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I frowned, not sure that I followed. “You don’t have relationships?”
“Non-romantic? Yes. Friends. Family.”
“So you’ve never been in love?”
“What’s this love that you keep speaking of?” He looked at me quizzically.
Was he serious? “But you’re French!”
“And that means that you think that all the French has experienced love. That’s a pretty closed-minded statement. That’s like saying that all Americans eat hot dogs and like baseball.”
“I hate baseball.”
“And I’ve never been in love.”
“Touché.”
“More French phrases?”
It was my turn to laugh. “Oui.”
“Good. I’ll take what I can get. I miss home.”
“Is that where you’re headed?”
“Oui. Mom is waiting with a cherry gateau basque with my name on it.”
“A what?”
“It’s like a…” his hands moved to articulate the meaning of words that he didn’t have, “let me show you.”
He pulled up a picture on his phone, and I nodded. It didn’t look tasty, but I’d take his word for it. There was some kind of cream or something with a filling and it was all inside of a pie of sorts.
“What’s this face?” Raphael asked.
Shit! “Um…” I looked back and forth between his face and the picture. “It doesn’t look appetizing.”
“Appetizing? It’s delicious. It melts in your mouth.”
I giggled at how fantastic he was making this pie sound. “I think you save all of your love for this pie.”
“Pie? It’s not pie. It’s cherry gateau basque.”
He was so serious about this pie. I’m sorry, ‘cherry gateau basque’. Hilarious.
“You are laughing at me? What is this?” His brows furrowed, and that only made me laugh harder.
“Raphael, hear yourself. This dessert, you’re head over heels!”
“Are you trying to say that I’m in love with food?”
“Or at least this dessert.”
“Hmm…” He seriously pondered the idea.
I laughed so hard that my stomach ached. “You can’t be seriously wondering if you love it. I was half expecting you to swoon over it. Your eyes became misty at just the thought of it.”
“I’m a man. There was no mist in my eyes.”
