The Paris food festival buzzed with life, a whirl of sounds and bright colors filling the air. Stalls stretched along the wide street near the Champs-Élysées, offering warm bread, creamy cheese, and sugary sweets.
People chattered happily, munching on treats and snapping photos with their phones. The smell of butter and sugar floated everywhere, and Gaesha Pitt soaked it all in, her heart racing with excitement.
She stood behind her small wooden table, her apron dusted with white flour, her dark hair pulled into a loose, messy bun. At 28, she was short but full of energy, her loud voice and big smile drawing people in like a magnet.
Today was her moment—her chance to share her pastries with the world, especially her famous chocolate éclairs.
"Fresh éclairs! The best you'll find in all of Paris!" Gaesha called out, her voice booming as she waved at the crowd passing by. She was tiny, but her words carried far, cutting through the hum of voices around her. "Come on over, give one a try! I promise you won't be sorry!"
A little girl with bouncy pigtails wandered up, pulling her mom's hand with a tug. "Mommy, can I please have one?" she asked, her big eyes locked on the tray of glossy éclairs shining in the sunlight.
"Of course you can, sweetie!" Gaesha said, leaning down with a grin. She picked up an éclair and handed it to the girl, adding a playful wink. "You enjoy that, okay? And don't forget to tell all your friends it's from Gaesha. I made it just for folks like you!"
The mom smiled warmly, digging into her purse for some coins. "You're so full of cheer," she said, handing over the money. "It's really nice to see."
"I can't help it!" Gaesha replied with a loud laugh. "Life's too short to walk around frowning, don't you think? Gotta spread a little happiness wherever I go!"
She turned back to her table, humming a catchy tune she'd heard on the radio that morning while she got ready. Her bakery wasn't a big name—not yet, anyway.
It was just a cozy little spot tucked away in Montmartre, but days like this made her feel like she was on top of the world.
Gaesha grabbed her tray of éclairs, ready to weave through the crowd and tempt more people with her treats. That's when everything changed.
Kent Sivan wasn't at the festival to have a good time. He was 32, tall, and always serious, with sharp blue eyes that seemed to see right through things.
His dark hair was combed back neatly, and his gray suit fit him perfectly, the kind of outfit that screamed he had better places to be.
Kent was an architect, in Paris to work on fixing up an old chateau, and he'd only come to the festival because his coworker wouldn't let him say no.
"Come on, Kent, lighten up a little," his coworker Mark had said earlier that day, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're in Paris, the city of love and food! Grab something sweet and enjoy yourself for once."
"I don't even like sweets," Kent had answered, his voice deep and flat, like he was stating a fact. "And I'm not a fan of crowds either. Too many people, too much noise."
But despite all that, here he was, strolling through the sea of festival-goers, hands stuffed in his pockets, dodging elbows and shoulders as best he could.
He wasn't watching where Gaesha was headed. And she sure wasn't watching him.
"Hey, excuse me! Coming through!" Gaesha shouted, zigzagging between people with her tray held high.
Her eyes were on a man a few steps away, flipping crepes at his stall, not on the path ahead. Then her foot snagged on a bumpy cobblestone, and she stumbled—right into Kent.
The tray shot up into the air. Éclairs flew in every direction like little chocolate missiles. Creamy filling and dark chocolate splattered across Kent's pristine suit, streaking his white shirt and even dotting his face.
One lonely éclair plopped onto his polished shoe with a soft thud. Gaesha let out a loud gasp, her hands clapping over her mouth in shock.
"Oh no!" she cried, her voice rising. "Oh no, oh no, oh no! I'm so, so sorry about that!"
Kent stood perfectly still, like a statue. He glanced down at his ruined suit, then lifted his eyes to meet hers.
His jaw tightened, and his lips pressed into a thin, hard line. "What," he said, his words slow and deliberate, "did you just do to me?"
Gaesha's eyes grew wide, and then—out of nowhere—she burst into laughter. It was a big, bright sound that bubbled up from her chest, loud enough to make heads turn.
"I—I didn't mean to, I swear!" she said between giggles. "It's just—oh my gosh, you look like a walking dessert now! It's kind of hilarious!"
Kent reached up and wiped a smear of chocolate off his cheek with one finger, his movements slow and precise.
"This isn't funny at all," he said, his tone icy. But Gaesha couldn't stop laughing.
"Okay, maybe it's just a little funny," she said, taking a step closer to him. "I mean, look at you! That suit's all fancy and proper, and now it's got my éclairs all over it. That's got to be some kind of art, don't you think?"
"Art?" Kent echoed, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "No, this is a disaster. A complete mess."
"Don't worry, don't worry, I'll fix it!" Gaesha said quickly, her smile still wide. She darted back to her table, grabbed a napkin, and started dabbing at the chocolate on his chest. "See? Look, it's already getting better! Good as new, right?"
"You're just making it worse," Kent said, stepping back from her busy hands. The chocolate smeared even more across his jacket, and he let out a long, tired sigh. "Please, just stop. I can handle this myself."
Gaesha paused, the napkin still in her hand, but her grin didn't fade. "Okay, fine, I'll stop," she said. "But I really am sorry. Oh, I'm Gaesha, by the way—Gaesha Pitt. I make pastries for a living. Guess you figured that out already, huh?"
Kent stared at her, his blue eyes unblinking. "I'm Kent Sivan," he said, his voice flat, like saying it was a chore. "And I don't care who you are, Gaesha. You've ruined my suit, and that's all that matters right now."
"It's not ruined!" Gaesha shot back, her hands on her hips. "It's just… decorated now. One of a kind! No one else in Paris has a suit like that, I bet."
Kent didn't even smile. "I liked it better before you turned it into a canvas," he said dryly.
Just then, Mark, Kent's coworker, strolled over, a waffle dripping with syrup in his hand. He took one look at Kent and burst out laughing, nearly dropping his food.
"Oh man, what happened to you?" he said, grinning ear to ear. "You look like a walking bakery display!"
"Her," Kent said, jabbing a finger in Gaesha's direction. "She's what happened. This is all her fault."
"Hi there!" Gaesha said cheerfully, waving at Mark. "I'm Gaesha. Nice to meet you! Want an éclair? They're free now, since most of them ended up on him anyway."
Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, I'll take one. You're a riot, Gaesha. I like your style. I'm Mark, by the way."
"Don't encourage her, Mark," Kent muttered under his breath. He brushed at his sleeve again, but the mess wasn't going anywhere. "I need to get out of here and clean this up before it sets."
"Wait, hold on a second!" Gaesha said, jumping forward. She grabbed another napkin from her table and held it out to him. "Here, take this. And hey, you should stop by my bakery sometime. It's in Montmartre—a little place called 'Gaesha's Sweets.' I'll whip up something special to say sorry. Promise!"
"I don't eat sweets," Kent said, his tone clipped. Still, he reached out and took the napkin, his fingers brushing hers for a quick moment.
"Oh, come on, everyone eats sweets now and then," Gaesha said, tilting her head with a teasing smile. "Even serious, grumpy guys like you, Kent."
"I'm not grumpy," he replied, frowning slightly. "I'm just practical. There's a difference."
"Sure, sure," Gaesha said, giving him another wink. "See you around, Practical Kent. Don't be a stranger!"
Kent turned on his heel and walked off, Mark trailing behind him, still chuckling to himself. Gaesha watched them go, her heart doing a little skip in her chest.
Kent was stiff and fussy, no doubt about it, but there was something about him—maybe those piercing blue eyes or the way he'd said her name so carefully. She shook her head, brushing off the thought, and headed back to her table.
"Gaesha, you're a total mess," she mumbled to herself, picking up an éclair that had fallen onto the ground. "But wow, that was kind of fun."
Back at her stall, a woman with a curious look stopped by. "Hey, what was all that about over there?" she asked, nodding toward where Kent had disappeared into the crowd.
"Oh, that?" Gaesha said with a grin. "I accidentally turned a guy into a chocolate painting. He wasn't too happy about it, but I think he's kind of cute anyway."
The woman laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're trouble, aren't you?"
"Only the good kind of trouble," Gaesha replied, handing her an éclair. "Here, try this. It tastes way better when it's not smeared on someone's shirt, I promise."
The festival rolled on, full of noise and cheer. Gaesha kept selling her pastries, shouting out to the crowd, and laughing with anyone who stopped by.
But every few minutes, her eyes drifted down the street, wondering if Kent might change his mind and come back. He didn't—not yet, anyway.
Still, she couldn't wipe the smile off her face. It was a messy, sticky start to something, and deep down, Gaesha had a feeling it wasn't the end of their story.