Work Text:
Just as you picked up a small glass of fruit punch with eyes fixed on the back of a white shirt, your phone began to buzz. Pulling the device from your pocket, you glanced at the screen for a second:
Red calling...
When you looked back up, the white shirt was gone, lost to the sea of bodies that inhabited this house party. You stealthily manoeuvred back into the house and across to the front porch which was thankfully empty.
Letting out a sigh, you put the phone to your ear, prepared to express your frustration of the ill-timed call. But you couldn’t find the harsh words when the voice beamed brightly on the other end.
“Y/n! I’m glad that you picked up.” Reddington greeted. “Dembe and I have found ourselves in a bit of a pickle at this sweet little place called ‘Doux Paradis’.”
Chuckling at the thought of the pair being stranded in a French patisserie, you leaned against the porch pillar - all thoughts of reprimanding tossed to the wind. “How can I help solve this very serious problem?”
“You see, I have my eye on this beautiful tuile but Dembe thinks that I should get the tarte tropézienne instead - oh, what does he care, he’s already picked out his almond dacquoise.”
The decision was indeed a difficult one.
“Hold on, I’m sending you a picture.” Reddington added and, in an instant, your phone pinged.
You opened up the images and almost found yourself drooling at the desserts before putting the phone back to your ear. “I know that you’re keeping your health in check but maybe you should offrez-vous.”
You waited for his response to the input.
“You’re absolutely right. They’re both so gorgeous it’d be remiss of me to cast one aside.” He agreed with a laugh. “Is there anything that you’d like?”
“Do they have any bonbons?”
“Let’s see... ah, yes! They have quite the selection; hazelnut, blood-orange, marionberry, a gorgeous lavender caramel-“
If you stood listening to all the flavours, you’d be there for hours and your target would be halfway to Paris. “Why don’t you and Dembe pick three each?” You suggested.
The man appeared to have taken the hint and affirmed that he and Dembe were the best ones for the task. Sending his well wishes and goodbyes, the call ended swiftly, allowing you to take a drink of the punch in your hand.
Then you felt a presence approach from behind. “Hi, I saw you inside. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
When you turned, your eyes flickered from the piercing eyes to the white shirt and flashed a smile, “I don’t believe we have. I’m Y/n.”