26
Lily
“I’m out, Jean-Michel!” Lily called into the kitchen. She poked her head in and found him elbows-deep in fondant.
He muttered into the concoction.
“Ridiculous, these wedding requests for plastic ‘frosting’—oh, mon dieu!” he exclaimed when he saw her. “Where are you going? More important, what are you wearing?”
She laughed and looked down.
“You don’t like it?” Decked out in tiny short shorts, a tight raglan shirt and baseball socks pulled up to her knees, even she’d been impressed that she’d managed to pull the look together.
“Like, it is not a word for it. By the by, it is clear where you are going today.” He arched a brow at her and smirked.
“Oh? And where’s that?”
“In English, I don’t know. We say faire une partie de jambes en l’air.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what that means
