The pungent whiff of Auvergne brioche and wagyū filets seduced the air, enticing their appetites toward the table of indulgence. They perused the isles of Dean & DeLuca in pursuit of chervil, yellow mustard seeds, and French tarragon, to be engaged in the execution of dinner for two. And though she was not Claire Mulberry, Lucy spoke gourmet, her palate extensively versed in the victual language of exquisite fare.
They arrived at the fresh harvest aisle on the heels of the shopping trolley and Christian Louboutin.
Lucy accosted a cherry.
“Oh, these are to die for.”
She placed the ruby morsel into her mouth, allowing the delectable modicum to meld with her rouge lips, before subjecting the berry to its piercing end.
Benjamin watched enamored, as Lucy savored the moment.
“Claire introduced me to the most wonderful cherries in France,” she said. “Only now, I cannot recall their name.”
Her lips pursed, whilst the juices absorbed into the recesses of her glands.
Benjamin continued to stare. He then spoke.
“I was fortunate enough to encounter a Rambutan tree during my travels. It produces a miniscule fruit, similar to a cherry, though its consistency possessed more in common with a Concord grape”
Lucy observed him, engaged.
“The fruit is only revealed through the most complicated coat of red. It exists, as though it were aflame.”
Lucy’s crimson mouth fell agape.
She continued to stare, whilst Benjamin surveyed the store.
“Though I don’t suspect they have any here.”
Lucy blinked, shunning her inebriation.
“How long were you away?”
Benjamin observed the contents of the grocery basket.
“I’m not quite certain.”
A patron interrupted their number, begging passage. Lucy and Benjamin parted, allowing the lady to navigate through. They subsequently resumed their excursion along the gastronomical corridor.
“I understand you were a titan of business.”
Benjamin considered her words.
“I understood commodities. I was able to define value and negotiate worth. I appreciated the relationship that existed between perception and desire.”
“So, you did love the Pissarro!”
“Why did you leave?”
Benjamin paused, his jaw tightening. Lucy blushed.
“Forgive me. I’m terribly rude.”
He wanted to respond though, despite his best efforts, he was unable.
“Let’s leave it be, shall we?” she continued. “Sorrow is unsuitable before dinner.”
She guided the trolley toward a display of Portobello mushrooms. Benjamin observed as she moved.
Lucy accosted a toadstool in her grasp.
“These will compliment the Mishima perfectly.”
She turned toward Benjamin, referencing the delicacy.
“Have you ever been in love?”
Implode. Part XLVII – DK