Prologue
Hours ticking, the hand on the clock moved slowly. François would sigh to himself as his back was pressed against his wall. It wasn't easy opening various stores. It wasn't easy easy running a company and business that sold all over. He had wanted to do this ever since he was little. Very little. He went to school, got good grades, take culinary, food preparations, food science, as well as cosmetology classes all throughout his high school years. After graduating with a diploma, he went to culinary schools and baking schools, got several degrees for cooking, became a Chef de Cuisine, as well as a professional Baker and Pastry maker. He then went to cosmetology and got his degree as a hairdresser, skin care specialist, and nail technician. He worked day and night, cooking and schooling for cosmetology. But was worth it. Now François was a multimillionaire, opening up businesses of his own. He owned his own restaurant, candy industry, baking and pastry industry, cafe, and was now opening up beauty parlours and salons.
François sighed. This week had been rough. He got his permit this week, almost lost his construction crew, as well as being extremely busy with opening up his promising parlour as soon as possible. He almost lost his construction crew, though he got his weekly paycheck and his permit, as well as a breathtaking collision. This week had been rough in La Rochelle.
He was rushing, pacing, almost running. Breathless, papers and blueprints in hand, folders, his satchel hanging from his shoulder. He was tired. Too tired but he had to keep going. Permit in hand, money in his 'man purse', and his hair was tied back once again. Long, cream coloured hair, silky, François's glasses were falling off, he wasn't paying attention. His mind was racing, he wasn't stopping, he was almost there. He walked faster and faster until he felt something hit his chest. The blow knocked the wind from his chest, took him back and forced him to the ground. He looked up, and eyes of ocean, cerulean blue met eyes of a beautiful emerald and buff yellow hair. François gasped a little as he felt his heart jump, eyes wide, a blush spreading itself across his cheeks as his sugar pink lips parted slightly at the sigt of him. He seemed to have a small, yet thick frame. "I'm sorry, but I have to go!" A lovely, thick British accent to compliment his complexion. He nearly melted at the sound. He looked to be in more of a rush than he was. He watched him hurry off. He too got up quickly, gathered his scattered papers and mind and hurried back to his restaurant where he met his impatient construction crew. He laid out the plan and they got started, but all on his mind was that handsome Brit with that charming face, voice, everything about him.
François sighed to himself as he looked out the window of the dusty, quite empty, cold room. He ran his fingers through his cream hair as he leaned his head back. He let his eyes flutter shut as they dark sky was turning various shades of pastel pink, he let his lips part as the smell of rose infused tea filled the dark, empty room.
"Here we go again..."