Chef's Kiss (Audio Script)

Stories

“Was everything to your liking, madame?”

“Unbelievable. Thank you. Can you pass my compliments to the chef, please?”

“Of course.”

I watch the waitress take my empty plate back to the kitchen, and I rest back in my chair, taking in the way the moonlight reflects off the waves gently bobbing in the distance.

I’m really going to miss this place. And I’m definitely coming back at some point.

When? I don’t know. But I’m coming back, by hook or by crook.

Visiting the Côte d’Azur has been a bucket list thing since my early twenties. I saw a video of a traveller vlogger sharing what to do when you visit, and I immediately knew I had to.

I’ve spent the last two weeks exploring the towns, taking in the rich history, enjoying some time in the sun… It definitely beats the dark and depressing winter back home.

And of course, the food. There’s no way I was going to the south of France and not eating my body weight in delicious French food.

That duck confit easily goes down as one of the best things I have ever tasted.

Since it’s my last night before returning home, I decided to treat myself. Fine dining at a fancy restaurant overlooking the coast.

It is expensive, of course. But it’s a ‘treat yourself’ trip, so I’m going all out.

I decided on a whim to get away from the rat race and just enjoy life for a little while. After the last few months being chained to my desk in my windowless cubicle in the office, I was ready for this vacation.

I’ve learned so much about this part of the world, and, as cliché as it sounds…about myself. I’m not cut out to spend the rest of my life in a nameless box in a nameless building in the city.

Working for peanuts and all for a line of work I… honestly just don’t care about. I’ve been thinking of changing jobs for a while now.

Finally, throw in the towel in corporate and go full-time into something I actually enjoy. And actually have some work-life balance. Maybe move here if I’m successful enough.

Hey, a girl can dream.

The waiteress returns, and my brow furrows when he places a dessert plate in front of me.

“Oh, um, thank you, but I didn’t order dessert.”

“The dessert is compliments of our Pastry Chef, madame. On the house, as the saying goes.”

My eyes widen a little. Compliments of the pastry chef?

Is that…normal here? I know I’m not exactly fluent in fine dining etiquette, but it’s not like I left a thousand-dollar tip, or like I’m a filthy-rich benefactor.

Surely a Michelin-starred dessert on the house is for those kinds of people, right? Not little old me born in small-town America.

I glance down at the dessert in front of me. Of course, like everything in this restaurant, it looks delicious.

“For me?”

“Oui, madame. Compliment of the chef at no extra cost to you.”

“Wow. Thank you! W…What is it?”

“This is a friand. It is typically made with almond flour, butter and egg whites. It is also quite popular in New Zealand. These, in particular, are made with peach, cardamom, and ricotta. Along with our signature coconut macaron.”

“Peach and cardamom? I never would have put those two together.”

“Our Pastry Chef likes to experiment. This dessert earned him a Michelin Star.”

“Is that right? Well, now I have to try it.”

“Enjoy, madame.”

I pick up my knife and fork, and they hover just above the friand. It looks too perfect to cut into.

It sounds ridiculous, I know. It’s food. It’s meant to be eaten and enjoyed.

But it’s not just been made. It’s been crafted. The perfect amount of icing sugar dusted over the top.

The thinly sliced peaches peeking out at the top of the friand, complementing the density of the almond flour base. The delicate colour of peaches and the peach cream that the cake sits in.

All of it is…perfect.

I sink my knife into the cake, finding a ricotta centre, and cut a piece, slipping it into my mouth.

Ohhh, my god. Whoever this Pastry Chef is…they earned that Michelin star.

This tastes…sublime. I love peaches, but this…? It’s fresh and light, with that little warm kick from the cardamom.

It’s like a comforting hug. I take another bite, savouring the taste on my tongue…and that’s when I see something.

A little card on the plate, neatly tucked under the remaining friand. With a note.

Nicolas. Pastry Chef. With a number.

Okay, now that isn’t typical fine dining etiquette. That, I know for sure.

So that’s the reason for the dessert. And that dessert was good. Talk about a way to make a first impression.

I stare down at your number before looking around the rest of the restaurant. There aren’t many people left, only a few stragglers before either going to the nearby bar or winding down for the night.

I may never get to experience any of this again. This restaurant, the Côte d’Azur itself… Getting the attention of a Michelin-starred chef.

I fish my phone out of my bag and type your number.

“Bonsoir. So you’re the pastry chef.”

“I am.”

Wow, you…you sound… Your voice is gorgeous.

I cross my legs and find myself twirling a lock of my hair. How can someone’s voice alone get that reaction out of me? That never happens!

“Thanks for the dessert.”

“You enjoyed it?”

“Best I’ve ever had. I can see why you got a Michelin star.”

I can feel your smile through the phone, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face, too. It’s…cute.

“You’re too kind. I admit, I was worried you wouldn’t get my card. Or that it might go to the wrong person.”

“Unless you wanted to flirt with the basketball player who just left, I hope I’m the right person?”

“Yes, yes, you are. Listen, uh… I know this might be a little forward, but - would you like to meet me after my shift? We can go for a drink at the bar down the road?”

“Sounds great. Where do you want to meet?”

“Uhh, meet me on the balcony. I’m closing tonight. I’ll meet you in…half an hour?”

“I’ll see you then. À bientôt.”

“À bientôt.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I barely even use dating apps, and here I am, waiting for a man I only spoke to on the phone?

I pull my shawl tighter around myself from the breeze, excitement swirling through my body. I really hope this isn’t some crazy prank. The last thing I need after an amazing time here is to get stood up, and on my last night here too.

The door to the balcony slides open, and I whirl around.

“Bonsoir.”

Hearing you over the phone really doesn’t do you justice. You are… You are stunning.

Especially in your ‘I just got off work’ casual get-up. The jeans and fitted, black t-shirt look… It’s doing it for me.

“So you’re Nicolas.”

“Yes. Yes, I am Nicolas.”

You run your hand through your sweep of dark hair, looking a little sheepish as you flash me a cute, lopsided grin. My knees wobble, and I brace my hand on the balcony.

“Do you give all your patrons your number?”

“No. No, you are the first.”

You slip your hand in your pocket and make your way over to me. I like the way you look at me, your eyes sliding up and down my frame with that faint grin that makes my nerves dance like a giggling teenager.

My teeth flash across my lower lip.

“So what made me stand out to you?”

“Aside from being beautiful?”

“Okay, now you’re just buttering me up. It’s not a secret that French men are known for their charm.”

I wonder for a moment if you might take this the wrong way. But you laugh.

“I’m serious! You have this air about you…that I was…drawn to. Like a moth to a flame.”

You step a little closer, and the air thickens between us. You look… nervous. Like this is out of the ordinary for you.

“It’s not often people really appreciate what we do. Either they think it’s pretentious or they’re pretentious themselves. It was…refreshing to see someone really enjoy themselves. It’s been a while since I’ve felt…happy cooking for someone.”

Something inside me goes soft. If this is just charm…it’s working. You nervously rub the back of your neck, looking out at the view.

“Sorry. This is probably too much for a first meeting.”

“No, not at all. This is a little new for me, too. I mean, I don’t usually meet handsome strangers on a restaurant balcony.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“Yeah, I do.”

You draw closer, sliding your palm along the stone, caressing your fingertips over my knuckles. My breath hitches.

“I’m leaving for home tomorrow.”

“That’s a shame. I would have liked to spend more time with you. Take you out on a real date.”

You’re close. Really close.

So much so, I can feel the warmth of your body and smell your freshly applied cologne. I fight the urge to just throw caution to the wind entirely and close the distance between us. The air thickens, and I lift my gaze to yours.

I can see the sincerity in your eyes. Sure, you’re flirting, but it’s not just lip service to soften me up.

Your gaze flickers down to my lips, and my stomach somersaults. Holy… yep, I’m gonna need you to keep doing that. As if it’s completely normal, I find myself leaning in slightly, and you notice.

You tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and the tip of my ear burns pink at the contact. I was never exactly good at hiding just how attracted I am to someone.

“I’d still like to get to know you better…if you want that. Even if it’s just for tonight. Or after. Whatever you want.”

You snake your arm around my waist, and I press myself against your chest, sliding my hands over your shoulders.

Your cheek brushes against mine as we draw closer. All I have to do is close that little space between us, and I’d be kissing you.

“I want that. Fuck, I want that.”

“Yes…”

Our kiss quickly grows more urgent, your lips soft against mine. You cup my jaw, and tighten your arm around me, pulling me flush against you.

I wrap my arms around your neck, my fingers winding into your hair as I sink deeper into the kiss, your lips giving the perfect pressure. The perfect mix of exploring and claiming.

You’re clearly a man who knows what he wants… And tonight? I am more than happy to give it to you.

My fingers slip under your t-shirt, and you reach back, pulling it off.

“Won’t someone see us?”

You shoot me a sexy smile.

“Does that bother you?”

When I think about it… It doesn’t. The thrill of potentially being caught excites me.

“No.”

You brush my shawl off my shoulders, slipping your fingers under the straps of my dress as you trail your lips down my neck.

Sparks prickle along my skin, warmth throbbing between my legs as you peel down my bra, exposing my breasts.

“Mon dieu…”

“You like what you see?”

“Oui…”

When you softly run your palms over my breasts, cradling them, and circle your tongue around my chest, I have to brace my hand on the balcony to stay upright.

Fuck, that feels good.

I run my fingers through your hair, watching you suck each chest into your mouth, and tug slightly as I trail my fingertips down your bare back. I love the way your muscles tense under my touch, and how your moans vibrate against my breasts.

Your eyes meet mine, dark with need, and my pussy clenches. You’re like a man starved, drunk on devotion, and all I know is that I want more of you.

“I need you… I want to taste every inch of you…”