Page 63 of Only for the Season

“But they didn’t?”

“Nope. And they expect me to foot the bill when they fly off for breakfast in Paris. Or when Mom buys whatever bag is trendy. Or when they ski in Aspen. The list goes on and on.”

Her jaw drops open. “You’re supporting your parents?”

“No, I’m not.”

“But—”

“And when I refused to pay their bills, they sued me.”

“Sued you?”

“Yes, apparently, I owe them because they raised me.”

She groans. “I know how that feels.”

Which is exactly why I’m telling her this story I never tell anyone. Only Eli knows the truth about my parents because he was there. But I’m telling Parker to get her to open up to me.

“What happened with your parents?”

She blows out a breath. “You know the basics. My parents paid for culinary school, thinking I’d end up working in some fancy bakery in New York City or Paris. When I returned home to start this bakery instead, they became furious.”

“Why?”

She scowls. “My parents are all about prestige. Having a child who owns a patisserie in Paris is prestigious. Having a daughter who ownsPirate’s Pastriesis not.”

“Bullshit. You own and manage a bakery, Princess. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Except I’m barely scraping by,” she mutters.

I ignore the comment. I have bigger fish to fry. “Why aren’t you working at a patisserie in Paris?”

She glares at me. “You sound like my parents.”

“Who you are obviously lying to.”

She gasps. “I’m not lying to them.”

Lift a brow. “Really? And you didn’t scratch your palm when you told your parents you don’t know why you didn’t get an apprenticeship after you finished culinary school?”

“I didn’t…”

I point to her hand where she’s scratching her palm.

“Neptune’s beard,” she mutters before stuffing her hands in her pockets.

I palm her neck and squeeze. “What happened, Princess?”

“Why do you think anything happened?”

“Because you’re the best baker I’ve ever met and I’ve been to the best patisseries in Paris.”

Her eyes light up. “You have? Was it heaven? What did you eat? Did it melt in your mouth? Was it orgasmic?”

I open my mouth to tell her I’ll fly her to Paris some day for her to experience a patisserie for herself. I manage to bite my tongue before I say those words. I don’t fly women to Paris. It creates expectations.

But I want to fly Parker to Paris. I want to witness the marvel on her face when she walks into a French patisserie for the first time. When she tries a madeleine for the first time.