The day went on as usual, except for a secret. Warming my hands was a dark liquid in a white mug. It smelled of mint and dark chocolate. I'd drank two of them, and now toward the mid-afternoon, I was drinking a third. 

Not one customer knew that the mint hot chocolate today hadn't been made by me. It was a dupe, made by an amateur who'd never made chocolate before. Yet, it was perfect. His careful hands had made sure, mixing the chocolate with love and eagerness. Attention to detail unmatched, with a passion that I didn't know was there. 

This spark I'd felt as he'd worked on it. The imagination in his eyes, like a kid discovering a new and much beloved activity. I'd known he liked chocolate. He sought it out wherever he was. A chocolate box at the movie theater. Buying chocolate nuts from me. Preferring chocolate cake and mousse. But, his fascination with making it was a magic that went beyond liking chocolate. 

And this passion, watching him mix it together. His excitement. It had made me feel something that I was still feeling. It was an excitement inside of myself, holding this mug and peering down at the melted liquid, steaming up and cooling down if I didn't drink it. As the warmth met my lips, I closed my eyes. The strong flavor, buttery and abundantly sweet with a hint of bitterness and mint leaves, flooded my mouth. Holding it there, remembering his eyes, his smile. It was as if he were touching me, making my heart become alive just like when he was here making this chocolate.

This feeling. This knowing, when he'd put the ingredients in. It was him showing who he really is. No hiding. He was always quiet and reserved, not saying much. Shy when around Nikki and Hanako. Hesitant, clumsy. He tried to be bold with them, but often failed. When he was with me, he was shy, too, but in a different way. But, what I'd seen this morning was different. I wanted to see more of it. He didn't need to be ashamed. What had he felt when he was making this chocolate?

There were still about five cubes of this chocolate left. Five lucky customers would get to taste it. No one had commented about it, meaning that they were satisfied. It made me think. His chocolate. Just the idea that it was his...it made my heart tremble in nervousness. A blush on my cheeks. 

When he'd left this morning 5:30, I hadn't wanted him to go. But, he had a job to do. He'd stayed as long as he could. I'd sent him off with some milk chocolate peanuts that I'd made yesterday. Wanting him to taste sweet chocolate, after he'd eaten a block of bitter baker's chocolate. He didn't even get to taste what he'd created. We'd put his two small batches in the molds and set them in the refrigerator to solidify. He'd enjoyed this process, too. The attention he paid to them...it was like they were precious things. 

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted him to come back and make chocolate with me again. It sparked something in me that perhaps I had lost over the years. His new fascination, like a youthful curiosity. I was by no means going through the motions when I made pastries and chocolates, but he was like a kid on their first day of school. So much to discover, looking at me like a patient teacher. I wanted to teach him more. What more did he want to know? Even more so, I wanted to see that look on his face. He'd started out sad, his mind on something that I could only guess at. But, when he'd left, he was smiling. He'd rattled his milk chocolate peanuts at me as a good-bye, that smile so wide. 

I wanted him to come back and still be smiling. Come through the door and hug me. This morning, I'd touched his body as I'd silently instructed him how to make the mint chocolate. The small touches were like electricity going directly to my heart, waking me up. As memories of him mixing the chocolate came to mind, of him pouring it carefully into the molds as he smiled down at it with his dimples showing gently... His arms around me now would be like a mini explosion inside. Needing him, wanting him. The wool of his coat on my arms, his warm body being held by me. His arms around me as he smiled gently at me, just like when he was pouring chocolate. 

I'd found something this morning. It was telling me I wanted it forever. Him in my kitchen, making chocolate as I made pastries. Working together, as he gave me some of his new energy. Encouraging me to do even better as he inspired me. He'd only made one set of chocolates, but I wanted him to come back... 

As I drank this chocolate he'd made, tears came to my eyes. Unexpected and embarrassing. I was in the middle of the floor, customers all around as if reality were coming back. But, I'd found something this morning. It was a dream that had been a secret that I didn't even know my heart wanted. 

We'd been talking about our drag characters yesterday, and I'd briefly touched on Amelie. I hadn't told the full story. Who she is. How her dreams coincided with my own. 

Amelie was a French housewife after the war. As Paris was healing around her, trying its best, Amelie donned an apron and set to work bravely in her kitchen. She dreamed about what her husband was doing at work as she placed cookie dough into the oven. She dreamed about the expression on her husband's face when she presented him with those cookies when he came home from work. She'd twirl around her small kitchen, dreaming about his face. Her pure love in the image of a healing nation, her wholesomeness when just years before there'd been such terrible, insane sorrow. This hope that she represented, her innocent dream. 

Now, with Gyeong-Wan I could see it. Except, I wasn't Amelie. And it was scaring me. Maybe scared wasn't the right word, but I was afraid. Nervous, the enormity of this feeling. That maybe, I had found something similar... This wanting drive. This spark I'd felt in my kitchen. But, it was different from her dream. She was more like a Barbie and Ken, wanting her Ken to eat her pastries and sweets. This faceless person that she dreamed of. 

But, now he had a face. I'd felt it in part when he'd moved my curl off my shoulder before Drag Bingo. Something had started there. And now, when he'd made chocolate, that intimacy between us. Something without need for words, working together. 

Maybe, somewhere in Paris, Amelie and her husband who didn't have a face were actually a pair of artists. On a tucked away Paris street, maybe they...made sweets together. 

I gasped a little as the cup touched my lips again. This tiny swirl of an image in my heart. The image turning around, and it was Gyeong-Wan in French Cup stacking chocolates on a shelf. Ones he'd made. Me, putting trays of chocolate dipped madeleines in the showcase. Dipped in glossy chocolate that he'd made. 

My face was suddenly red hot. My ears like hot tipped spicy candies, out of control. My eyes were shiny, that I could feel. 

I'd had dreams before. Wanting to date people, but I'd never felt anything toward anybody. There was passionate lust, wanting to take people home. But, here was Gyeong-Wan. I'd never met somebody like him before. I wanted to be around him all the time. Hoping every day that he'd come through the door. Even more so, he seemed to want to be around me. What was so special about me that he'd do that? 

As I drank the chocolate, the idea... I didn't wanted to think about the realities of my ideas. This small swirling in my heart. It was too fast. This image I had, of him in here stacking chocolates. What did I really want? The more I thought about it, the worse it was. 

These secret thoughts. I couldn't tell anyone. I'd always had this idea, since I was a kid that I wanted to own my own pastry shop. My dad and I had gone on a trip to Paris when I was little. Too little to think about the realities of the city. It was like it was Disney World, completely seen through rose colored glasses. But, what a fantasy world it was. My dad led me around, speaking French like he was a character from a storybook to everybody. How I'd admired him, wanting to be just like him. He walked around confidently, bringing me with him everywhere. We'd go to a different pastry shop every day and sample what they made, buying whole boxes of an array of treats. We'd sit at café tables and I'd eat and dream. 

When he got cancer, I dreamed of our time in Paris. Where he'd been strong and happy, showing me what the world had to offer. I only wanted to go back there with him, hoping he'd be healthy again and speak French to the locals. We'd go back to one of those cafés with our box of sweets and eat together. 

After he passed away, I dreamed about going back there. Opening my own pastry shop, in the hopes that my dad might walk through the door. How proud he'd be. 

But, now for the first time, my dream was shifting at a scary pace. Someone else in the dream with me, and I couldn't stop. My mind running away from me. Being encouraged by what I was drinking, this sweetness unlike one I'd ever tasted. 

Our drag characters come from ourselves. I'd been thinking about those words. Amelie came from me, my desperate dream. Thinking about an alternate universe, a crying wish of an alternate timeline where my dad wasn't gone. Going back fifty or sixty years in time, before any of that ever happened. Wondering about what Paris was like back then, the Paris that he might have learned about and been fascinated with. The kind of people who lived there, like Amelie and her husband. The same kind of people who'd been surprised that he spoke French so well and welcomed us into their shops. 

Thinking about Gyeong-Wan, he made some of that sadness go away. Someone else to hold my hand, someone who made my heart spark. I never wanted to stop holding his hand. See his smile, teach him and watch him grow. 

As my mind wandered and my cup was almost empty, the brief images of us walking the same Paris streets that I'd seen when I was little emerged. Us hand in hand, as I pointed to a familiar café. His dimpled smile as I told him a story of a little boy and his father who'd eaten there almost thirty years ago. How we'd eat there now, and how much of a dream that would be. 

My empty cup settled in my hands as reality set in, all those colors in those images going back down and the sounds of French Cup came back. How lost I'd been in my thoughts. Not wanting those images to go away. I turned on my heel, and went back behind the counter to make another warm and sweet cup. Unsure of the consequences of my longing, but this drive and passion being more than I could resist. The new, precious images. Being held onto with trembling, unsure fingers. But, I'd never been more sure of something in my life. What a scary, but encouraging spark.