with cashmere before. It’s driving me nuts. I have to keep such careful tension on the machine.”

“Yes, it’s a moderately challenging fabric. Its softness combined with its tendency to stretch requires gentle handling.” Pamplemousse returned then begged to be picked up. Claude did so, tucking the pooch into his little doggie bag with only his head sticking out. “Double check your presser foot pressure when you return to it, also make sure your seams have some give. A narrow zigzag stitch may help. I commend you on experimenting with new creations, textiles, and designs. Several of your fellow designers are locked into their little bubbles. If you are afraid to experiment here, with such a grand prize to be won, where will you do so?”

“Thanks. I’m feeling so inspired here. Paris just feels…” I drew in a deep breath then let it out. “It feels as if I was destined to be here,” I said as I glanced up into the boughs of the sycamore.

“I’m glad to hear that Paris has won you over. Tell me of your design. What was your process of thought for it?”

I leaned back then turned slightly on the bench to face him. While the tree was beautiful to look upon it paled in comparison to this man. Pamplemousse burrowed into his tote, a tight golden ball of fur, with only the tip of one ear showing.

“The painting we saw…” I bit down on the inside of my cheek. “The man’s eyes. They looked really pained to me. Like he was trying to hold in a scream of agony while the girls in their bonnets chatted about some tidbit of gossip or new shoes. It made me feel the same as it did when my family had a big loss.”

“Yes, the death of your father. You have my condolences on your loss. I lost my father four years ago so I can understand the hole that losing a parent leaves.”

I tipped my head slightly. “How do you know about my father?”

“It was at the end of your audition. Your mother added a small addition explaining how your father died and how you took over being the man of the house at a tender age. It was touching.”

“She…ugh, yeah that’s not surprising.” I wanted to be mad, and maybe I was a little aggravated, but she had meant well. “I didn’t want to have that be a large thing in my reel because I didn’t want to be picked because people felt sorry for me. I wanted to be chosen to be a contestant because my clothes are fucking awesome.”

He smiled softly before placing a hand atop mine resting on the bench beside the sleeping dog. His touch was warm and gentle. My gaze flew from our hands to his face. And then I was lost as surely as if someone had dropped me off in the center of Paris with no map.

“We did not choose you out of sympathy. We chose you because you have fire, desire, and skills which set you above many of the others who applied. Your face is…” He wet his lips as I struggled to remember my name. “Your face shows your emotions. It’s a charming trait, one that is not seen much anymore in this jaded world.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. My mouth was dry, my heart racing, and my cock thickening. “That’s really nice to say.”

“It’s just me being as honest as you have been.” He gave my hand a squeeze as we sat there under the fairy lights gazes locked. “Your clothes are fucking awesome. You have great presence, a simple but elegant way about you that pulls people closer. I want to get to know you better.” My eyes flared. His did as well. “No, I mean…the audience will want to get to know you better.” He pulled his hand from mine as he cleared his throat. My hand felt chilled now. “Your aura is one of trust and compassion. Your losses have made you strong but you’ve kept a gentle soul. Not an easy thing to do when life throws such terrible things at us.”

His expression grew tight once more. “I saw you and Carlton arguing along the Seine earlier.” One salt-and-pepper brow winged upward. “I wasn’t snooping. We saw each other as I was sketching and you…well, you started to come over then your ex appeared. I couldn’t help but glance over a few times. Looked like quite a fight.”

“Hmm, well, I cannot be angry. When one argues in a public place one is going to be seen.” He sat back, breaking the cozy bubble that had enveloped us, and crossed one leg over the other. “Carlton and I have had words many times. Our marriage did not end pleasantly as the world knows. Let us just say he likes to be controlling. I am not a man to be curbed in any way. We have not gotten any closer since the divorce. With him still serving on the school board our paths cross more than I would like but there is little to do other than grin and bear it. So, that is what I do unless he decides to be a connard which, to my chagrin, he seems to revel in. He needed to be slapped down. What you saw was me slapping him down verbally. To do so physically would have resulted in me being arrested surely.”

“Connard means what exactly?”

“Asshole.”

“Right. Hey, I just learned my first French cuss word,” I said. He laughed gently.

“I hope I can teach you more than just dirty words while you are here, Kinder.”

“That would be amazing,” I confessed. He studied me intently.

“It would indeed. Let me see what I can do to hurry you back to your garment.” He pulled out his cell, tapped it, and made a short call to someone. What he said I had no clue as it was all in French but when the call was done he gave me a tempting crooked smile. “They are heading to the sewing room now to solve your machines issues. You have thirty minutes left before you’re to stop for the day. Go. Make the most of that time. I will see you tomorrow and I expect to be wowed by your fucking awesome clothes, Kinder.”

“Thank you, Claude. For the call, the talk, and just…well, for giving me this chance.”

He inclined his head before pulling out his silver cigarette case. “Go before I light up to stink you out.”

I chuckled then stood before darting back inside. I threw a look back at him. His gaze remained on me until the door was closed between us. I had to take a second to catch my breath while willing the erection I was sporting to go down. No wonder they say nights in Paris are magical…