Page 45 of All Mine (The All Mine #1)

Etienne

The smile was still on Etienne’s face a few mornings later as he made his way to Honeybridge Primary School for his promised cookery lesson.

He’d been grinning like a Cheshire cat since that night at Tutto Mio and was already looking forward to his next no-sex session with Isabella.

It was more fun than he’d ever imagined.

Not exactly a one-night stand, but definitely not a relationship.

Maybe friends with benefits? Whatever it was, he was enjoying it.

Not even a wet and windy morning could take the edge off.

He threw a scarf around his neck, picked up his bags of ingredients and set off.

However, his good mood was ruined when his phone rang en route to the school and his bank manager told him politely that his application for a loan had been declined.

His shoulders slumped with the weight of it.

So, he still had to find almost ten thousand pounds.

And quickly. He sighed and then checked himself.

Time to put on a happy face again for Reggie’s class.

The receptionist tucked an imaginary hair behind her ear and wet her lips before speaking.

‘How can I help?’ she said, hopefully.

‘I’m Etienne Martin,’ he said to the woman, who obviously knew who he was already. ‘I’m here to teach Year Two some cooking.’ He lifted the two carrier bags he was carrying to show her his ingredients. He was excited to see Reggie’s face in class.

‘Oh,’ the woman said, looking flustered, and checking the registration book in front of her.

‘That’s strange. . .’ She ran her finger down the sheet and stopped on an entry.

‘It seems someone else is also here to do the same thing.’ She nodded her head to the waiting area where Etienne turned to see Isabella, surrounded also by shopping bags and scrolling on her phone, her cheeks blown pink from the wind.

She sensed the attention and lifted her head, raising a hand to her lips when she spotted him.

He remembered the feel of them wrapped around his dick.

He smiled. She blushed. The receptionist buzzed up to the classroom and a moment later the Year Two teacher, Mr Brady, appeared, apologising for his mistake.

‘Seems I’ve invited you both in for the same date,’ he flapped. ‘You were meant to be a week apart.’

He twiddled his tie, thinking.

‘We could reschedule one of you if you like? I’m so sorry for the confusion.’

Etienne looked at Isabella questioningly. She looked torn.

‘I won’t be able to come back next week– we’re so close to opening and there is so much to do.’

The teacher turned hopefully to Etienne.

‘I could come back, but I’ve done all the prep. . .’ He opened one of the large Tupperware boxes he was carrying and showed them a fresh batch of bread dough. ‘You wanted me to cook something from France and so I thought French bread would be perfect.’

‘And I’ve got a lot of fresh ingredients too,’ said Isabella, indicating her bags, ‘for pizza toppings. You wanted something from Italy.’ The three of them looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed.

Etienne looked from the teacher to Isabella, who was the sexiest school cooking teacher he’d ever seen.

She had her hair in one of those messy buns that made it look like she’d just got out of bed.

That’s how she’d look when they could finally get into bed together.

It was that image that put the next thought in his mind.

‘How about we do it together?’ Etienne asked Isabella. ‘We make French stick pizzas.’

‘Your bread, my toppings?’ she asked with the beginning of a smile. He could tell she wanted to laugh. He was fascinated by her mouth. The last time he’d seen her. . . He shook himself. Get it together, man.

‘It’s a cultural mash-up,’ he said.

‘It’s a food fiasco,’ she countered.

‘It’s a testament to French–Italian relations,’ the teacher said, leading the way down the corridor. ‘Brace yourselves,’ he warned as he threw open the door to thirty excited children.

Mr Brady led them to the front of the class and for the first time Etienne felt a slight hint of nerves as thirty curious children stared back at him.

‘So, children, let’s give a Honeybridge Primary welcome to Mr Martin and Ms Tucci, who are going to teach you something about France and Italy.’

The children all clapped politely, and Etienne relaxed a bit.

How hard could this be? He scanned the crowd for Reggie and saw him moving his chair to be in front of Isabella.

Obviously, her nursing skills the week before had formed a bond for them.

He caught himself momentarily imagining Isabella in a nurse’s outfit.

‘Before we start, and while Chef Etienne gets himself organised,’ Isabella said, pulling a stack of white paper out of her bags, ‘I need all my chefs to wash their hands and put on their hats.’ She demonstrated how to make a hat, literally taping the white paper into a tube wide enough to put on her head.

He liked the way her tongue poked from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated.

‘And put your names on the front, so that we know who you are.’ Thirty kids got busy, and five minutes later everyone was in place at their table.

Etienne gave each pair of children a lump of dough and explained that he’d made it in advance so that it could prove.

‘Prove what?’ someone shouted.

‘That it’s bread?’ someone else asked.

‘Now you need to shape it into a French bread stick.’

Sticky fingers got to work forming baguettes. Etienne worked his way around the tables, and smiled to see Isabella kneel to assist the only girl who didn’t have a partner.

‘Now, while they cook we’re going to learn some French,’ Etienne said, closing the oven door. He saw Isabella look up. He hadn’t imagined doing this in front of her when he’d had this bright idea. He took a deep breath, then began.

‘ Bonjour! ’ he cried in a sing-song voice, as he marched towards the class, and they all sang it back to him. Then he turned his back and pretended to walk away. ‘ Au revoir! ’ he sang, waving over his shoulder. ‘ Au revoir! ’ they chorused back.

He did it again, and one by one, the children jumped to their feet to join in.

Isabella stood too, holding hands with the girl, and Etienne saw Reggie claim her other hand.

Poor kid, he obviously had it bad. By the time the bread had risen and Etienne cut the French sticks in half lengthways so that each child had a pizza base, the whole room was marching up and down, including Mr Brady.

‘Now, for the main event– Italian pizza!’ Isabella took her turn at the front of the class. ‘You can all choose your toppings.’ She showed the children the range she had available: tomato, cheese, ham, olives, pepperoni. ‘Think about making it tasty and good-looking at the same time.’

Etienne did a double take. Had she winked at him? In a classroom? Reminding him that she had in fact tasted him? He shook himself. Surely not?

Ten minutes later, the pizzas were put back in the oven.

Isabella shushed the class and they all sprang to attention. How come they all sat up like that for her?

‘Now, what do you know about Italy?’ she asked and a dozen hands shot up. She pointed to a girl on a nearby table.

‘You like ice cream!’ she said. Isabella nodded.

‘We do,’ she said. ‘We call it gelato .’

‘You have a tower that fell over,’ said a boy with his finger up his nose.

‘The Leaning Tower of Pisa,’ she said with a laugh. ‘It’s not fallen over yet!’ Half the class stood up to lean over, balancing on one leg.

‘You like pizza.’

‘We invented pizza,’ she corrected.

The timer went off and the pizzas came out and Etienne pitied the parents that would be eating those germ-covered creations that night.

But the children were hyped, proud of their creations, pointing out their toppings to each other.

As Mr Brady stood up to thank them for coming, Etienne exhaled slowly, feeling like he’d just finished a ten-mile run.

Isabella on the other hand looked like she’d just opened a present at Christmas.

By the time they’d packed up their bags, the class was putting on coats to go out to break. Etienne spotted Reggie as he ran out the door.

‘ Au revoir , Reggie,’ he called.

‘ Ciao , Uncle Et,’ Reggie replied with a backward wave.

Isabella snorted.

‘Traitor,’ Etienne growled.