Disclaimer: I don't own YGO, nor am I a pastry chef, perfumer, or connoisseur of either.
I love desserts, romance, and writing fanfiction about YGO characters. This is the AU epic love story I promised after Homecoming, with light swearing and possibly heavy petting down the road. We'll see...
Yugi Motou groaned in frustration.
Streaks of flour decorated his face. He scurried around the kitchen. A lone strawberry hung from the edge of one side-swept blonde bang while he dropped its friends into the cast iron pan. Rhubarb stalks flew when he sliced, diced, and minced with growing impatience. Chop. Chop. Chopchopchop. Sugar, molasses, and butter bubbled on one stovetop while flour, eggs, and oatmeal simmered on another. The range above hummed with glee when Yugi added cinnamon and cloves to the stock pot, causing steam to dance above the boiling orange peels while the lemon zest floundered hopelessly on the bottom. Bowls of clementines lingered on the counter, silently wilting when he reached over to the tangerines on the other side.
Seventeen frigging times.
He had tried to recreate Grandma's strawberry rhubarb recipe seventeen times already. Each trial more hopeless than the last. Too sweet. Too tart. Too ripe. Too damn something every frigging time. Grandpa Motou tasted each failure with infinite patience. "Very good," he said in a slightly scraggly voice, a bit hoarse from coughing, especially after the trial with the agave syrup instead of sugar. "You did good, Yugi."
But Yugi knew whatever he made wasn't that good.
Not good enough, anyways.
Grandma made the best strawberry rhubarb. It was what she made for Grandpa when he was ill or sad or needed a little something to help him through the long days of cooking for Chez Motou, bent over the stove as he fried and grilled and steamed. She made it for Yugi, too, when he was ill or sad or needed a little something to help him through the long nights at culinary school, hunched over the counter as he studied and drew and researched.
But she was gone and Yugi couldn't- for all of his training and observation- figure out what was he was missing when making her strawberry rhubarb. He followed the instructions down to the very last slanted letter and he still couldn't recreate that melange of sweet and tart for Grandpa. It was always too something each time. Definitely missing the key ingredient, but what the hell was it?
He had already tried seventeen times to recreate the magic. First adding a little dash of spices; that caused Grandpa to raise an eyebrow while sneezing violently. Next subtracting a splash of sugar; that caused Grandpa to raise his other eyebrow while chugging his milk. Then substituting orange juice instead of lemon; that caused Grandpa to raise both eyebrows while swallowing profusely. The elder Motou always praised his grandson's experiments, but the leftovers that lingered in the display case day after day said it all.
Yugi groaned again.
He would get it right, he would. He just needed a little extra time, yet time was the one thing they didn't have. If business doesn't improve soon they would have to close shop for sure, and then what would they do? Chez Motou was their philosophy; food quite literally their life. It was the business Grandma and Grandpa built together brick by brick, dish by dish, spice by spice. Ever since Grandma passed the customers have visited less and less. The new pastry chef was good, they all said, but they missed the old pastry chef. Even loyal costumers who bought croissants and tarts by the dozen slowly vanished, preferring instead to buy their goods at supermarkets, home of the cheaply processed, cheaply made, and cheaply bought pastries.
"No one appreciates quality anymore," Yugi lamented.
"Their wallets sure as hell don't." Grandpa agreed morosely. At that moment he seemed weary. Older than seventy, certainly, and nowhere near as sprightly as he looked in the Chez Motou logo he and Grandma painted on the shop window.
That sad truth of consumer preferences invaded their account ledgers quite clearly. Red, red, and red; month after month. It was a small miracle that the bank even agreed to extend their loan when they were this far behind on their payments. Probably had something to do with the fact that Mai, the owner's daughter, loved canapes and Yugi had been making those since he was seventeen, hovering eagerly by Grandma's side while she sliced, diced, and minced with well-practiced grace. Moments he could still see in his mind, the dance which he tried to recreate with little success, the end result of which he hoped would bring a smile to Grandpa's face.
Yugi sighed. That was the main reason he wanted to recreate Grandma's strawberry rhubarb. Today, he would have to break the news to Grandpa that this was their last thirty days in their shop; perhaps the dessert would help temper some of the heartbreak of having to pack up their life and drift to...wherever the hell it is that people go when they're forced to move away from the only place they've ever called home...
If only he could figure out what was missing. At least Grandpa could eat slices of happiness wherever they end up. It's always comforted them before; why wouldn't it now?
Suddenly, the doorbell tinkled from the front of the shop. Feathery jingles reverberated throughout the empty space, jerking Yugi awoke from reveries of twirling fruit, nearly knocking over the clementines in haste to answer the door. Could it be her? He pushed through the plastic curtains to find a very pretty brunette standing by the cash register. It was! One of their few new customers. Tall, slender, and graceful, she was studying the display case with a half-smile, head tilted to one side, notepad in one hand and a small purse in the other. Small, neat words decorated the page, along with an illustration of a red, seedy pomegranate and some chemical formulas that looked like squiggly egg drops. Something else was on the pages, too, but then she started talking and Yugi abruptly skydived from marshmallow clouds sprinkled with sesame ganache. Right. Reality. Ahem.
"Still working on the strawberry rhubarb?" The girl asked kindly, gesturing towards the half-sold pie on the top shelf marked 75% off. Super Chef's Special, the neighboring sign read in loopy swirls. Hardly anyone bought that or anything else in the shop; small wonder she noticed. The shelves were always in full, if somewhat wilted, bloom.
"Yep." Yugi smiled sheepishly. He felt somewhat foolish answering the question for the sixteenth time. She hadn't asked the first day he put the leftover rhubarb in the case, but she started to the second day and ever since it's been their inside joke. It was nice to have someone to talk to besides Grandpa, Yugi decided, even if it was about his failures as cook.
"What happened this time?" She was smiling, too, somewhat sheepishly and somewhat shyly, but the last note was lost on Yugi because he was too busy turning red. A matching yet faint tinge of pink on her cheeks brought a wide grin to his face. The girl really was breathtaking. Like a breath of spring and summer and autumn and winter sprinkled blossoms and petals and leaves and snowflakes- Oh, right, I'm supposed to respond to questions other people pose. Ahem.
"Too much orange zest." His voice sounded high and scratchy, even to his own ears.
"Oh." She laughed. A happy sound that resembled flaky phyllo stuffed with raspberry jam. Yugi wondered if she laughed often. He contemplated what he could do to make her laugh. Knock knock jokes? Bad puns? Witty repartee? He would have to learn how to do those things, though. She leaned over the counter, pressing one delicate finger against his forehead as four others deftly removed the strawberry from his bangs. "Here. I think he's looking for a friend." Another laugh; another blush; another cough disguised as a smile.
"So am I." Yugi blurted out. Instantly, he slapped himself...mentally, as to not scare her. Azure eyes widened in...shock? Curiosity? Happiness? Dare he hope, just a slice that she may give him a chance?
No. Waitwait. Stopstopstop. She's obviously too pretty for you. She's probably dating that Kaiba person from the giant skyscraper, who sent a company limo to pick her up every day. And you would only do that for someone you're serious about, right? That Kaiba sure had it all. Money, brains, looks, and most importantly, a wonderful girl. The girl if there ever was one. And Kaiba was probably a nice person, too, on top of everything else. As if there was any justice in the world. Lucky bastard.
She laughed again, the most musical sound to grace Chez Motou since afternoon jazz with Frankie Gere, the stage name of Honda Hiroto, Yugi's best friend and sometimes not awful (even he admitted as much) lounge singer, serenade the few customers who remained. Briefly, Yugi wondered if Anzu danced. Hmmm. Jounouchi would know. Yugi's other best friend, the house sommelier and sometimes wingman, claimed to know much about women, though of course come to think of it the tall blonde did have a tendency to exaggerate...
At that, Yugi smiled inwardly, landing awkwardly when she spoke again. "Well, you've got one, buddy. I'm Anzu." Her voice was sweet and airy, too, like mousse whipped to perfection with creme fraiche and joy. Yugi melted a little. He could admire her from afar, right? Kaiba didn't have to know, right? Yugi made a note to ask Grandpa about how he met Grandma. Hopefully it wasn't at a social function, because I'm soooooooooooooooo screwed if that's the case.
"I'm Yugi. Motou. But you probably know that already. My grandpa Sogaruko owns the shop. I'm the pastry chef. Though I'm not very good, sadly. But you probably know that, too, from the leftover rhubarb and all. They're good, I swear, just not quite perfect." Words tumbled like sugar cubes twirling into pudding. Smooth, Yugi. Real smooth. Like folding chunky peanut butter into rice flour. Well done, Motou. Well done, if you're looking to scare her off forever.
Squashing that terrifying, wayward thought, Yugi began foaming the milk, spilling a little on the counter, which made a hushed zzziiip while it burnt into wisps of smoke. Anzu. Huh. The name suited her. It was short, sweet, and a little feisty. Chocolately, too, he noted. She liked that, he remembered. Two teaspoons of white chocolate powder in her expresso, foamed milk, and no extra sugar. A lemon tart to go, with a touch of marmalade on one side and a maraschino cherry sauce on the other. No napkins, just a blue-rimmed lunchbox that matched her eyes tied with a delicate, SK pocket square.
What the hell is an SK?
Yugi didn't get a chance to ask. She was smiling again when she moved to exit and his brain simply refused to form coherent thoughts.
"You'll figure it out, Yugi. Your friend's counting on it." Her fingers brushed against his, leaving the smell of something nuanced and pretty on the rather large bills she handed over. "So you can find some new friends for that lonely strawberry, " she said by way of explanation. Joy vibrated in her voice and fluttered after her and she floated out of the door, into the limo, and out of sight.
A faint tinge colored Yugi's cheeks as he gaped. For several minutes, the image of its twin on her face shimmered in his mind. He brought the bills to his nose and sniffed- there was something about this girl and the bill that seemed intimately familiar. Molecules of sweetness tempered by tartness. Those squiggly egg drops are formulas, he realized, of scents. Of course! She must be a scientist at Kaiba Corporation, tasked with recreating smells. This one must be part of a new release because Yugi hadn't smelled it before- not that he normally categorized food scents or anything like that (it's what all pastry chefs worth their sugar do, right?); this one struck his nose. Sweet yet tangy with a hint of vanilla, but mostly tart fruit. Now where had he smelled that before?
Oh.
Pomegranate.
That's it!
Grandma's rhubarb contained a splash of pomegranate juice.
Review? Continue?
(I would highly recommend making strawberry rhubarb with pomegranate juice instead of a citrus juice. It adds a nice bite...)