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"Perhaps," I concede, my voice tinged with reluctant acknowledgment. The risk is clear, the consequences looming like a storm on the horizon. But in the depths of my being, I feel drawn to Lisette's fire, unable to extinguish the spark of attraction.
"Promise me you'll be careful, Etienne," Bastien implores, genuine concern etched in the lines of his face.
I sigh, realizing the validity of his plea, the weight of his words sinking in. "Fine," I relent with a mixture of resignation and determination, knowing that I must proceed with caution.
"Good," Bastien nods, a glimmer of relief in his eyes as he seemingly accepts my agreement.
Just as our conversation concludes, Lisette emerges from the back room, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the oven. A magnetic force pulls my gaze to her, her eyes meeting mine with a teasing challenge that sets my heart racing. Freshly baked beignets, steam rising from their golden surfaces, grace the counter in a delectable display.
"Hope to see you again soon, Etienne," she says, her voice carrying a seductive undertone, her words a playful invitation that ignites a flicker of anticipation within me.
"Count on it," I reply, my voice a low rumble, matching her intensity with unwavering determination. As I rise to leave, a mingling of excitement and caution courses through my veins. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if she let me take her out. I’d take her to the French quarter for dancing and drinks, and then...
Bastien's hand connects with the back of my head, a playful yet firm swat, as we step out into the muggy embrace of the New Orleans air.
"Etienne, seriously, man," he scolds, his tone a mix of exasperation and brotherly concern. "Stop being a fuck-up. Everyone knows Lisette doesn't mess with mafia guys."
A knowing smirk plays upon my lips, a reflection of the intoxicated confidence that Lisette's presence has stirred within me.
"Maybe," I muse, my voice tinged with playful defiance, my heart still racing from the energy of our encounter. "But she hasn't met someone quite like me before."
Chapter Three
Lisette
––––––––
THE GENTLE CLINK OFspoons in coffee cups and the rustle of aprons fill the air, offering a comforting soundtrack to the creation unfolding within the bakery. The first rays of dawn cast a warm glow upon the cozy space, illuminating the display of pastries and bread that beckon customers to indulge in their sweet temptations.
As the day begins, I take a moment to savor the familiar scents swirling around me—the buttery aroma of croissants rising in the oven, the delicate hint of vanilla infusing the air, and the subtle undertones of caramelized sugar that mingle with the fragrance of freshly brewed coffee. Each breath is a reminder of the passion and dedication that infuse every morsel crafted within these walls.
Marie, my trusted assistant, enters the bustling kitchen, her eyes still heavy with remnants of sleep. A soft smile graces her lips as she greets me, acknowledging the routine that has become the cornerstone of our professional partnership. I return her greeting with a nod, our shared understanding unspoken but ever-present.
"Good morning, Lisette," she murmurs, her voice a gentle whisper that blends seamlessly into the rhythm of the kitchen. With a sense of purpose, she readies herself for the tasks ahead—preparing ingredients, organizing the workspace, and ensuring the seamless flow of our operations.
"Morning, Marie," I reply, my voice carrying a lightness tinged with gratitude for her presence. "Could you grab the strawberries from the fridge?"
