#i flexed my hamilton muscles for the first time in god knows when

[beetlejuwuce-archive]

Thaurens with 18, "Its late, shouldnt you be asleep?"

18. “It’s late, shouldn’t you be asleep?” w thaurens

babe. light of my life. dearest. i would die for you

send prompts!!!

~~

The music was blaring a little too loud from the art room for Thomas’s liking. He tossed and turned in the bed, trying to find the cause of said music, but of course, he was nowhere to be found. What a stupid thought. John always turns the music off before he crawls into bed with paint still on his arms and stains the bed sheets yet again with yellows and blues and oranges and whatnot. It was always frustrating to get out, but hey, that’s just what life is when you’re dating an artist.

What he didn’t know about dating an artist, though, was that they woke up in the middle of the night to try and work on a painting. He seemed to forget that fact when he signed up to be Laurens’s boyfriend, and then Laurens’s fiancé.

He could have sworn that John crawled in behind him at around eleven, wrapping himself around him like a sloth to a tree branch, mumbling something sleepily into his ear before snoring softly. It was endearing to a point, and maybe even helped him fall asleep. But the sloth that he knew was in his bed was no longer there, and the sheets were just barely warm.

Thomas sat up, blinking blearily around the room. It was dark, and it would normally be silent, save for the Queen music coming from down the hall and filtering in through the cracked door. They had taken a vacation to their home-away-from-home, and why Thomas let John paint during these vacations, Thomas would never know. Maybe it was the puppy eyes he got when John begged and protested that he should be allowed to convert a spare room to an art studio, in case something in the countryside piqued his fancy.

And Thomas supposed that that was what happened, then. Something had struck John in the middle of the night out of nowhere (as it often did) and forced him to get out of bed and start painting. It wasn’t abnormal, but nightly painting was usually a one-and-done deal with John. He paints till eleven-thirty and then clocks out.

Thomas felt around on the nightstand for his phone and grabbed it, blinking at the screen before grunting. He didn’t understand why John had decided to roll out of bed at the ungodly hour of four, but he was determined to tell him off for his music and tell him to come back to bed.

He rolled out of bed and slid into his slippers and a robe, pushing his glasses up onto his nose before walking out and squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light in the hallway. He walked down the hall, looking around at the different paintings the two of them had made over the years.

They both had an affinity for art, so they either made it themselves or bought it at auctions or in random places to support people like John. Usually those artists return the favor from commissioning John on Etsy.

Most of the paintings were of sunsets or fields or dogs John wished he owned, and likewise, paintings of cats Thomas wished he owned. The two of them were polar opposites of each other, and that’s what made them so attracted to each other; John was loud, a fire, a dog person and a night owl. Thomas was more collected, calculated and methodical, while also being a cat person and an early bird. Their opposite habits really made them the poster couple for that silly old saying, ‘Opposites attract!’ and that is what drew Thomas towards John. That, and he was fantastic in bed.

Thomas, caught up in his reminiscing about their relationship over the last four or so years, didn’t quite recognize that he was leaning tiredly against the doorway of John’s art room until the music paused and John was smiling at him from over a canvas. “Tom,” he practically whispered, seeing as Thomas was far away in dreamland at the moment, “it’s late, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Thomas blinked at him for a few moments before smiling at him dreamily. “I woke up to the sweet sounds of Freddie Mercury yelling down the hallway about his bicycle.”

“Was it that loud?” John huffed a little and fiddled with the volume on his phone. “Sorry. I really didn’t mean to wake you, Tom, but I had this dream about-”

“Jack, as much as I would love to hear about your mind’s exploration of another galaxy, I really am exhausted. I need you to come back to bed.”

“Aww, Tom can’t get any sleep without me, huh?” John laughed and dropped a paintbrush into a mug labeled ‘paint water’ in calligraphy, because God knows how many times he’s confused the paint water for his coffee. “It’s alright, I”ll just tell you in the morning about it.”

“You’re doing watercolor? I thought you hated watercolor.”

“I do, but the only way to get better is to practice, right?” John smiled at him as he wiped his hands off on a dirty rag, and Thomas smiled at him more. “I suppose that’s true.”

“It is. It’s all everyone’s drilled into my head since I picked up a paintbrush.” The word ‘everyone’ in that sentence had a star next to it, due to its exception, but neither of them paid mind to said exception. They were both a little too tired to reminisce about that sort of thing.

“Oh, whatever,” Thomas yawned, reaching to grab for John’s hand, “just come back to bed with me. You owe me one for waking me up like this.”

John grinned at him as he grabbed his hand. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” He waggled his eyebrows at him, and Thomas slapped his arm before dragging him down the hall. “Tomorrow, Jack. Now it’s bedtime.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say, Tom.”

The life really couldn’t get any better.

#hi im proud of this #hamilton #thaurens #thomas jefferson #john laurens #my fic #drabble #i flexed my hamilton muscles for the first time in god knows when

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Manhattan Sunsets

Pairing: Arvin Russel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arvin gets stationed in Brooklyn after a tour in Vietnam but had never really gone into the city before. When he does, he meets Y/N, who makes it a point to get this small town boy to see the city. (Requested by @euphoriaoxygen​)

Warnings: Brief mentions of PTSD from the war

Word Count: 3950

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out. I killed my computer, had to buy a new one, and then I had to catch up on school but I’m hoping to get more fics out. 

________________________________

When Arvin left Knockemstiff, he had no idea what he was planning to do with his life. What could he do? He murdered four people. The idea alone left him feeling sick to his stomach but he knew that at the end of the day, that was exactly what had happened. It wasn’t that he regretted any of it. Preston Teagarden had to pay for his role in Lenora’s suicide and the harm of who knows how many other girls. Carl, Sandy, and Sheriff Lee were all going to kill him first. He knew at least the last three were self-defense, but what did the police think? 

A few weeks had gone by since he left Knockemstiff, traveling to Cincinnati with that nice fella that had given him a ride. Those weeks had given him time to really sit and think about his future. That was when he realized that he didn’t really have plans. His entire life, he told himself he’d get out of Coal Creek eventually. The last thing he wanted to do was die in that little God forsaken town but, beyond that, he didn’t really know. He honestly figured that his life would begin whenever his grandmother and Uncle Earskell passed away so they didn’t need him to care for them anymore. That was all out of the cards now, though, knowing that he’d endanger them just by going back. 

On Tuesday of the third week, he found himself at a recruiter’s office in Fort Thomas, Kentucky, enlisting for the army. If he was being honest with himself, even as he signed the papers, he knew he didn’t want to go overseas. The Vietnam War was one that practically nobody supported, including Arvin. He never understood why the U.S. felt the need to be involved in a battle that had literally nothing to do with us but the army came with a bed to sleep in, food to eat, a paycheck, and some benefits after (if) you got out. All of those were things that Arvin desperately needed. 

Basic training was a breeze. He’d been hardened by years of manual labor, both around his grandmother’s farm and doing construction around town. The other men had initially poked fun at him for his accent and his seemingly smaller stature compared to some of the 6’0”+ giants. That all stopped though the first time they saw him shed his shirt, revealing a rippling six pack of abs beneath taught skin and arms that had definitely seen more work than half of these bigger men. 

After basic training, he found himself stationed at Fort Hamilton Army Base in Brooklyn, NY. The army life was pretty close to what he’d imagined: rigorous, demanding, exhausting. Shortly after “settling in” at Fort Hamilton (if you can call being there for two weeks “settling in”), he was deployed across seas to fight in the battle of Ia Drang Valley before returning shortly after. 

It was a Saturday morning and Arvin found himself picking through his food like he did every morning. With a heavy sigh, he set down his meal pack. 

“You alright?” Willard Kast, one of his friends that had survived Ia Drang with him, asked from across the table. 

Arvin began to nod but it turned more into a head shake, “Ya ever just feel like everythin’s the same?” 

Kast laughed, “Well, yeah,” He said as if it was obvious, “They don’t exactly have us here to have fun.” 

“Yeah, but I… I don’t know. Guess I just sorta feel like my life is going on around me but I’m not goin’ with it.” Arvin was never known to be the person who actually spoke about his feelings. For some reason though, this war had just brought out a sudden mortality crisis of sorts. Every time he thought back to those memories of everyone he’d lost, whether it be his mother, father, dog, sister, or war buddies, the dead, blank eyes that stared back at him only seemed to be ghosts of lives still unlived. He didn’t want to be haunted by those same spirits. 

Kast smacked Arvin’s arm and beckoned for him to stand up, “Alright, you, up. Now. You’re getting off base today.” 

“I don’t even know where I’d go if I left.” Arvin huffed, standing up. 

“That’s the fun of it. Just go! Get out of this God forsaken place. See what you find.” Kast had always been oddly upbeat, especially compared to all the people Arvin had ever known growing up. Maybe it was the fact that anything Arvin had ever done felt like an accumulation of negativity so that it felt like there was no “fun in it” as Kast would put it. His friend noticed his hesitation before adding, “You do know what fun is, right?” 

Arvin chuckled a little bit, “Honestly, I don’t know if I do.” 

Within the hour, Arvin found himself dressed in civilian clothes for the first time in a while, a plain white t-shirt with blue jeans and some old, beat-up, black converse with his denim jacket slung over his shoulders. It was getting into autumn now and, though the sun still shone, there was a chill in the breeze. 

Once he stepped off base, he started on his aimless wandering down the streets. Arvin looked up in awe at the tenements and office buildings, sometimes built over restaurants or drug stores. Even though he'd been stationed in Brooklyn for a little while now, he'd never actually taken the time to explore the city. This small town boy was almost overwhelmed. 

Horns of vehicles beeped occasionally and trains roared overhead on raised tracks. On many streets, kids played with balls or some version of baseball with a busted off plank of wood instead of a real bat. Some others were running around just playing tag. A small smile upturned the corner of his lips as he watched them laugh out of the corner of his eye. He wished he'd had something like this growing up. Friends.  

Off to his left, a drug store caught his eye and he dipped in to grab a pack of cigarettes. They didn’t have anything fancy, not that he needed anything that was. Just a pack of the most mediocre selection they had was what he’d left with, lighting one up as he continued his stroll down the street. 

He kept his baseball cap down low, trying to blend in with the rest of the passerby. Arvin had never been one for calling attention to himself. Even in a new place, like Brooklyn, he figured passing through unnoticed would be the best way to go. 

“Mother fu- Just work!” 

Arvin hadn’t had his curiosity piqued by much on this stroll through the city but the disgruntled groans of a girl definitely drew his attention. He slowed his walk just slightly and looked around for the root of the complaints. There was a group of kids playing jacks to his right on the steps leading into a tenement but it was clear that they weren’t the angry woman in question. 

Just ahead, to his left, a car was pulled off to the side of the street and you popped up from the front right side of your car, an annoyed look on your face. You pressed against the car and leaned back, stretching your back out for a moment, before kicking what he assumed to be the tire with a frustrated outcry. 

“Okay, okay…” You breathed, trying to calm down, an almost hysterically frustrated smile on your face, like when you’re so mad that you have no choice but to laugh because, if you don’t, you’re going to punch a wall. Again, you disappeared, crouching back down. Arvin couldn’t see what you were doing but judging by the dragging of metal, he assumed you were trying to fix a tire. 

Arvin approached the back of your car to see you knelt down, the knees of your flare jeans rubbed black from the pavement. You were leaning with all your might onto a bar that curved and hooked onto the bolts on your very flat tire. However, he was impressed to see the jack placed properly and already up in the right position- not that it was a woman thing…. He’d just seen plenty of idiots place the jack in the wrong place. 

“Sorry to bother but you look like you could use a hand.” Arvin offered politely, stepping closer. 

You turned to look at him with a start, not expecting anyone to speak. Arvin couldn’t help the small smile that crept on his face when he noticed the smear of grease across your cheek. Hair stuck up astray in a few places from you brushing it back and out of your face. 

It had always been a goal of yours to not need a man. You’d seen plenty of women in your life dependent on their husbands, daddies, and brothers to do everything for them and then seen them lose everything when they realized all they could do was cook and clean. Not to discredit cooking and cleaning as valuable life skills, because they absolutely were, but you were not going to be some damsel in distress whenever you needed an oil change or got a flat tire. 

But, as much as you hated to admit it, these bolts were giving you a run for your money. After having been at this for nearly twenty minutes to no avail, you sighed in defeat, “I mean, if you wouldn’t mind giving it a try, that would be real nice. I’ve been working at it for nearly twenty minutes and nothing.” 

“Here,” Arvin reached his hand out for the pull bar and you stepped aside to allow him room. He notched the socket over the bolt and pushed, trying to crack the bolt. You definitely weren’t exaggerating. Whoever put this on had done a number tightening it. Arvin tried again, leaning into the bar. The denim of his jacket tightened around his flexing muscles as he did so until, finally, it cracked loose and the bolt gave way, twisting. 

With a wipe of your hand across your face, you sighed. It took all your might to (unsuccessfully) not imagine the way this man’s muscles must have been bulging beneath his jacket as he cranked the bar. 

Once it cracked loose, it was easy work to get the bolt off. By the time Arvin had arrived, you’d already managed to get all but two bolts off so he continued to work on the last one without you asking. 

“Oh- I can get that!” You interjected, leaning down to go to grab the bar back. 

Arvin stood up and shook his head, “No, no, it’s no problem. I’m glad to help.” 

When he returned to turning the bolts, you took a step back, brow cocked and arms crossed, “You’re not from around here, are you?” 

The bolt clanged to the ground with a metal clink and Arvin knelt down to shimmy the tire off, “Is it that obvious?” He chuckled, looking up at you as he rolled it to the side. You’d already had the spare ready to go right beside the old one and he grabbed it, wiggling it into place. 

You chuckled, “People don’t really go out of their way to help strangers here. And I like the accent. It’s cute. You from Tennessee or something?” 

Arvin froze up. Should he tell you? What were the chances of you knowing anything relating to the issues of his past? “Ohio.” 

“I didn’t know you guys had accents back there.” You leaned against the side of the car, watching him work on the tire for you. 

He tightened up the bolts all within the tire, “Depends on where you live, I guess.” Arvin pressed himself up, wiping his hands on his jeans as he did, “There ya go. You should be all set.” 

You stood up straight and ran your hands on your striped brown, black, and white turtleneck, your face contorting in annoyance when you realized you smeared grease on your favorite sweater. Arvin smirked a little when he noticed the action. 

You were pretty cute. Arvin felt a little confused. Girls back in Coal Creek had never really caught his eye. They were all so similar, just slight variations of each other. There were the hyper-religious good girls but they all reminded him too much of his sister. Either that or they were the girls who hung out with boys like Gene Dinwoodie and that was just a whole crowd that Arvin had no intention of associated with. 

“You really didn’t have to do all that… but thank you for the help.” Your hands rubbed together, the faint black debris marking your fingers. “I have a few bucks. Let me buy you a coffee or something as a thank you?” 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.” Arvin readjusted his hat on his head. 

“Please, I insist. You just changed my tire.” You pressed, tucking your hand into your back pocket and crossing your ankles as you leaned against the car. Arvin stood a little closer to you, still a polite distance away, but there was a way he looked down at you that just made butterflies go through your stomach. 

Maybe this was what Kast meant. Maybe this was some of that life he should be living, that adventure he should be having. “Alright. But I don’t really know where anything is around here so….” 

“Don’t worry, I got you.” You smiled, “I know a place a few blocks away if you’re up for it? They have some pretty good pie too. Oh, and I’m Y/N by the way.” 

Nerves bubbled in Arvin’s stomach but something made him nod his head, almost against his will, “Arvin,” He nodded a small greeting, “And, yeah, that sounds nice.” 

With a smile, you tapped on the hood of your car and nodded your head over to the passenger side, “It’s not too far but it’s kind of cold. I’d rather drive personally but we can walk if you’re more comfortable with that.” 

The offer took Arvin back to his time hitchhiking his way out of Coal Creek and Knockemstiff. There had been a few bad experiences with handsy truckers and women who’d picked him up but they didn’t erase the memory of his first pick-up with Carl and Sandy. We all know how that ended… 

But he’d made it out of all of those situations, even if just barely, and he honestly didn’t feel uneasy around you. There was an endearing, hardworking, down-to-earth yet friendly energy you gave off that managed to put Arvin at ease. Before he knew it, he was sitting in the front seat of your car as you sped off down the road. 

The day had passed quickly with you and before Arvin knew it, it was already almost sunset. Coffee and pie had turned into a two hour long stay with the two of you talking about life which had in turn turned into a stroll through the city. 

He’d told you about how he had some family issues growing up and left his hometown to join the army. Your exact response was, “I’d say thank you for your service but I don’t exactly support the war if I’m being honest.” 

Arvin sipped his coffee and raised his eyebrows exasperatedly, “Neither do I.”

You told him about how you had been born and raised in Brooklyn, working at a local record shop to save up for a place of your own. You told him all about your career goals and how you wanted to find somewhere you felt like you really belonged. Brooklyn was your home, it always would be, but you felt like there was something else out there for you. 

Talking to you was easy- easier than anyone since Arvin’s mother. He couldn’t explain it but the quiet, secretive boy found himself at ease with you, not only willing to but wanting to open up to you. Maybe it was the adorable way you made it a point to smell your coffee before you drank it, taking in the comforting, rich scent, or maybe it was residue of grease still on your shirt. Arvin couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but he was attracted to you in a way he hadn’t been attracted to anyone in his entire life. 

“Hey,” You perked up, “You said you’ve never really left base, right?” 

Arvin nodded, self-conscious about his lack of adventurous spirit, as Kast would put it, “Unfortunately.” 

“You need to do all the stupid tourist things in New York.” You hit the countertop excitedly, as if the grandest idea anyone had ever had had occurred o you. 

Arvin’s face scrunched up and he shook his head, looking away, “Nah, that ain’t really my thing.” 

“C’mon,” You pressed, holding onto his forearm enthusiastically, “I’m not saying you gotta go stand around and get mugged in Time Square or anything but I think you should experience the city while you’re out here!” 

Sightseeing had never interested Arvin. Hell, he never really even thought he’d make it out of Coal Creek, if he was being honest with himself. Even if he did, he just expected to end up in some other shit hole town that was the same with different people. He never really put much thought into what he wanted to do. His mind had just been so consumed with what he needed to do. 

Arvin swivelled in his chair to face you, “Well what would you suggest that a newcomer go see here?” 

It didn’t take you long at all to think up an idea, “Can you stay out till sunset?” 

_____ 

Manhattan was definitely a different feel from Brooklyn. Arvin felt almost anxious here with all the cars and people and whatnot. He thought the army base was crowded but that was nothing compared to the bustle of the heart of New York City. Skyscrapers dwarfed neighboring buildings, casting shadows that somehow made Arvin feel miniscule in comparison. 

“Here we are!” You exclaimed excitedly, disappearing through the revolving door of a classy looking building. Arvin followed you inside, meeting with you in the large main room. There was a window with a man behind it that you approached, “Two tickets to the top please.” You dug into your small white purse and pulled out a few bills and handed them to the man in exchange for tickets. 

“Wait, what’re you buyin’?” Arvin stepped over to you, about to interject the transaction. The last thing he wanted was you spending more money on him.  

“Tickets.” You said as if it were obvious.

“To what?” He asked, confused. 

You turned around, two tickets in hand, with a smile, “Do you not know where we are yet?” Arvin slowly shook his head, wondering why he was supposed to. “We’re at the Empire State Building!” 

Arvin had heard of the building, even seen pictures of it in a history book one time, but he really didn’t know much about it. Big cities had never been his interest but seeing the way your eyes lit up with excitement to show him made all reservations melt. 

The elevator ride up was nerve wracking to say the least. It wasn’t severe but Arvin had developed minor PTSD from the war. He’d seen many men get killed or trapped, dragged away and unable to escape. This metal death box traveling up hundreds of stories made him feel trapped. He hadn’t noticed that he started rocking back and forth on his heels, gripping his own biceps, until you put a gentle hand on his arm, “You okay?” 

With a shaky breath, Arvin nodded and put on a smile, “Yeah. Elevators just make me kinda nervous.” 

The elevator stopped at one level but you dragged him up several flights of stairs to get to the very top where you could stand on the balcony. 

It was fairly busy but not unenjoyably so. “Okay, come over here!” Yet again, Arvin found himself being led by you to the very edge, leaning on the high railing. “What do you think?” 

It was breathtaking, beyond anything Arvin had ever seen. The sun was now setting, casting a warm orange-pink hugh on the city. The buildings and streets were illuminated with tiny lights, creating a sea of little flickering stars. In the far distance, the ocean stretched on for miles. Even the sky was beginning to try and match the city, though the few stars that were beginning to peek through the sunset were nearly drowned out by the light of the city. 

“It’s amazin’.” Arvin sighed out, almost overwhelmed. So this was the world outside of Coal Creek?

“Isn’t it something?” Arvin glanced down to see you looking down at the city with such adoration. A warm, orange glow cast across your face, accenting every beautiful feature. But then you turned to face him and he nearly stopped breathing. He knew from the first moment he met you that you were an attractive woman but you looked absolutely radiant now. 

Tension began to rise when you realized how close you were to the man. Your hips were almost touching as you stood side by side. Your hands were mere centimeters apart on the safety railing. 

Arvin could have gotten lost in your eyes but you tore your gaze away, returning it to the city. Instead, you slowly inched your hand towards his until your fingers touched his, testing the waters. He tensed up, looking down to see your fingers nudging his. He glanced back over at you to see your eyes flick questioningly to his. 

Arvin closed the gap between you, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your heart fluttered out of your chest when you felt him pull you ever so slightly closer to him. Your head rested on his shoulder and your free hand came up to grab his arm. 

“Y’know, if changing strangers’ tires is gonna turn out like this, I’m gonna have to start doin’ it more often.” He teased but his voice sounded sincere. Of all the possibilities that today had, this was not one that he had imagined when he left base this morning. Holding onto a beautiful girl at the top of the Empire State Building seemed like something out of a movie, not something that happened to real people. 

The sun fully set and the stars came out, rivaling the city lights in a display of firework-like sparkles. The full moon acted almost as a spot light in the dark sky, drawing your attention. Arvin had no idea how long the two of you had been standing there but he felt like he could stand there for forever. 

Eventually, you shifted against his side and your voice popped up, soft and quiet, “Hey, Arvin?” 

“Hm?” 

“Maybe we can see each other again?” You twisted in his grasp, which had now traveled to be around your shoulders. Now you looked straight up at him, faces only a small distance apart. 

The corners of Arvin’s lips turned up, “I’d like that.” 

Your arms were wrapped around his torso and his arms were encasing your body, resting on your upper back. Arvin’s eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes and back down again, as if asking for permission before going in. Both of you slowly inched towards each other before your lips touched in the middle. His lips were surprisingly soft and gentle against yours in the sweet, slow kiss. 

When you pulled away, neither of you opened your eyes for a few moments, just resting your foreheads against each other. “Call me a fool for falling for a girl I just met but I think I like you.” Arvin admitted with a satisfied smile, pulling you closer to him. 

#Arvin Russell #arvin russel imagines #arvin russel x reader #tdatt #The Devil All The Time #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #Manhattan Sunset

[gioia]

Les Gâteaux de Daisy Day romanzo di Valentina Olivastri 2017

Ringrazio Valentina Olivastri per aver tradotto per il post la sinossi di “Les Gâteaux de Daisy Day”

A sedici anni, nulla funziona nella vita di Daisy Hamilton ma un pomeriggio, guardando la televisione, si innamora pazzamente di un filosofo parigino super figo, Marcel du Lac. In quel preciso istante ha inizio la missione di Daisy: tentare di sedurlo. Nonostante un monte di ostacoli, per riuscire nel suo intento, Daisy inventa mille stratagemmi fino a quando un bel giorno, nel mezzo di Parigi, incontra Marcel, ma l’uomo dei suoi sogni si rivela una totale delusione. Disperata, Daisy si consola con l’amore di sempre: i dolci; e con l’aiuto della sorella gemella Lizzy e di nonna Stella, decide di aprire una pasticceria come non se ne sono mai viste prima a Parigi. Creata come il più romantico dei giardini inglesi con tanto di prato e fiori selvatici al suo interno, Daisy servirà puddings, tazze di tè e Jane Austen in tutte le lingue: dal cinese al basco, dal pashto all’occitanico, e il vero Mr Darcy  non tarderà a venire…

Les Gâteaux de Daisy Day is a fresh romantic comedy which explores the ups and downs of being in love. When in 2004 British schoolgirl and cake-addict Daisy Hamilton falls for hip Parisian philosopher Marcel du Lac while watching TV, her life is turned upside down. She begins a single-minded mission which takes her from Cambridge to Oxford to the south of France and ends in Paris. When Daisy’s and Marcel’s paths finally cross, she recognizes that the man holding the key to her future happiness is sadly a jerk. She is heartbroken, and her love for all things French is compromised. Daisy suddenly yearns for lumpy custard and rain-beaten ice cream parlours. Her twin sister Lizzie and formidable grandmother Stella come to her rescue, and Lizzie urges her to embrace serial dating; however, Stella suggests a much more tempting plan: Daisy should open an English cake shop in the heart of Paris. Styled like a wildflower meadow giving the illusion of a picnic in the British countryside, ‘Les Gâteaux de Daisy Day’ is like no other patisserie in the French capital: English cakes and puddings, hot and dark cups of tea and jugs of full fat milk are dished up with generous helpings of Jane Austen in a myriad languages from Chinese and Basque to Pashto and Occitan. Romance is in the air and fashion-mad Lizzie falls desperately in love with a Canadian professor who is passionate about nineteenth-century English literature, while Daisy is swept off her feet by an urban beekeeper, Jean-Paul Busby, half French, half Brit, with a sensitive heart and a fascination for queen bees. Naturally, all ends well in this feel-good modern fairy tale.

Primo capitolo 

1. How it all began 2. O Lance, where art thou? 3. Switching the box on: a fabulous white-shirted smoothie appears from nowhere 4. ❤❤❤Marcel du Lac for ever: a thousand and one scenarios❤❤❤ 5. From rags to riches 6. We have a Grandma 7. All by myself, I have to be 8. ’S Wonderful 9. I’m officially a bluestocking 10. Unforgettable Paris 11. The Queen Bee 12. Bikinis, macaroons and broken dreams 13. C’est ça: trop yummy pour toi 14. The clandestine baking club: have your cake and eat it 15. What’s it all about? 16. Cakes at the edge of rationality 17. Trading places 18. Let’s get down to it 19. Kiss on my list 20. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will ‘bee’! 1. How it all began I’ll never forget the first time I fell in love. It was March 3rd, 2002. It was after dinner - bits of meat drowned in a brown liquid, a sea of floating peas and a couple of lifeless carrots. That night, Dad repeatedly subjected Lizzie and me to what vaguely smacked of bedtime reading. We were fourteen years old. Two weird characters going by the unlikely names of Cynewulf and Guthlac hardly proved to be a mood enhancer for two young girls, but Dad wasn’t the least bit discouraged. It was only when we were about to drop off that he changed his tune and marched ahead with another tale: ‘Once upon a time there was a young lad called Horn whose daddy was bumped off by a bunch of guys…’. Ropy enough, but at least this time there was a whiff of action. However, it was during Dad’s final attempt that things unexpectedly took a turn for the better, and one word that sounded as sweet and tempting as a Christmas trifle stuck with me. LOVE. These stories were all about love: falling in love, gutsy love, magical, riveting love. From irresistible passions, huge expectations and great opportunities, to regular girls rolling around with yummy princes and happily scampering off to sandy beaches. “Hang on in there,” I told myself, “this is great stuff.” The tales were incredibly addictive. They were mostly set in Rome and in France (stonking locations I thought) with the odd jaunt to exotic places and my super favourite of all started something like this: far away, in a magical land, there was a wizard called Merlin, a mysterious kingdom named Camelot, a round table and, above all, there was him, the amazing, extraordinary, wonderfully hip ❤ Lancelot of the Lake ❤. Oh my God… The guy was a legend verging on myth and with his cool swagger, he was making news just by showing up in his chainmail under the light of flaming torches. Every page Dad read conjured up a treasure trove full of wonders and filled with impossibly moist chocolate hearts, swan robes and plenty of tasty potions. In this spellbound realm, Lancelot was ready to flex his muscles to save my life and take me away with him. He was my saviour, the one who could do no wrong and as for his previous peccadillos, including mistaking a chick named Elaine for his regular squeeze and bonking her, I could hardly blame him. He had, after all, been under the influence of a particularly cruel spell. For me Lancelot would suffer long and treacherous journeys, crossing swords and defeating the enemy single-handedly just to croon: “Hi, babe, cup of tea or G&T? What do you fancy?” That’s my man, I thought, ever so proud, and pelted him with kisses and Bonne Maman mini jars, strawberry flavour. He was generous, adored my company, and was sensitive to my beauty - *very important* - despite my imprisonment by calories. Size 16, I’m afraid. Lance (we were already on very cordial terms) could brush away the smallest of my problems, infusing my mood with ambitious dreams and lashings of highly quaffable wine. With him I was adventurous, unblushing and goose bumps-prone. I had our life together planned to perfection. What he’d suggest and what I’d reply, what he’d pine for and what I’d offer him; and the procedure could be repeated as many times as I fancied. Of course, I expected nothing less than complete submission from him. No conflicting sets of desire were ever allowed in my fantasy world. All that I needed was the right party invitation, but I’d have no second thoughts about gatecrashing the social milieu, as Dad would say, inhabited by my dazzling knight. Love was my very own Holy Grail, and I was snacking hard on Lance’s stirring exploits. My passion for them was unquenchable, and I constantly asked for more, but Dad wouldn’t have it. “Let’s move on to King Arthur,” he would drone while readjusting the ancient creases of the suit perilously hanging on his rangy frame. “Not him. He’d be a bloody nobody without Lance,” I’d shout. “Without Lance his reputation would be zilch. He’s just a drag with shaggy hair. He has no glamour whatsoever and none of the zippy dialogue. I don’t even know how he got into the plot.” “Nonsense,” Dad would rattle off while casting a glance at his naff footwear. “Arthur was a great King, the one who saved Britain from enemies at home and abroad. It’s your ‘Lance’ who would be ‘zilch’ without him.” “Yeah. Blah, blah, blah.” Nothing was going to spoil my dream. Not that tedious interloper Arthur and certainly not the rubbish comments that Dad was booooooring me to death with. For me only one word counted: ROMANCE. Kiss, kiss, kiss. Yes, I was smitten! When I told Lizzie that I was madly in love with Lance, she wasn’t as thrilled as I was. “Come on, Daisy, get a grip. These stories are complete dross. Move on.” “No way. I’m sure this is what I’ve been dreaming of all these years.” “All these years? You’ve only just turned fourteen.” “So have you.” “Not really. I’m thirteen minutes and five seconds older, remember? I came out first.” “Oh, you and your head start. I’m so impressed.” “You can say it louder if you like. Anyway, point being, Dad is telling you a load of old tosh. Don’t let it mess with your head. I can smell big trouble. Fingers in your ears and do it now.” “I can’t and I won’t. I’ve got to find my twenty-first century Lance,” and beaming with enthusiasm I added, “I know that somewhere I’ll find him…” “Where exactly?” asked Lizzie, wishing she’d never had a sister. In her eyes, I was developing into something bigger than a huge embarrassment. I had already turned into a real pain. “Lance,” I replied, hands on hips, sounding like Mum and Dad, “was raised in an underwater palace by the Lady of the Lake.” “Have you gone completely bonkers?” “Oh, shut up. I know what I’m doing. I mean, I have to look for someone connected with the sea: a sailor, a lifeguard, a scuba-diver. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Even a lock keeper would do.” “Get real, Daisy. This isn’t one of your fairy tales.” “Who are you to say?” “You really are mental.” After some serious lip chewing, I shut myself in my room and sleuthed for ways to get to my Lance. I became ever so busy with my one-off mission and turned into a young Miss Marple minus the curtain twitching. If I were to succeed in my quest, I needed some sort of power just like any respectable pixie. All that I had at my disposal in and out of the house were books. My mind was, therefore, made up. Knowledge, that most mysterious and scary force - I tried not to think of what it had done to Mum and Dad - was going to be the secret weapon for my ultimate homework assignment. Finding love with the capital L! To be continued…