“A little,” he answers at last and in French. Holy smokes. I understood him! He arches a brow. “Raspberries?”
I know that word, too, courtesy of all the raspberry tarts I’ve snapped up at the upscale patisseries I’ve been frequenting. Good thing I’ve been walking all over this city. I need the footwork to burn off my tart work.
“I think this one is blackberries, but you’re close,” I say excitedly, switching back to English now.
He doesn’t correct me as I continue, “And then when you bite into it, try to smell the zippy notes of the lime juice in it.”
Even with his eyes closed, his expression is quizzical. His eyes scrunch more. “Smell it when I taste it?”
I squeeze his shoulder. “Smell and taste are connected. Things taste even better when they smell amazing. Scent enhances taste. It’s the whole kit and caboodle.”
His lips quirk. “If you say so.”
He parts his lips the slightest bit. I linger briefly on the alluring vision in front of me, and the way a hot spark spreads down my chest as I stare at his mouth. Like a voyeur. But a voyeur he’s invited in.
I put the chocolate square on his tongue. He chews and murmurs. His eyes open, and the blue in them is brighter than before. “It’s good.”
“See what I mean?”
“Now I’m supposed to see a smell? You nose people are so very complicated.”
I laugh. “Did you smell the lime and the berry?”
He shrugs. “Maybe?”
My shoulders sag. “And that would be a no.”
“Sorry,” he whispers. “But it was tasty.”
I screw up the corner of my lips, considering. “Okay, I have an idea.”
“Say that in French, Joy. I’ve been slacking off with you.”
I groan, but then, this is a sentence I can manage. I do as I’m told, then I return to the counter and ask for several more squares. I order two hot chocolates as well, and soon we head to a small table in the back corner of the shop, with a tray of chocolates and two cups of frothy chocolat chaud.
Yes, this is heaven.
I give him the Earl Grey ganache, telling him to search for the smoky flavor of the infused tea. “Surely, being English you know what Earl Grey tastes like,” I say.
“Clearly. Since there’s nothing better than a cuppa.”
“Oh, I bet this hot chocolate will be better than tea. But go on.” I wave at the treat.
He takes a bite, and with intense focus, he seems to hunt for the smoky scent. “I can sort of taste it. Sort of smell it.” He hands me the rest of the square, and I pop it into my mouth. “How do you have such a good nose?”
I shrug happily. “Anyone can learn to distinguish smells with precision. But for me, it’s my job. You just train your nose. The more you use it, the better your olfactory sense becomes.” Since we’re talking about talents, my curiosity turns to his impressive skills. “By the same token, how are you so good with languages? You know Spanish, too, right?”
He grins. “And Italian. And I’m learning Portuguese.”
“You’re learning a fifth language?”
He nods. “I take classes.”
“Is that on your bucket list?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I mean, it’s not on Ethan’s list. But yeah, I suppose it’s on mine, in a way, even though I don’t have a bucket list. It’s just something I’ve wanted to do, so I’m doing it. I love languages. Always have.”
“Why?”
“I love the way you can play with words, and how different combinations of words mean entirely different things. It’s like a crazy puzzle. If you put the pieces together correctly, you can do the most incredible thing.” He spreads his arms out wide. “Communicate.”
I flash him a smile. “Communication is incredible. I realize that more every day when I fail at the most basic forms of it.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t think of it as failing. Think of it as relearning. Reworking the basics.”
“I like that attitude.” My mind catches on something he said in the elevator my first day of work. “You said something about a hospital. That your nose had been terrible since then, and that’s why you couldn’t make out the lilacs very well my first day of work.”
“Yes.” He stares up at the ceiling. “I suppose it’s right around then, if I were to try to pinpoint.”
“That’s probably because the smells in it were so antiseptic.”
He nods. “Yes, cold. All the smells were so cold.”
I nod, puzzling together why he says he can’t pick up the scents well. “I think you shut it down. Your sense of smell. There were so many unpleasant ones, and they brought painful memories along with them. Our sense of smell is closely tied to the portion of our brain that controls memories. Yours was linked with something that hurt you. So you kind of subconsciously turned off your nose.”
He tilts his head. “You think so?”
“I do. It’s not unusual. We sometimes shut down things that bring us pain.” I raise my hand, miming turning off a knob. “But I can turn it back on for you.”
He inches closer. “I’ve no doubt you can turn it on.”
I roll my eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an irrepressible flirt?”
“Did you mean an irresistible flirt?”
“Yes. That, too.”
“As a matter of fact, yes. A gorgeous redhead did about ten seconds ago.”
Those sparks? They flare harder, brighter, faster. Tingles spread over my shoulders, and a charge rushes down my body.
But we don’t linger too long on dangerous ground, because he flips the switch once more, repeating himself in French.
I return to my mission of the moment, too—retraining his nose. Helping him relearn, so to speak. I reach for another chocolate, then another, guiding him through the scents and tastes. This one has a hint of pepper, this tastes cool because there’s the faintest bit of mint, this one
