“Because you—and Parker—always seem to know what direction you need and want to
take. So let’s see.” She crunched into the sugar cone as she considered. “Okay. Sometimes I
wonder how it would’ve been if I’d gone to France, stayed there. Run my own exclusive
patisserie—while having many passionate affairs.”
“Naturally.”
“I’d design and bake for royalty and stars, and run my staff like dogs. Allez, allez!
Imbeciles! Merde!”
He laughed at her broad, undeniably Gallic gestures, and dodged her cone.
“I’d be a terror, and a genius, world-renowned, jetting off to exciting places to make
birthday cakes for little princesses.”
“You’d hate that. Except for the cursing in French.”
More than full, she tossed what was left of her cone in the trash. “Probably, but it’s
something I think about sometimes. Still, I’d be doing what I’m doing now at the core of it. I
didn’t have to choose.”