Chapitre 51: THE TALK
"You want to go for a ride?"
"On a horse?"
"Sure," Bobby said, looking a little confused. "Or we could take the truck and just ride around town for a while. We could go get a steak or something."
"That's OK," Francisca said, wishing she could be alone for a while longer. Her fiancé wasn't about to give up. Instead he lingered in the kitchen and looked nervous. "I don't need to go anywhere."
"You want to talk about what's going on?"
Francisca shook her head and tossed the new issue of *Bon appetit* into the wastebasket. "I'm fine. Honest."
Bobby walked across the kitchen and, ignoring the tempting platter of cream puffs next to the stove, plucked the magazine out of the garbage. Francisca watched as he found the page in the middle section, the one she'd marked by turning down the corner.
"What's this?"
Francisca didn't answer. She didn't want to hurt the nicest man she'd ever been in love with by telling him that she would rather learn how to make profiteroles or perfect *Crepes souffles au citron* than ride off to the sunset with an adorable cowboy.
"Paris?" He tried to smile, and attempted a joke.
"I guess that doesn't mean Paris, Texas."
"It's not important," Francisca said. "Really."
"You got any of that coffee left?"
Relieved to have the subject changed, Francisca pushed Bobby toward the table. "Sure. sit down. I will bring you a cream puff, too. Do you want one with whipped cream or vanilla pudding?"
"Doesn't matter," he said, setting the open magazine on the table in front of him. "I will bet either one will be real good."
"I hope so," Francisca said, setting coffee and dessert in front of him. She couldn't help feeling proud of herself for succeeding on her first attempt. The cream puffs looked almost exactly like the ones in the *Provincial France* cookbook.
"Andrew took your aunt to an auction on the other side of the town," he said, picking up his fork. "I guess she's helping him get some furniture for his house."
"She's good at stuff like that." Francisca hesitated before joining Bobby at the table. She tried not to look at the magazine, it's page opened article on the famed Parisian baking school. Just the pictures made her uncomfortable.
"Like you are good at baking," he said, pulling the magazine closer and taking a big forkful if cream puff.
"I finished the wedding cake," she announced, deliberately avoiding looking at the magazine. Instead she watched Bobby enjoy the dessert she'd created. "It's in sections, in the freezer. Of course I'll defrost it before frosting it tomorrow night."
"This summer session at the baking school starts in three days," he said.
"I decided on yellow frosting," she continued, fighting back tears. "Did I tell you I bought the dress to match? It's Paloma Blanca design with embroidered gold....."
"Geez, Franci Handel," Bobby sputtered. "Are you gonna start crying again or are you gonna tell me what's going on? You haven't said much to me this week expect to ask me if I wanted seconds on something. And your eyes get all red and you're always in the kitchen, which has its advantages because your muffins are the best in the country, but you are avoiding me and we are supposed to be getting married the day after tomorrow."
Francisca took a deep breath and decided that a little bit of truth was better than all of it. How could she tell him that she dreamed more about a degree in cuisine from a Paris cooking school than producing little Calhoun cowboys and cowgirls? How could she do something horrible like hurt this man she really thought she was in love with? She was determined this time to stick with her plans and not be impulsive. "it's just that..... I've never been good at
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
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