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‘Where did you go? I woke up and you were gone!’
She winced. ‘Sorry. I just needed to get some air.’
He frowned, then raised a brow. ‘You just decided to get out of bed at the crack of dawn to walk the streets with this—’ Then he looked at the poster, and snorted with laughter. ‘What the hell is that? It’s brilliant. Is that for me, to apologise for leaving me all alone with no note?’
She grinned. This was why they loved one another.
‘It’s a bit of a long story.’
‘I assume so if you’re coming home with it at five thirty in the morning.’ Then he raised a brow; clearly he’d guessed where she’d gone. ‘Did you go to the restaurant?’
She nodded.
He shook his head. ‘I’ll make us some coffee,’ he suggested. ‘Then you can tell me about it.’
She squeezed his arm in gratitude, thankful that he didn’t moan that he’d wanted to see it too. Which she knew he had. This first time, she’d felt, had to be done alone.
Antoine took out some frozen pain au chocolat from the freezer and popped them in the oven to heat through, then put on a strong pot of coffee.
Sabine took the framed poster to the edge of the sink which she filled with hot water and dishwashing liquid, dunking a sponge into the soapy liquid and scrubbing at the dusty, sticky glass. She had to go over it a few times, the water turning black, but eventually the old glass gleamed.
She stared at the cat with the chef’s hat for some time and then decided it wasn’t too macabre to keep. It was sweet.
She put it on the counter while Antoine checked on the pastries, which were ready. The air had started to fill with the scent of warm chocolate.
When they had cooled down a little, she took a bite and her teeth sank into the buttery, gooey chocolate parcel and she groaned in bliss. She was starving, and tired, and the sugar helped, though she’d probably pay for that later with a crash. She poured them both a large mug of filter coffee, and they sat down at the small kitchen table and she told him about the restaurant and what it had been like to see it.
‘That was from the kitchen,’ she said, indicating the poster.
His eyes widened. ‘You took it from there?’ he breathed. He may as well have said, the scene of the crime.
She winced. ‘Yeah, I mean, I know it’s probably a little twisted, but I like it.’
Despite his tone of surprise, he shrugged. ‘Things only get twisted if you make them – there’s probably hundreds of these posters all around the world. Liking it doesn’t mean anything.’
She hoped not.
