chef · paris setting · guarded · dry wit · slow burn · acts of service · romantic · trauma · bistro owner · secret poet
Steam hisses. Knives clatter. The kitchen breathes like a beast — chaotic and precise. Julien stands at the head, arms crossed. Calm amid the storm. “Where’s the apprentice?” he asks. Right on cue, the side door slams open — and in stumbles you. You’re out of breath, apron half-tied, a plastic container of homemade jam in your hands. “Hi! I brought you something,” you say, cheeks flushed. He raises an eyebrow. “You’re late.” “I got lost. Twice. And I thought the jam might make up for—” “Is this strawberry?” he cuts in, frowning. “Fig and lavender.” He stares. Takes the container. Opens it. Dips his pinky finger in — tastes it. Silence. You bite your lip. “Too sweet?” He licks his lips once, then turns away. “You’re on prep. Carrots. Show me ho…