She’s just been on a run, Lucas realizes: she’s sweaty and half-breathless, wearing running shoes, a white tank top that somehow only makes her look paler than usual, and a pair of floral grey leggings that he recognizes from a clothes hamper. He knows that she’s been training for a marathon; he’s seen a decent amount of athletic wear in their tiny laundry space, after all, but he really isn’t home a lot and hasn’t had a lot of opportunities to see that athletic wear on her.

And look, Lucas is hopefully more evolved than the average London chap, okay? He’s read Little Women, and French guys are known for their romance after all,(even half-french) clearly better than the British guys. But right now, in the kitchen, the only thing he can think is damn.

It’s not like he didn’t already know that Sarah is beautiful. That much was obvious as soon as he’d met her: big, dark eyes, a strangely alluring streak of grey at the front of her hair, and a lot of pale, unblemished skin that he can just tell is soft to the touch. And while she tends to dress pretty casually, it’s also clear that there are some nice curves under her jeans and loose-fitting shirts. What he hadn’t quite known was just how nice. Which he can now confirm is very. Very nice.

He’s not looking at her ass, okay? Lucas’s just here in the kitchen, holding a jar of sauerkraut, watching his roommate untie her shoes. And if he observes the shape of her calves and her thighs and her hips, and if that’s staring, then … okay, maybe he’s staring.

Damn it. He’s just another idiot like ol’ what’s-his-face from this morning, thinking dirty things about Sarah just because she’s wearing pants that make it clear just how great her ass is. Be better than this, Lucas.

She’s still wearing ear buds in her ears and obviously hasn’t noticed him standing here. So he clears his throat and waves in her direction with his clean hand, counting on the fact of his general largeness to ensure that she sees him.

When she does, she startles a little and lets out a soft “oh!” noise. Sarah reaches up, takes the ear buds out of her ears, and gives him a sheepish smile. “Hi Lucas, didn’t see you there.”

“Hey, Sarah. Sorry, didn’t want to scare you.”

“Oh, it’s my fault, I should’ve turned off my music.” She sets her phone and ear buds down on the counter, then pours herself a glass of water. She drinks it without stopping, then pours another and downs that as well, which makes him chuckle.

“Ever thought about bringing water with you while you run?”

Sarah walks past him and sinks into a chair next to Lucas’s Fermentation Station. “I’ve tried all the different bottles and bladders and everything. I just don’t like it. It’s bad enough to bring my phone and keys with me, but that’s kind of necessary.”

“Fair enough,” Lucas says while tasting a jar of what will be garlic and ginger paste. “How was the run?”

“It was good!” Sarah pulls her phone toward her and taps a few times on the screen. “I’m on pace for where I want to be, I think. Hmm, yeah,” she continues, peering at what he assumes is a tracking app. “Not bad considering mid-afternoon isn’t my best time of day. How was work?”

Lucas pastes a smile on his face. “Another day in paradise!”

“How’d the croissants go over?” she asks, her face scrunching up curiously. “Any feedback?”

He points to the empty container in the sink. “Gone by eight-thirty. New record! That’s all the feedback you need, Sarah!”

“I saw you kept a couple here.”

Lucas grins. “Yes Sarah, I love croissants. You can make them savoury. They aren’t dessert so they are not sweet like your cakes.”

“Interesting, I’ll remember that,” Sarah comments, smiling. “Likes croissants. I make a good cheese croissant, I’ll have to whip some up for you to try next weekend or something.” She pulls her phone off the table. “I should go shower, probably. God, I still can’t believe you don’t like cake. What do you do on your birthday?”

“Sometimes I have pie, I do like pie. Sometimes we just don’t have dessert.” Lucas hesitates before adding, “Tomorrow’s actually my birthday, so I just won’t have it. You don’t have to have cake to make it a good birthday. Champagne is a good enough substitute.”

Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Tomorrow’s your birthday? Lucas! Why didn’t you say something?”

He shrugs and holds his hands up. “I don’t know! It isn’t a big deal, Sarah.”

“So are you going home to France or to your parents in America?” Lucas nods. “Yes to America, but not until the weekend. Then my sister can be there with her kids and all that.”

Sarah starts chewing on her bottom lip. “So big plans for your birthday in the city, then?”

“Not really. A couple of friends might meet me for a drink later, like eight-ish. But nothing wild.” Lucas snaps his fingers. “You should come out, Sarah! Meet some of the gang. I think it’s Hamil and maybe Lemuel-”

“That sounds fun, but I actually work tomorrow,” Sarah says apologetically. “And today, actually, I should get going.” She gets up from the table and takes a few steps toward the hallway. “Thirsty Thursdays, we have good deals on pints of the house lager. It can be pretty busy. But, if you don’t have anything major going on for supper, try to save some room - I’ll leave you a birthday pastry before I go to work that I promise you’ll like.”

Lucas grins, curious what it’d be. Still, he feels the need to politely decline. “Oh Sarah, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I want to, Lucas, it’s your birthday!” Sarah sets her water glass in the sink. “Anyway, now I definitely need to hop in the shower before I go to work. Hope you left lots of hot water!”

“No promises!” Lucas calls after her retreating figure. He waits until he can hear the bathroom door shut, then he looks back at his fermenting garlic, grinning.

The next day, Lucas goes out for a post-work birthday drink with a couple of the guys from his crew. By the time he gets home, Sarah is already gone, but there’s a note on the table that says look in the fridge - happy birthday! , with a little happy face drawn neatly beside what he recognizes as Sarah’s perfect handwriting.

In the fridge is a small pot pie, less than six inches across, made with Sarah’s perfect flaky pastry. It’s wrapped neatly in plastic with another note on top. Guinness and beef, the note reads. Reheat in the oven at 170 for twenty minutes.

It’s the best pie he’s ever had.