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I give him a playful smirk. ‘Don’t push your luck.’ As I turn away with what I hope is a playful hair flick, I run smack bang into a muscular chest. Pascale. The force of the altercation sends the lid of my keep cup flying and coffee ejects itself like a tidal wave over his shirt, which is of course white.

He lets out a blood-curdling scream that has me jumping out of my skin. ‘Ca brule!’

When my soul returns to my body after Pascale’s terrifying screech, I take a breath and say, ‘Of course it burns, it’s hot coffee. Ah, extra hot.’ How can one small café crème do so much damage? ‘Pardon, Pascal. I wasn’t paying attention. I have some tissues inside.’

‘Tissues?’ he spits, his face devoid of all colour.

‘Paper towel then?’

With a grunt he says, ‘I’ll have to change.’ He pulls the sodden shirt from his chest, but not before I note the ripple of his muscles beneath the suddenly translucent linen.

However, muscles don’t maketh the man. ‘Would you like me to find you another shirt? Will that suffice?’ There’s plenty ofclothing stalls in a different section of the market and it would be the least I could do so he doesn’t hold this against me.

He continues grunting and groaning and making his displeasure known without using actual words. Honestly, he’s acting like his first-born child ran away to join the circus.

‘Non.’

And with that, he storms off. My morning is going to start without the requisite caffeine jolt.

‘Did you purposely scald him with hot coffee?’ Geneviève whispers in my ear, making me jump in fright as Pascale does some sort of Hulk stomp out of the market.

I gasp. ‘Geneviève! Of course not.’

‘Oh, shame. I thought it might be a very clever trick to get him half naked, and if so, I’m here for it.’

‘I have no words. None.’ I’d never waste my morning coffee on such an activity. ‘Is that even a thing, scalding a man with a hot beverage to sneak a peek? Surely not!’

She grins. ‘If the end justifies the means, why not?’

Srrieux!‘You don’t think it’ll result in permanent damage, do you?’ He’ll never forgive me if his tight, taut muscles are left scarred. Who would!

‘Don’t fret, Lilou. I’m sure it’s fine.’

I consider my interaction with Pascale. He’s so very different to Felix, who laughs and jokes as if all the world is a stage, whereas Pascale always appears hard done by. Clearly being drenched in scalding café crème isn’t an ideal start to the day, but he could have at least thanked me for offering to help. I shake my head; some men are a puzzle with a few pieces missing. ‘You do have to wonder why he’s downright morose all the time.’

She tuts. ‘Don’t give up yet. The poor man simply has trouble acting on his feelings.’

I manage to contain my exasperation.Thepoor man!Seriously. If therewasa guidebook about bad boys, Geneviève probably penned it.

‘He doesn’thaveany feelings, except one – irritability. Just what has he got to be so moody about all the time? OK, his white tee is now coffee coloured, but it’s not as if I threw it over him on purpose and, after his part in the nose debacle, he can’t really hold it against me.’

‘You’re always going on about meeting a man meet-cute style and I can’t help but think you’ve had two opportunities, the first of which smacked you right in your very face and the second in his very chest, and youstilldon’t see it.’

‘What? That’s not exactly meet-cute style, Geneviève. Meet cutes arecutefor one. My nose almost being sheered clean off my face didn’t exactly feel cutesy. In fact, it felt downright painful, and I gather the extra hot coffee across his chest was up there in terms of discomfort too. A meet-cute is meant to be a charming interaction, not… an altercation with the world’s moodiest man.’

‘Moody men make the best lovers.’ She gives me an exaggerated wink; her hooded eyes and long false lashes give her an aged Marilyn Monroe air.

I supress a sigh. ‘And the worst boyfriends.’

‘He’s probably exhausted fending off women. He’s almosttoogood looking.’

‘Fending off women! Geneviève, you don’t take anything I say seriously.’ If you were into buff, hot, fiery-eyed men then I suppose he’s attractive. In the past I’ve come to know men just like that, men who rely on their looks alone, never developing a personality, empathy, humility. Been there, done that, got the break-up text. His dominant macho-man energy is off the charts and I just wouldn’t risk it with a guy like that. ‘Firstly, we have no intellectual connection. He’s not exactly friendly, and what’she got going for him except sex appeal? It’s not enough, is it?’ I want more than a sizzling sexual relationship. I want deep and meaningful conversations. I want romance to be front and centre. I want a man who is respectful and sensitive, and he is none of those things. Why am I even thinking about all his faults? It doesn’t matter one bit to me!

Geneviève rummages in her iconic Fauré Lepage tote and soon brandishes her keys. ‘Voila!Follow me,’ she orders in her usual haughty way. I can keep an eye on my stall through the window.

‘Let me clean up the few drops of coffee that didn’t land on Pascale and I’ll be right there.’ I dash to my shop and grab some paper towels and mop up the mess on the floor before joining Geneviève in her shop.

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