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The server arrived with their coffee and pastries. After setting everything down she asked, “Can I get you anything else?”
Cassie had a list of things she needed, but instead answered with a polite, “No, thank you.”
She didn’t want to look yet to see if Stills was doing an intensive study of her, now that she’d admitted he’d been right.
He took a bite of his éclair and gave a grateful groan. “That's good.”
“So these taste like Italy?” she asked and took a bite of her own pastry, finally meeting his gaze.
“Oh yeah.” He took another bite.
“Did you get to have a lot of pastries when you were in Italy?”
He gave his professional, smartass reply, “I may or may not have been in Italy, Miss Dodd.”
“We all know you were,” she corrected. “Were you able to get out that much? I don’t ever see you leave the car.”
“So,” he winked, “you keep an eye on me?” He took another bite.
“Someone’s gotta look out for you.” She returned his wink. “What is Agent Stills' favorite Italian pastry?”
He waited until he chewed all his food to answer. “It was this puff pastry that was filled with cream and folded into a pocket, then deep-fried and somehow, ended up with a sugary caramelized crust.”
“What? How have I never heard of this? Do we have them in the states?”
“I haven’t found them yet. It’s like…” he gestured to Cassie, “I’m not the baker you are and I don’t have much to go on, but I think it is like a homemade Poptart if you filled it with cream, rolled it in sugar and deep-fried it.”
“What is it called?”
“A sfoglia.”
Cassie laughed. “Was that a word?”
“It took me forever to learn how to say it, Parker helped.”
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