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Chat Noir perched on the end of Marinette’s chaise lounge, folding his knees up against his chest. “You really did all that?”
“Really!” Marinette dabbed at her puffy eyes, sniffling. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I thought that if I could just… just show him how I felt, it wouldn’t matter that I can’t get the words out.”
Chat Noir took a long sip of his tea. “I’ll be honest, purrincess. If this guy can’t see what’s right in front of him, he can’t be that much of a catch.”
Marinette sighed, stirring honey into her mug. “But he is. You’d understand if you met him.”
Chat Noir fiddled with the end of his tail. “Well, far be it from me to try to talk someone out of a doomed crush,” he said.
The corners of Marinette’s mouth drooped. Then a look of deep concentration stole over her face. “If we’re throwing a pity party—and we both deserve one—then we need desserts to stuff our faces with,” she said. “What are you in the mood for? Something less labor-intensive than macarons.”
Chat Noir thought. There hadn’t been many sugary snacks in his life before he met Marinette. A distant memory came back to him. A warm kitchen. A soft, wrinkled hand holding his. His paternal grandfather had died when he was eight, so Chat Noir’s memories of him were blurry and fragmented. But he remembered this flavor.
“Ginger and molasses cookies,” he said, eyes half closed as he tried to hold onto the ragged edge of the memory.
Marinette sounded excited. “I’ll go through my cookbooks,” she said happily. “I’m sure I have something.”
Chat Noir grinned. Marinette’s family gave her cookbooks on gift-giving holidays the way most people’s families gave out gift cards. Her collection was gigantic. “Can I help?” he asked.
“Yes, if you can read an index.” Marinette made a flippant gesture with one hand. “You start from the right side of the cookbook shelf. We’ll meet in the middle.”
Chat Noir did as he was told, flipping through book after book in search of a promising recipe. He was relieved to see that Marinette’s mood was improving. Since the day she had first asked for his help practicing her confession to Buttercup, he had seen her plan and execute dozens of confession attempts, all of which would have worked on any boy with even the barest amount of sense. After every failure, he and Marinette regrouped in her room to mope, complain, and make new, better plans. The crying was new, and it frightened him.
Chat Noir didn’t have much experience comforting crying people. Chloé had been his only friend growing up, and she didn’t cry. She screamed.
“Eureka!” Marinette cried, brandishing a soft-covered cookbook. “Check this out, kitty cat. Doesn’t it look perfect?”
Chat Noir took the book. “Big soft ginger cookies,” he read aloud. He skimmed the list of ingredients. “I trust your judgment, purrincess. I don’t really know how to evaluate a recipe.”
Marinette studied the page over his shoulder. “Look, it calls for a teaspoon of five-spice powder. Trust me. It’ll be delicious.” She caught the worry in Chat Noir’s eyes. “Hey. I’ll tell you exactly what to do, okay?”
Chat Noir smiled, wondering for the millionth time how Buttercup could miss the amazing girl in front of him. “Okay,” he said.
Under Marinette’s expert tutelage, the sweet-and-spicy-smelling cookie dough quickly took form. Chat Noir had barely known how to crack an egg when he met her, but he felt that he was beginning to get the hang of baking. The basics, anyway.
“Now we form the dough into balls and roll them in sugar,” Marinette told him.
Chat Noir watched her make three balls of dough before attempting it himself. “Like this?”
“A little bit smaller.” Marinette pinched off a piece of dough. “That’s better.”
Chat Noir rolled his dough in the little bowl of sugar. “I’ve got it, I think.”
Marinette favored him with a fond smile. “You’re doing fine, kitty cat.”
Making the balls of dough turned out to be the most relaxing part of the baking process. Chat Noir was almost sad when the cookie sheet was full and Marinette slid it into the oven. The repetitive process had given him time to think. As he rinsed his hands at the sink, savoring the way Marinette’s kitchen already smelt of ginger, molasses, and spices, Chat Noir came to a decision.
“I’m going to ask you a very weird question,” he said.
Marinette, who was wiping down the counter with a damp cloth, raised her eyebrows. “Go on.”
Now that the moment was here, Chat Noir was unaccountably nervous. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been in love with Ladybug since I was fourteen,” he began. “And sometimes I’ve let myself think… but she’s never loved me back. Not that way. Apart from you, she’s my best friend. So I’m very lucky, even if I can’t let go of my feelings for her.”
Marinette was nodding. “It’s the same way with Buttercup,” she said. “He’s so—I never forget how special it is that I get to be in his life at all.”
“Right.” Chat Noir swallowed. He could do this, for both of them. “Marinette, what if I told you that a friend of mine has the same problem as us? He’s a sweet guy. Funny. And he’s madly in love with his best friend.” He pressed on before she could reply. “I’ve been trying to get my… my friend to step out of his comfort zone and go on a few casual dates to try to get over the girl he’s in love with. And I thought, well, what better way to put him at ease than to set him up with my best friend?”
Marinette’s forehead wrinkled.
“One blind date,” Chat Noir said quickly. “Just one. If it doesn’t go well, you’ll never have to see him again.”
Marinette untied her apron and hung it on its hook, looking tired. “Alya’s always saying I need to put myself out there,” she said at last. “Fine. One date. This is your friend we’re talking about, so I’m sure he’s a complete gentleman.”
“He is!” Chat Noir could have jumped for joy. “I’ll hash out the details with him tomorrow, okay?”
Marinette smiled, seeming to catch his enthusiasm. “Okay. I don’t know about you, but I could use another cup of tea with my cookies. What kind do you want?”
Chat Noir dug through Marinette’s tea drawer, purring to himself. There in her warm, sweet-smelling kitchen, he felt as if he could do anything. His heart soared. He had finally managed to ask Marinette on a date, sort of. He just hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed when she showed up for the blind date and saw Adrien Agreste.