A Special Éclair

For some reason, I could not fall asleep that night. At some point, I noticed my bedroom door slightly ajar and a faint shadow stretched across the floor, illuminated by the weak moonlight.

I immediately broke into a cold sweat, and my blanket clung to me uncomfortably. I stayed perfectly still, straining my ears to catch any sounds.

There were faint, intermittent noises, and I wondered if I had forgotten to close the window. However, just as I was about to peek out, a face suddenly appeared before me.

I screamed, kicking my legs wildly, only for a hand to clamp firmly over my mouth. My eyes widened in terror until I recognized the person standing before me—Tiffany.

With a cold tone, she asked, "Dakota, you've been helping Mom in the shop all these years. Aren't you at least a little curious about how these éclairs are made?"

She added, "Why don't we swipe a few and let someone else figure it out? We could even make some money!"

Of course, I was curious. I had tried to find out before, especially since Mom's éclairs were the most expensive in the area. Rumor had it they cost more than some designer handbags.

I had watched her make the éclairs countless times, and there was nothing unusual about their size or shape. Besides, I had never actually tasted one myself, so I could not say what made them so special.

Maybe they were just better than the mass-produced ones sold at grocery stores.

Seeing me hesitate, Tiffany leaned in closer, speaking with a mysterious air. "Also, why did Mom buy that huge freezer for the kitchen this year, yet she still insists on storing the éclairs in the underground cellar?"

I stared at her blankly. I had wondered the same thing, but Mom always brushed me off with vague excuses.

Tiffany grabbed my arm, trying to pull me out of bed. "Come on! Let's check out the cellar together!"

However, I was exhausted from the day's work and had no interest in sneaking around. If Mom's éclairs were so popular, I figured she must have her reasons.

Frustrated, Tiffany jabbed her finger at me and called me useless before storming off alone. Through the crack in my door, I saw her sneak toward Mom's room, carefully steal the keys, and head to the cellar.

Eventually, I dozed off, the house falling quiet around me. Not long after, a low, muffled sound reached my ears. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but then I heard it again—soft and breathy, unmistakably Tiffany's voice.

I froze and thought, "Wait... Isn't she in the cellar checking on the éclairs?"

As a woman, I knew exactly what that sound meant, and it sent shivers down my spine. My curiosity got the better of me, and I quietly made my way to the cellar.

On the way, my mind kept flashing back to the women who came to buy Mom's éclairs.

"Oh my, this éclair is richer and more intoxicating than my man's scent after a long night!"

"They say a man can be a woman's remedy, but with these éclairs, I'll be glowing and satisfied in ways no man could ever manage!"

Every woman who got their hands on one of Mom's éclairs acted like they had found some kind of magical elixir.

Even wealthy women, their crimson lips painted to perfection, would show up at Mom's shop. Behind them trailed exhausted young men, clearly drained of every ounce of energy.

One of those women, cradling her éclair like a treasure, purred, "You can just tell these éclairs are made from the finest ingredients. No amount of money could recreate something this exquisite!"