Coffee with Remy

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“You’re lying.”

Remy and Annie met each other with equal glares. Since the first day Annie had set up her bakery across the street from his, the two were constantly at each other’s throats. The whole town acknowledged it, but Mayor Selene chose not to.

“If either of you attended the weekly meetings…” Selene trailed off, tapping the bulletin board. “But this is final. The people of Starsville are already looking forward to the change of pace! Toodles!”

“But—”

“Wait—”

“Duty calls!”

“You’re not even a real mayor!” Annie called as the two watched Selene wave a hand and continue onward.

They were alone. She had spent each morning carefully avoiding a run-in with the insufferable owner of Crust. He hadn’t approved of her and even more so when she set up Cookie Machine. Two years and Annie was positive Remy was a block of ice carved into a human—the pole up his rear animating him.

He stood, unmoving, with narrowed eyes toward the now empty street. The only resemblance of his realness was the puffs of breath in the cold air of December. Without so much as a glance, Remy turned right and walked away.

“Wait! Remy!” Annie said with a huff.

“It’s Dax.”

There was that familiar look, thrown over his shoulder. Full of pouting lips and eyes that looked down at her. She gritted her teeth and jogged at his pace. Everyone in Starsville had called him Dax since he was a child—all but the old lady living upstairs in the shop next to him. Annie had heard the woman one day. Dax was his middle name.

And anything to get under his skin.

“Impossible de croire,” he muttered. “Mieux vaut être seul que mal accompagné.”

“I can just taste the judgement, Remy.”

Silence.

It was early, no one around, as they sped-walked down the strip. Remy muttered under his breath in French, long legs creating a distance as Annie struggled to keep up. Albeit an unfortunate turn of events, the fact that the two had been paired up for the Christmas festival didn’t faze her unlike him. Someone would have believed the man had been given the date of his own demise.

Apparently, it was today.

Annie opened her mouth but Remy had already crossed the street, shaking his head before disappearing into Crust. Huffing, she retreated to her own shop and began baking with vigor.

The first week was spent aggravating each other. Remy refused to step foot into her shop, so Annie retaliated and spent all of her free time in his. He had threatened to call the cops but it only served as a joke to the crowd. Starsville was familiar with their banter, even relished it as a free show.

Remy’s snobbish behavior only reminded her of her mother but Annie's efforts to crack the ice encasing him did nothing. Like her bakery, Remy responded badly toward excessive sweetness. Pressuring him would get her nowhere. It was that thinking come the morning that had her shivering in the front of Crust.

Snow was forecasted, and Remy could feel it in his bones as he made his way down the street. His morning had started late, a defiance against leaving the warm covers of his bed. It was just his luck that he ran out without a scarf or gloves. Numbness gnawed at bare fingers, bite at the tips of his ears, but the walk was short and gave him a moment to appreciate the silence.

He could see Crust now and a bundled person bouncing in place, shielded away from his gaze. There was only one person awake at this hour and with tightly wound curls that demanded their own attention. Shoulders tightening, Remy walked up to the door and began to unlock it.

Coffee before madness.

“Look,” Annie said, the lone keys dangling from the door as she pushed in front of him, “I know we don’t get along…but I want to do right by Starsville.”

“Then do right by me, a member of Starsville, and do your own baking. At the end, we can just put our food together on the table.”

Annie shook her head and then watched him in silence. He felt an argument coming, his arms stiffening.

“Juste un café.” She held up a finger and then placed it on her cheek with furrowed brows. “Did I say that right?”

Remy sighed, rubbed his face and then peered down at Annie. Perhaps he had been rude to her this past week. His reasons of stubbornness would have had his mother pulling at his ear. And Annie shelled out money to spend her time in Crust in her efforts. The hopeful look that began to falter as time stretched made it apparent this was the last time she was going to try.

It was an olive branch.

“Juste un café.”

Cookie Machine was already lit up inside. Scents of sugar burned his nose, and a rush of warm air met them as Annie pointed to the seats at the window bar. Would she poison his coffee? With a morning like this, he chose to take the risk. By the time his fingers thawed, the jangle of mugs on saucers and loose spoons met his ears.

“Thank you,” Remy muttered. A snowflake had been drawn with the foam.

“Noisette,” she said.

A chuckle fell from him, surprising them both. Remy watched the snowflake with a smile, body loosening.

“My parents love these.” The mug was warm in his hands, the coffee full of flavor in his mouth. “When we moved here, she bought an espresso machine and let me have them time to time as I got older.”

Annie sipped her own. “If you ever came in here to see that my bakery isn’t all sugar, then you would have known about the coffee…Why is it called that—noisette?”

“The espresso and milk create a hazelnut color.”

There was a brief silence as they gathered courage from their coffees. It wouldn’t hurt to try with Annie. He couldn’t let her attempts at peace be in vain, and he recognized his arrogance with the last sip. He swallowed his pride. The festival didn’t force him to give up his family secrets. Two rivals working together, the sharp contrast of French and American pastries, would be one hell of a time.

“I’m sorry,” Remy said.

Pause.

“Me too.”

Every morning started with a noisette at Annie’s. At first, they were quiet. A day later, the two shared pieces of their upbringings. The startled faces Remy would make never ceased to make her eyes roll. During these times, it was apparent their assumptions had been unfounded. To learn of her rich parents and the decision she had made to leave that life was one that had Remy choking on his coffee.

And Annie had gotten a chance to peek into his life too. A young Remy moving from France with his parents to pursue the American dream. Selling their bakery, they made their own roots in Starsville and opened Crust. Ten years later, the place had been gifted to Remy and his parents spent half the year back in France.

She wanted to learn more. It was in that quiet hour did they find an ease with each other.

That hour was over.

“Remy, you—”

“Dax.”

Annie gnashed her teeth. The two had been arguing for the past half hour about the festival. Which foods to prepare down to the color of packaging. Whose kitchen to use. Where to buy their ingredients. Remy disagreed with all her ideas minus the decision to make extra for the homeless shelter in town. Everything else was met with a firm shake of the head.

When she thought of him, the word haughty came to mind.

“No cupcakes,” he said.

“No baguettes.”

Remy pursed his lips and watched her before turning back to his work.

“Cookies and toffee pudding.”

“Pies and lemon tart.”

It was well into the day before they came to the conclusion that all could be made with twice the hands. Maybe Remy just enjoyed arguing. Annie found herself learning more about his personality through his work. Each request to learn from him was denied, but she wouldn’t give up. Crust displayed decadent pies with artistic crusts and fruit tarts that somehow tasted even better than they looked, but the freshly baked bread was what made her mouth water.

She wanted to learn from him.

On her day off, a knock sounded at her door. Remy stood at her doorstep as she jerked away from the peephole and opened up. Pale, blonde hair was untamed at his shoulders, round glasses sliding down his nose as he looked at her. What happened to the neatly kept owner of Crust?

Remy handed over a warm loaf of bread and cheese.

“Where is he?” Annie demanded, still looking him up and down. “Are those glasses?”

He watched her with a bland look. “Are you going to invite me in?”

She grunted and ushered him in, straight toward the kitchen. Footsteps padded behind her and he took a seat at the island. Two plates with his offerings along with fruit and juice; a delicious breakfast had been served.

“You’ve got some flour on you,” Remy said with a finger to his cheek.

“I was baking.”

“What?”

“Your…blueberry pie.” Annie busied herself from his stare. “But I’m missing something.”

“Why?”

She decided to open up a little. “My grandmother…”

Remy stole the space and air as he moved about. Ingredients, bowls, equipment. All of the island was covered, the oven preheating. She gave him a tie for his hair begrudgingly. Goosebumps erupted as their hands brushed, hearts raced. He showed her his technique after she promised secrecy. Bodies bumped against each other as they reached for ingredients and joked around. The secret—a red, fruity wine—was added to the glaze.

It was during clean-up that a glob of blueberry mixture hit Annie’s cheek.

Remy reached for her, horrified. He hadn’t meant—

“Remy,” she warned.

He shrank back from that look. “It’s…Dax?”

Flour soared. Lone blueberries smashed on bare skin and dyed their hair. Annie was ruthless and uncaring of her kitchen as she shrieked war cries, and Remy continued to laugh even as the two slipped onto the slick floor. He caught her and took the brunt of the fall. Strawberry blonde curls splayed across the floor, sticking to the glaze on her flushed cheeks. And then those blue eyes, much like the fruit around them, were pinning him to the spot.  

“Now I know your secret,” she murmured with a smile.

But Annie didn’t. How could he have fallen for a fiery woman who threatened his shop and potentially his heart? He had kept his distance for so long. Remy’s eyes followed the darting of a pink tongue between blueberry coated lips. It didn’t matter if he would regret this or if Annie knew this secret.

Remy leaned over her slowly and brushed his lips against hers. A sweet breath fanned his face, and she reached for him. Softness met every inch of his lips. His hands ran through endless curls.

Falling.

And then chime of the timer broke the spell, but the reality between them had set.

Annie found herself touching her lips a lot. The third week was easier when it came to the food. All ingredients had been ordered and packaging arrived. There was no reason for the two to be together but excuses were plenty. Remy craved the noisette. Annie requested his help for various pie making adventures.

Secrets were whispered. Pasts were spilled. And when all her excuses ran dry, her best reason was always the bread. Workdays ended with Annie walking over to Crust and Remy greeting her with warm leftovers and cheese. People whispered as the two crossed town together, bought groceries and joked instead of insulted. Witnesses saw them leaving each other’s houses.

At night, she laid awake to the thought of Remy. It was only then did she find herself alone nowadays. Alone with the whispers of a warm heart. No longer did he appear a frozen slab of ice. They had talked—or rather argued—abundantly before being forced together for the festival, but this was different.

Time flew at Remy’s side.

The night before the festival, and a day before Christmas Eve, Remy and Annie were finishing up the pastries. Speculaas cookies and gingerbread men were neatly wrapped in red. Toffee pudding was doled into Christmas ramekins. Remy’s pies had been cut and tied in green. The tang of lemons filled the air as the tarts cooled and were sectioned.

“You know,” Annie said, “I never understood the whole rivalry between us.”

Remy’s head tilted back in thought. “Money?”

Shaking her head, she kept quiet and smiled, watching him before helping package the rest. It was well into the night until they slid down onto the floor with sore fingers, the wall propping them up. His leg pressed into hers, and Remy offered a slice of lemon tart. They ate in a comforting silence and, while the lemon tart was chilled, a familiar warmth traveled over Annie.

He was murmuring something, Annie’s eyes fluttering closed at the sound of his calm voice, until her head rested against his arm. Just a small break, and then she would return home. Remy was whispering in French, words that coaxed her deeper into dreams of the rolling hills of his hometown and a bright sun against their faces.

Every Starsville resident flocked toward the town center. Main Street was shut down and filled with stands made of lights and paper snowflakes despite the snow blanketing the ground. When the sun had lifted on Christmas Eve, Annie had found herself encased in strong arms. Remy had drifted off, and the two woke flustered on the kitchen floor of Crust.

A quick dart across the street to make some noisette and visiting the homeless shelter did nothing for the tension. Annie and Remy doled out sweets to those wanting and wished them well before setting up for tonight. Jitters ran over their skin. The two darted glances at each other, blushing when they caught gazes.

The sun had set, the sky like a bruised fruit. White lights lit up the town, stands brandishing colored bulbs. Their first set of customers came to greet them. Excited children reached for pastries. Delighted grins exchanged. Laughter filled the frigid night. The Starsville high school band began tunes of Christmas cheer, and a small parade danced down the street.

“We knew it would work!” Mayor Selene said as she visited them, giggling and bounding off with a wink and an arm full of pastries.

“What?”

“She’s crazy. Just leave it, Annie.”

Their nervous laughter joined the air. When a moment of rest came, she finally looked up at an expecting Remy. Pale hair let down again glowed under the lights. The jade of his eyes shined. His rosy nose made her chuckle, but all speech had left her at the sight of him under the radiance of the night. Her heart was ready to burst.

Remy gave Annie a bemused smile, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and tugging her in. He leaned over and felt her tremble as he whispered, “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

They celebrated the town tree lighting up down the street from the stand, seeking each other’s warmth in an embrace. Notions of rivalry now felt ridiculous along with his fear of love. Now, as Annie’s heat bled into his side, Remy couldn’t stop himself. His chest felt tight but his mind free. Fingers gently turned Annie towards him. His eyes watched her gulp and bite her lip.

Their surroundings fell away as the words came rushing out. “Je suis fou amoureux de toi, Anastasia.”

“H-How?” And then, “It’s Annie.”

He laughed and replied, “It’s a secret.” Remy pulled her closer, fell into the lakes of her eyes.

“Damn that old lady…” Anastasia placed her hands on his chest and peered up at him with a shaky breath. “I love you too.”

Remy and Anastasia shared smiles.

“How?” How had she understood French?

Her smile widened. “It’s a secret.”