Guns and Éclairs l.s. [boyxboy]

Guns and Éclairs

For Cayla

The attached picture of Louis was the picture that inspired this short story because Louis is beautiful.

[I tried to be accurate as I could with the French and French customs, I apologize for any inaccuracies >.<]

I made an 8track playlist called “I Want Every Other Freckle” for this short story under the same user name as my wattpad username. Please check it if you want to listen to some the mentioned songs and some others songs I thought fit the story .

GUNS AND ÉCLAIRS

The intoxicating aroma of fresh bread filled the tiny small town French bakery. Harry, flushed cheeks powdered with flour, kneads bread dough with his large hands. His nearly shoulder length, chocolate brown, curly locks was tied back in a bun. An old small radio softly played a random radio station. Harry listens to all the radio stations because he loves music, it too had some flour on it. His eyebrows were knitted in concentration and his tongue stuck out slightly. He hummed along to the music as he worked, the sound vibrating in the back of his throat.

His grandfather worked at the table beside him filling éclairs with cream. Marius was a tall man, much like his grandson, thin too. His hair was white like flour and his skin the color of fresh baked baguettes. He worked with great craftsmanship and took his time with each éclair, filling it with the perfect amount of succulent cream. He loved the bakery and baking as much as he loved his grandson. The two Styles men, young and old, hummed along as they worked.

The kitchen wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small either. It contained two tables along one wall facing a large window that over looked the sidewalk so the men could look outside as they baked. There was three large ovens and cabinets for ingredients as well a door that opened a fridge room where all the cold ingredients were kept. And there was flour. Flour was everywhere no matter how many times they tried to clean it up it was part of who they were as bakers as there was a large pile of sacks of flour in a corner of the kitchen.

The front counter was manned by Harry’s petite grandmother Adeline. Her outward personality was almost the opposite of that of her husband, she was a loud, affectionate, social butterfly. She was no taller than 5 feet and had hair that was ear length chocolate waves with strands of gray. She knew everyone’s name and story and could hold a conversation for hours. She could talk anyone into buying anything. She belonged in the bakery, it was her home, their apartment was right above it and she couldn’t image being any other place. But her pride and joy was her lovely grandson Harry whom she had taken in once her son and his wife died in an accident when Harry was young.

The store front had the counter with an ancient, but well-functioning, cash register with Adeline’s stool behind it. The wall parallel to the counter had pictures of the town and of the trio and customers. Among the pictures were Harry’s baby pictures which Adeline still refuses to take down no matter how many times Harry would ask her to. Adeline liked to keep plants, especially aloe plants, on the window sill of the bay window of the exterior wall and she currently had two that she named Luka and Antoinette.