Page 36 of Kissing for Keeps
I pause, cocking an eyebrow. “Will there be whipped cream involved?”
“What’syourguess?”
“Sadly, I’ll never know.” I pull the euros out of the slot and wave them in front of her face.
When we get to the strawberry booth and the lady sees us, the joyful look on her face is payment enough for our ATM scavenger hunt.
“She’s in love with you now,” Siena says as we walk away with a fifth strawberry carton added to the bag, courtesy of the grateful woman. “So what gives? Are you this obsessed with strawberries?”
“I have a soft spot for entrepreneurs. I know what it’s like to be desperate for someone to believe in your product enough to buy it.”
“I don’t think there’s any shortage of people believing in strawberries, Jack. But still, it’s sweet of you. Always knew you were a softy.” She pokes me in the stomach, and I flex instinctively.
She must not have been expecting it, since she clenches her hand into a fist and quickly turns her face forward.
“Hurt your finger there, Sheppard?”
“No, actually.” She clasps her fist with her other hand. “I was afraid I was gonna lose it amongst all the fatty fluff in there”—she sends a dodgy glance at my abs again—“so I’m just holding it close.”
“Must’ve been terrifying to come up against something so completely and utterly solid. You poor thing.” I rub her arm consolingly, and she smacks my hand.
13
SIENA
Jack wasn’t kiddingwhen he said he had a soft spot for entrepreneurs. Within half an hour, he’s carrying two more bags, one with cheese, one with walnuts.
We considered pursuing the walnut option for favors, but I wasn’t feeling it. They had less of a chic wedding feel and more of a threatening vibe once I learned that the word for walnut also happens to mean “to drown” in French. Seems like bad mojo for a wedding.
“I’m getting hungry,” Jack says. “Should we stop and eat some of these things?” He holds up the bags in his hands.
“I’m hungry, too, but some of the vendors are cleaning up, and we haven’t found the favors yet.”
“Truffles!” Jack points to the booth up ahead. It’s got the word in French and English on a large sign, along with the phraseaward-winning.“Didn’t you say that’s one of the local specialties?”
“Yeah, let’s go check it out.” Truffles are classy, and most people like chocolate, so this could be the thing.
The booth itself is definitely promising. Small wicker baskets full of dark brown chocolates are set up along the natural wood table, with bottles of oil staggered around.
I look at the price tag on the baskets—most of them say about twenty-five euros for one hundred grams. Wow. That’s crazy expensive, but if they’re really good, I guess it could be worth it?
The man behind the table greets us in French, and both Jack and I say a littlebonjourback.
“Americans?” he asks.
“That obvious?” Jack says.
The man only smiles. “Have you tried truffles before?”
“Yes. We love them, so your job here is pretty easy. Can I get… a pound?” He pauses and looks at me.
“They do kilos here.”
“Right. Can I get a kilo of”—he looks around at the different baskets and points to one full of deep brown truffles—“these?”
The man’s eyebrows shoot up, and he blinks a few times. “Of course. Do you wish to try them first?”
“That’s okay,” Jack says at the same time I say, “Yes.”
