DEMETRIA

If happiness had a sound, mine was the soft click of my heels on the marble floors of Hôtel de Paris as Marion guided me through the courtyard. My pulse raced, every step toward Cédric Grolet’s pastry boutique making me feel like I was walking toward destiny.

And then, there he was. Cédric Grolet in the flesh, dressed in pristine whites, warm smile framed by the kind of calm confidence only a master carried.

My jaw went slack. I almost forgot to breathe.

“Bonjour, ...