He didn’t bitch when I took up all his closet space. He didn’t complain about the way I squeezed the toothpaste tube. We spent Saturday mornings eating breakfast in bed and creating new pastry combinations to try in his secret kitchen. That is until last Saturday.Last Saturday, Max hung the sign in front of our brand-new little pastry shop on the corner of Dallas and Stone. The name, La Tarte Savoureux means “the savory tart.” The bakery was his brainchild and a complete surprise to me. He sprang it on me one night at Mom’s.“It’s so sweet of you to come and cook at our house,” Mom said, batting her eyelashes at Max.I reflexively tightened the arm I’d slipped around his waist as he worked over the stove.He glanced over his shoulder at me and smiled. “Hand me the butter, would you?”I leaned my face closer, and he punctuated his request with a kiss. Kissing in front of Mom! Who’d have thought it? Of course, she caught that move. Eagle Eye was one of her nicknames.“So, how did you two meet again?”
