They had met at a college party the night before. Someone had complained about the décor in their recycled apartment, and Stefan had said, "that's nothing, my kitchen colors are pistachio."
A beautiful girl in a mini-dress, holding a plastic cup of warm beer said, "Pistachio is my favorite color."
Their eyes met.
"In fact," she continued, "it's also my favorite flavor." More twinkling eye signals were darted his way.
It was as if the skies had parted and the moonlight was shining down just on him. His mother had brought him a box of frozen pistachio croissants from Williams-Sonoma last weekend. They had had two, but she told him to keep the rest. His fortune was too bizarre to be true.
He moved closer to his conquest. Her name was Victoria. His eyes widened; Victoria would soon be his victory. He couldn't help that he thought this way. He was only 22-years-old with raging hormones, and this chic was h-o-t, hot! She told him that he looked like Johnny Iuzzini, with his Elvis-like sideburns. He didn't know who she was talking about. He lied, and told her that he was told that all the time.
"Are you a famous pastry chef like him, too?"
Oh, a pastry chef! This whole situation was kismet!
"Why yes, as a matter of fact, I can make you some delicious homemade, pistachio croissants if you want." He looked at her meaningfully and said, "Come to my apartment and see for yourself. You won't regret it."
She paused for a moment. "I can't tonight." Without missing a beat he invited her to come the next night. This time, she agreed.
Stefan was in a flurry of activity the next day. He cleaned his apartment from top to bottom. He made sure his roommates were kicked out and had promised not to return that night. He read up on Johnny Iuzzini--he had barely made it out of that lie intact. He would be ready for any conversation on pâtisserie and viennoiserie should it come up!
Victoria finally arrived, the dance of seduction continued into the evening, until she slyly asked, "How about those pistachio croissants?"
"Coming right up," he laughed.
He went into the kitchen to put the gems of delight into the oven and...HORROR!!!! He had forgotten to take them out of the freezer to let them rise for 8 hours! He had put them on their cookie sheet, but must have become distracted thinking of his evening to come, and had put them BACK in the freezer. Oh, no! He desperately grabbed one and tried to warm it in his hand. Solid as a rock! Here he had the egg on the counter, ready to mix up an egg wash to give those babies a golden brown Parisian glaze, and it wasn't going to happen.
She appeared in the doorway and said in a low purr, "I'll be ready for you after our dessert." He glanced over at her sexy stance in his doorway. He'd have to throw them in the oven as is. When they didn't rise, he'd have to blame it on faulty yeast. He usually didn't lie so much, but his pistachio fate had gotten him this far, only to cruelly betray him. A lie it would be. Besides, he boasted to himself, he'd be better in the bedroom than in this kitchen.