On our way to work this morning we stopped by the boulanger across the street for a bite to eat. It’s become kind of a tradition for us to grab a sandwich on our way in, nibbling on a baguette as we walk along the dappled sidewalks of the Latin Quarter to our coworking space.
Today, Walt ordered a porc laqué and I asked for a traditional jambon-fromage. The shop keeper smiled and ducked into the kitchen to prepare our order as Walt turned to me, “Would you like anything else?” he asked.
I looked at the case filled with tarts and flaky pastries. “I think I’d like a pain au chocolate,” I replied.
As the shop keeper returned with our sandwiches in tow, Walt added the chocolate croissant to our order and paid.
Stepping out onto the street in a shift of brown paper, baguettes and napkins we sorted out our sandwiches and started heading toward the office. Not halfway down the block I turned back to Walt. The kid was chewing with a pleased expression on his face, holding the two remaining bites of the chocolate croissant.
“Did you just eat my croissant?” I asked, eyes wide.
“Uh. I ate my croissant…” Walt responded.
“Wait, so when you just asked if I wanted anything else, and I said, ‘yes, I’ll take one of those croissants’ and you then ordered one… that order was for you?”
“… um. Yes?” Walt was starting to look really guilty at this point. “Honestly, I don’t remember asking you that…”
There was a pause as I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. With a shifty glance, he proceeded to shove the remaining end of the croissant into his mouth, a rain of pastry flakes catching in his beard.
We both laughed so hard we nearly cried.