The flickering gaslights of a quaint Parisian bistro cast a warm glow on Drake and Kurome as they settled into their corner table. Yuki, sporting a jaunty red bandana Amanda had "acquired" from a particularly fashionable poodle, snoozed peacefully at their feet.
"This place has a certain je ne sais quoi, wouldn't you agree, darling?" Drake murmured, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of garlic and herbs wafting from the kitchen.
Kurome, ever the pragmatist, scanned the menu with a critical eye. "Hmm, the prices certainly have a certain je ne sais quoi too. Let's hope the food lives up to it."
Amanda, perched on the back of Kurome's chair, snorted. "Relax, I ensured the chef's inspiration wasn't limited to his wallet this evening."
Drake shot her a wary glance. "Mama, you didn't..."
"Don't worry, Casanova," Amanda winked. "Just a little spectral nudge, a whisper of culinary ambition. Besides, the man deserves a reward for putting up with you two lovebirds."
As they perused the menu, a commotion erupted at the next table. A portly gentleman, his face flushed with indignation, was arguing with the flustered waiter.
"This escargot," the man boomed, brandishing a plate with a single, forlorn snail, "is clearly an imposter! A mere mollusk masquerading as a true Burgundian delicacy!"
Kurome raised an eyebrow. "That does seem a bit...underwhelming."
Drake, ever the opportunist, leaned closer. "Maybe we should offer him our condolences? Share a bite of our meal, show some solidarity?"
Kurome gave him a look that could curdle milk. "Drake, we haven't even ordered yet."
Undeterred, Drake rose from his seat, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Fear not, my love! Allow me to handle this culinary crisis."
He sauntered over to the irate gentleman, Yuki trotting at his heels. With a flourish, he presented his own plate, laden with a generous portion of steak frites.
"Monsieur," he declared in his best attempt at French, "allow me to offer you this humble offering, a testament to true culinary prowess. Consider it a peace treaty between our tables, a gesture of Franco-American camaraderie."
The portly gentleman stared at Drake, then at the plate, his anger momentarily forgotten. He chuckled, a booming sound that shook the wine glasses on the table.
"Well, sir," he boomed, clapping Drake on the back, "you've got the spirit of a true bon vivant! And a delicious-looking steak, I might add."
He accepted the plate with a gracious bow, and soon, the two men were deep in conversation, sharing stories and laughter over their newfound camaraderie.
Kurome watched the scene unfold, amusement softening her initial annoyance. Amanda, perched on the chandelier, shimmered with spectral satisfaction.
"See, Casanova?" she quipped. "A little culinary diplomacy never hurt anyone. Except maybe that snail."
As the evening progressed, the bistro filled with the sounds of lively chatter, clinking glasses, and the occasional outburst of laughter from Drake and his newfound friend. Kurome, sipping her wine and watching the twinkle in her husband's eyes, realised that the magic of Paris wasn't just in the sights and sounds, but in the unexpected connections, the shared moments, and the way her husband, even with his occasional impulsive antics, always knew how to make life an adventure.
And as they strolled back to their hotel hand-in-hand, Yuki trotting contentedly beside them, she knew that this Parisian escapade, with all its quirks and surprises, was a memory they would cherish forever. A memory woven with laughter, love, a mischievous ghost, and a single, very indignant snail.
BẠN ĐANG ĐỌC
The Callaway Household (Season 1)
Truyện NgắnThe Callaway family is anything but ordinary. Drake, an ex-gangster with a heart of gold, has traded his life of crime for the domestic chaos of being a househusband. His wife, Kurome, a skilled samurai with a dry wit, keeps him on his toes. But the...
