Kent stood in the small, tiled bathroom of his hotel room, staring at himself in the mirror.
His suit was a total mess—brown chocolate streaks ran down the jacket, and creamy white smudges stained his shirt.
He held a damp towel in his hand, rubbing hard at the sticky spots, but the stains wouldn't budge.
His face looked tight, his jaw locked hard. He hated messes. He hated surprises even more. And right now, he really, really didn't like Gaesha.
"Who does that kind of thing?" he muttered to his reflection. "Who just walks around throwing food all over people like it's nothing?"
The bathroom door creaked open, and Mark poked his head inside. "Hey, Kent, you talking to yourself in here?"
"No, I'm not," Kent snapped, scrubbing the towel harder against his jacket. "I'm talking to this dumb stain that won't come out."
Mark stepped in and leaned against the wall, holding an éclair in his hand—the very same kind Gaesha had given him earlier.
He took a big bite and chewed slowly. "It's not that bad, you know," he said with a shrug. "You look kind of… festive, like you're ready for a party."
"Festive?" Kent repeated, his voice sharp. He spun around to face Mark, holding up the wet towel like it was proof.
"This is a £500 suit, Mark. It's not supposed to look festive. It's supposed to look clean and sharp."
"Relax, man," Mark said, licking some cream off his fingers. "It's Paris. Weird stuff happens here all the time. That girl was pretty funny, though. What's her name again? Gaesha?"
"I don't care what her name is," Kent grumbled. He tossed the soggy towel into the sink with a loud slap. "She's loud and clumsy, and I hope I never have to see her face again."
Mark smirked, taking another bite of his éclair. "You sure about that, Kent? I saw you stuff that napkin she gave you into your pocket."
Kent's hand shot to his pocket where the folded napkin sat. He yanked it out and stared at it, his eyes narrowing.
"I forgot it was even there," he said quickly. "I'm going to throw it away right now."
"Don't do that," Mark said, waving his hand. "It's got her bakery name written on it—'Gaesha's Sweets.' You should go check it out. Maybe she'd give you a free cake or something nice."
"I don't want any cake," Kent shot back. "What I want is my suit back the way it was before she ruined it."
Mark let out a loud laugh, almost choking on his pastry. "You're such a grump, Kent. She was cute, you know. She had a big smile and tons of energy. I bet she'd cheer you up if you gave her a chance."
"I don't need cheering up," Kent said firmly. He grabbed his messy jacket and stormed toward the door. "What I need is a good dry cleaner, and I'm going to find one."
Back in his hotel room, Kent flopped onto the bed, still wearing his stained shirt. He sighed and pulled out his phone, dialing his sister, Lily, who lived all the way in London.
"Hey, Kent!" Lily's bright voice came through the line when she answered. "How's your trip to Paris going?"
"It's awful," Kent said, rubbing his forehead. "Some girl dumped a whole bunch of chocolate all over me today."
Lily burst out laughing on the other end. "What? How did that even happen?"
"She tripped," Kent explained, his tone flat. "She was carrying a tray of those long pastry things—you know, éclairs. They flew everywhere. My suit's completely ruined now."
"Oh, you poor thing," Lily said, still giggling. "Was she at least sorry about it?"
"Way too sorry," Kent replied. "She wouldn't stop talking about it. Kept laughing like it was some big joke."
"Maybe it was funny," Lily said. "You're always so serious, Kent. What's her name, anyway?"
"Gaesha," he said. "Gaesha Pitt. She's got some bakery or whatever."
"Gaesha Pitt?" Lily repeated, sounding impressed. "That's a really cool name. Is she pretty?"
"I didn't notice," Kent said, pausing for a second. "She's… loud. Short, too. And she smiles way too much."
"Sounds like she might be your type," Lily teased, her voice playful. "You need someone fun to shake things up in your boring life."
"I don't need that," Kent said quickly. "I like my life quiet and simple, thank you very much."
"Sure, sure," Lily said, not sounding convinced. "But here you are, still talking about her. I bet you're thinking about that big smile of hers right now."
"I'm not," Kent insisted, but his voice went a little high. He could picture it—Gaesha's wide, goofy grin, the way her eyes scrunched up when she laughed.
He shook his head to push the image away. "She's just annoying, Lily."
"Uh-huh," Lily said with a knowing tone. "Keep telling yourself that, big brother. Good night, Kent."
"Night," he muttered, ending the call. He tossed the phone onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Why was he still thinking about her? She was a walking disaster—loud, messy, and totally out of control.
Kent stood up and walked over to his suitcase, digging out a fresh, clean shirt. As he pulled off the stained one and slipped into the new one, his eyes landed on the napkin sitting on the table.
He picked it up, ready to crumple it and throw it in the trash. But then he stopped. "Gaesha's Sweets," it read in her sloppy handwriting, with a tiny heart scribbled next to it. He snorted.
"That's ridiculous," he said out loud. But instead of tossing it, he slid it back into his pocket.
The next morning, Kent met Mark at a little café near the chateau site they were working on.
He'd sent his ruined suit to the cleaner, and now he wore a plain black jacket that felt safe and simple. Mark was already there, sitting outside with a cup of coffee in his hand.
"You look better today," Mark said, grinning as Kent sat down. "No chocolate stains this time?"
"Very funny," Kent replied, rolling his eyes. He pulled out his notebook. "Let's talk about work, okay? The chateau plans need—"
"Nope," Mark cut him off, leaning back in his chair. "Let's talk about Gaesha instead. Are you going to her bakery or what?"
"No," Kent said flatly. "Why in the world would I do that?"
"Because she invited you," Mark said, sipping his coffee. "And I know you're curious. I saw you hang onto that napkin like it's something special."
"I'm not curious," Kent argued. "She's just some stranger who messed up my day."
"She's a cute stranger," Mark pointed out, wiggling his eyebrows. "Come on, Kent. Live a little for once. Go get yourself a pastry or something."
"I don't even like pastries," Kent said, crossing his arms. "And I definitely don't like her."
Mark grinned wider. "You're lying, man. I can tell. I bet you're thinking about her right this second."
"I'm thinking about work," Kent said, trying to sound firm. But Mark wasn't wrong.
That bright, wild smile of Gaesha's kept sneaking into his head, no matter how hard he tried to push it out.
"Fine," Mark said with a shrug. "Be boring if you want. But if you run into her again, don't say I didn't warn you."
"I won't run into her," Kent said. "Paris is a huge city. She's just one random person in it."
He picked up his coffee and took a slow sip, trying to focus on the chateau plans spread out on the table.
But as the day went on, his fingers kept brushing against the napkin in his pocket. He didn't understand why he hadn't thrown it away yet.
Maybe it didn't mean anything. Or maybe it did. Either way, Gaesha was stuck in his thoughts, and Kent didn't like it—not one little bit.
Later that afternoon, Kent sat alone at the café after Mark left for a meeting. He pulled the napkin out again, staring at the messy writing.
"Gaesha's Sweets," he read under his breath. That little heart next to it looked so silly, so childish. He shook his head and set the napkin down on the table.
"She's a mess," he said to himself. "A loud, clumsy mess who doesn't even know how to carry a tray right."
But then he remembered how she'd laughed after tripping—how she'd looked right at him with that big, sunny smile.
It had been so dumb, so embarrassing. And yet, something about it stuck with him. Kent picked up the napkin again and turned it over in his hands.
"I'm not going," he told himself. "I don't need sweets. I don't need her."
Still, he didn't throw it away. He folded it carefully and tucked it back into his pocket, telling himself it was just trash he'd deal with later.
But deep down, he wasn't so sure. Gaesha had crashed into his day like a storm, and now she wouldn't leave his mind.
He hated that. He hated it a lot. And yet, there was that napkin, still sitting there, waiting.