17. Life Swap (Marinette Agreste / Adrien Dupain-Cheng)
Ducking into the nearest shop, Marinette darted behind the display window. Not a moment too soon the Gorilla appeared on the other side, striding down the pavement. She watched, hardly daring to breathe, until the hulking man walked past the door, beyond the vantage point of the other window and out of sight.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Marinette relaxed, shoulders slumping. Nathalie would be stern with her for absconding again and she would be late for piano lessons, but was ten minutes of space to just breathe too much to ask?
Straightening, Marinette finally took a look at the shop she'd taken refuge in. It was a bakery, plain white trays piled with croissants, brioches, pain au chocolats, éclairs, and dozens of other pastries lined the shelves in neat rows. Nobody else was in the room but her; even the shopkeeper seemed to be absent. It was little wonder, with the stifling summer heat beating down on the streets she was probably the only person in Paris who would willingly 'take a walk' in this weather. But the shop was mercifully air-conditioned, the cool air lifting the heat from her skin. Her neck exposed by the bun on top of her head, she was cooling down fairly quickly.
The tantalising aroma of warm caramel, vanilla, and fresh-baked bread incited a rumbling noise from her stomach, and Marinette was reminded that the photoshoot had already made her late for lunch and she still hadn't eaten anything yet. Strolling through the aisles against her better judgement, she came to a stop in front of a display case, holding rows upon rows of fluffy, perfectly marbled mille-feuille. Beside them, macarons of every colour of the rainbow lay in neat rows organised by shade. A little note in loopy writing said, 'Six to a box!' Eyeing the decadent pastries, Marinette's mouth began to water.
When was the last time she'd been allowed to have sweets?
A thumping crash jolted her from her reverie, and Marinette jerked her head up to see a man dash through a doorway at the back to trip into the counter. No, not a man, she realised, a boy. He looked about her age, with tousled blond hair and the greenest eyes she'd ever seen. He winced, rubbing his middle, before looking up at her and cracking a smile.
"S-sorry about that, I was in the kitchen icing a new cake and didn't hear you coming in."
"That's okay," she said, giving him a smile in return. "I've only just walked in anyway."
"So, uh," he said, wiping his hands on his apron, 'Dupain-Cheng,' emblazoned over its front. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Oh!" she gasped, eyes darting back to the macarons before she reluctantly tore them away. "I …."
Her dietician would kill her—and maybe father too, if he ever cared enough to find out. Nathalie would already be lecturing her for slipping away once she got back, let alone if she were to have an unauthorised snack that wasn't in the schedule. The piano teacher would be grouchy at being made to wait, and she likely would have no appetite for dinner. It wasn't really a good idea.
"Can I have a box of those?" she asked, pointing to the macarons. To heck with it, she'd face the music later. Macarons now.
"Sure," he said, plucking a pair of tongs from a rack on the counter and sliding open the display case. "What colours?"
"Umm," she said, hand on her chin. Seven colours, but she could only pick six.
The boy laughed, deftly picking up one of each colour. "Here, have an extra. On the house."
Her eyes widened, so did his grin. "But—!"
"It's okay, really," he said, boxing up the macarons and ringing up the register. "Besides, you look like you need it."
"I-I do?"
"Yeah," he said, passing her the box. "Listen, it's super hot out there and you look like you could use a rest. How about you stay for a bit? It's my break time anyway, and I wouldn't mind the company."
Marinette Agreste of fifteen minutes ago would have smiled and politely declined, before excusing herself and walking out the door. Marinette Agreste of fifteen minutes ago would never would have thought of the blond boy again, too swamped with her life in juggling private lessons and image consultants and modelling. Marinette Agreste of fifteen minutes ago could never remember ever having someone ask if she was okay, or show any concern for her wellbeing that didn't go beyond professional obligation. But here it was, coming from a complete stranger.
She smiled. "That sounds great!"
He invited her to sit behind the counter with him, fetching glasses of cold water and a croissant for each of them despite her protests. He brushed them off, insisting until she accepted them. Then they talked. And talked. And talked.
Time seemed non-existent to Marinette in that little space behind the counter of a little bakery in Paris. She found out a lot of things about him; that he was the son of the couple who owned the bakery, that he attended lycée at Collège Françoise Dupont, that he mained the Black Cat in Ultimate Mecha Strike 3. For the first time since she could remember, Marinette felt at ease. All thoughts of appointments and meeting and lessons fled her mind, falling from her like released shackles. She could talk to someone her age who wasn't Chloé, she could ask what school was like, how fun it was to have friends learning the lessons together, how busy early mornings in the bakery were in order to get everything organised and ready for the first customer to walk through the door. She could laugh, and she laughed more than she had in the past few years.
For the first time since her mother's absence, she was free.
Then the shrill notes of her ringing phone shattered the illusion.
"Oh, I guess that's my warning cue," she said, looking dejectedly at Nathalie's name flashing on the screen before returning the phone to her purse.
"Aren't you going to take that?" asked the boy, swallowing the last bite of his croissant. She shook her head.
"No, I already know what she's going to say, anyway." Marinette rose to her feet, giving him an apologetic smile. She'd better head back now, before Nathalie had a seizure and tried to ring up a missing person's report to the police. "I'm really sorry, but looks like I have to go now."
"No worries! It was fun chatting with you. We should play UMS3 online sometime," he said, getting up as well. "How are you getting back, though? It's pouring."
Marinette paused, uncomprehending, before snapping her head around to look out the display windows. Where there was blistering sun and scorching hot cobblestone when she'd entered the shop, now grey rain pelted the road, water streaming down the pavement and forming puddles the size of dustbin lids.
She sighed. Of course, it was just her luck. The rational part of her mind told her she could simply call the Gorilla to come and pick her up, but the conscious part of her mind making the decisions declared that she would walk back home, rain or no.
"My house isn't that far, I won't get too badly wet." Who was she kidding? She was going to get drenched.
He seemed to believe her as much as she believed herself, sending a short scowl before uttering a disapproving, "Wait here." Before she could say anything in response, he'd disappeared back into the kitchen.
She barely had time to question what he was doing before he was back, a black umbrella in his hand. He thrust it at her.
Saying nothing, she eyed it warily before trailing her eyes back up to look at his. He only smiled. His hand extended further.
It was just an umbrella, an ordinary one in a dull colour that could be purchased from any convenience store in Paris. But never had one umbrella made her heart flutter in her chest like it was doing now.
An eternity seemed to pass before she reached out, grasping at the offered handle. As his fingers released his hold on it, they brushed against the back of her hand and Marinette imagined she could feel her skin burn where they'd touched.
"But then … won't you be missing an umbrella?" she asked belatedly, already holding onto it as he clasped his hands behind his back.
He quirked a smile at her, one that Marinette was fast deciding was the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen on any person she knew. "Then you'll just have to come back one day to return it, right?"
Blinking once, she stared at him. Then her face broke out into an uncontrollably goofy smile. "Then I'll be back when I can!"
"Okay, guess I'll be seeing you around, Miss …?"
"Marinette," she answered him, picking up her box of macarons and stepping away.
"Adrien," said the boy, reciprocating with a bow. "Now I cannot keep the princess at the ball any longer, can I?"
That elicited another giggle from her as she opened the door, the pattering rain accompanying her parting words. "Maybe next time, hot stuff."
Without waiting to see his reaction, she fled, opening the umbrella and darting across the road. The umbrella shielded her from the torrential downpour, the rain-chilled air crisp on her skin, but the heat in her cheeks driving away the cold. She'd said it, she actually said it. What on earth had gotten into her? Flustered, she walked faster, her feet carrying her back to the Agreste manson.
It wasn't until two blocks later did she realise she hadn't paid for the macarons.
Oh, she was definitely going to have to go back to that bakery soon.