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The ones I’ve been to are usually just a room with a serving counter running down the middle. Sometimes, there’s a small eating area, but usually you’re meant to take your pastry and go. This shop instantly feels more like an experience—black and white checkered tiles dominate the large open space, with dozens of seating areas and industrial decor. It almost feels more like a large restaurant, which thrills me instantly.
It’sgotto be good if people actually want to eat in. We walk through the huge seating area, Cherie telling us about the different architectural styles they blended together to create the space. “The chef is expecting you both!”
I turn to Alexander and whisper. “What are we doing here?”
He shushes me, turning his attention back to Cherie, who’s talking about the imported tiles now. There’s a huge set of double doors up ahead, and the closer we get, the stronger the delicious smells get. My stomach rumbles in response—even though we ate a couple hours ago, I’m already hungry again.
It’s so strange to me how everything felt perfectly normal when I didn’t know I was pregnant, but the moment I found out, it’s like all the symptoms hit me all at once. The gentle ache in my stomach has me clutching Alexander’s hand a little tighter.
The longer I keep this from him, the shittier I feel.
Even though I’m doing it forourgood, I can’t help but want to see his reaction, experience all the emotions with him all over again. I want to talk about my fears, hear his thoughts and hopes and dreams. I want him to rub my back when I inevitably puke in the mornings, and I want to see the kind of man he will become when he discovers that we’re going to be parents within the next year.
I’m withholding somethingsoimportant from him.
When we get to the kitchen, it’s empty except for the chef. It’s a huge commercial kitchen, with rows of stainless-steel appliances, and a tall arched ceiling that would look more at home in a cathedral. A dessert parlor of this size would need at least a dozen people working in the kitchen, if not more.
Our chef is a short, round woman, whom Cherie greets with a kiss that’s way more intimate than the one she gave me. She introduces herself as Anna, greeting us with a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you so much for accommodating us on such short notice, Anna,” Alexander says. “I know it was a big ask.”
Anna clasps her hands together in delight. “The only thing I love more than pastry islove!It was not a big ask at all to help you celebrate your anniversary.”
As she talks with Alexander, I grasp more of the story. Apparently, Alexander rented this entire place out for us. He told them it’s our first wedding anniversary, and one of my biggest dreams has been to learn how to make an authentic, delicious cheesecake. It’s going to be a guided baking class for the both of us, with Anna as our teacher.
Every time I think Alexander has outdone himself, he manages to somehow top it. I would’ve been pleased with just the gift he gave me, but this—this is something out of my wildest dreams. When I look over at him, he’s wearing a smug grin. It’s clear he knows how much this surprise means to me.
Cherie assists us in getting kitted up for the class, helping us clean ourselves up and giving us aprons and hair nets. While I’m washing my hands, I finally decide that I need to tell Alexander. It doesn’t matter what I think I’m saving him from. He deserves to know.
This baby is ours, made from our love.
* * *
The class passesby quickly because we’re having so much fun.
Though he knows his way around a kitchen better than I do, Alexander’s not very good at baking. Shocking, considering that I think it’s easier than cooking something on a stovetop. Despite this, Anna is patient with us. She teaches us some of her own techniques, too. I opted to make a classic strawberry cheesecake, while Alexander tried his hand at a chocolate one.
But that’s not even the best part.
After the class, Cherie leads us to the seating area, where we both get the chance to taste everything on the menu—cakes, breads, ice cream. Even though the portions were small, we must have tasteddozensof different things. I’m nearly full when Cherie appears with the last plate.
“These are from your lesson,” she says. “Enjoy.”
On the fragile china plate sits two small slices of cheesecake—one strawberry and one chocolate. Alexander thanks her as she disappears toward the kitchen. We’re sitting close to the window, with a view on to the street.
It’s late in the evening now. The streetlights have come on, and the stream of people on the street has thinned to just a handful of people every now and then. It looks like something out of a movie, and I’m struck by just how perfect this moment is. I remember when I dreamed of something like this, all those months ago when Alexander and I were in Tommaso’s restaurant.
Back then, he introduced me as his friend.
Today, he wants everyone to think we’re married. He wears an engagement ring just because I asked him to. Sometimes, it’s hard to imagine this is the same Alexander who hated me the moment he found out I was a virgin. It’s not even like he’s changed much as a person.
No, he’s still the same.
I’m the one who’s changed.
“Thank you,” I say, putting my hand on his. “This whole day has beensoperfect. It couldn’t have been any better.”
Alexander smiles and I’m struck by just how beautiful he is. Gosh, he’s so fucking good-looking. And he’s all mine.
