Hello, my alien lovers!

I'm in Barcelona, continuing my little European trip. I went to Paris, Nice, and Marseille so far.

It was my first time in Marseille, and what a lovely city. I loved it! Marseille is also the city where my favourite soap, Plus Belle La Vie is shot. I drew a lot of inspiration from that show and my relationship with it to build Maple's relationship with Betteraves & Betrayals.

The view from Le Vieux Port in Marseille.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I know we haven't seen our favourite secret alien superstar in a minute, but fear not, Salvatore is never far away... 👀

If you're new to the story, start with Chapter 1

If you missed the last chapter, Previously on Perilous Love Stars

Dears Mrs. Dutrignon,

My name’s Maple, although that’s not what most people call me. I was given a different name when I was born but I don’t like it. Maple fits me better. Sometimes it’s hard to hear people using the wrong name and pronouns when they talk about me, but when I’m sad, I think about Adele and how much she’s been through. Just like me and Mamie, she’s strong and fierce! (Mamie is my grandma, and I watch the show with her. She’s the one who convinced me to write to you.)

I want to become an actress when I grow up. I watch you every night with Mamie and I dream that one day it will be me on the screen with you. Maybe I could play your daughter on the show when she’s born! I promise I will be the best fake daughter you’ve ever had!

I’m taking theatre classes and it’s super fun, except that there is this mean boy in our class. His name’s Peyter and he says he hates how I act and that I’m just a whiny baby. Mamie and Mom say I should just ignore it. Maman was mad when I told her and threatened to “lui faire passer un mauvais quart d’heure à celui la!” (I don’t speak French but usually when Maman speaks French, someone’s in trouble…)

Anyway, it’d be super amazing if you could send me a signed picture of you so I could give it to Mamie for her 90^th birthday! She’s sooo old! Plus I’m hoping to show it to Peyter because he loves the show and would be super jealous. (Also, maybe, if you have time, you could give me some advice on acting because you’re so talented!) (But I know you’re very busy and everything, so just the picture would be great.)

Thank you so much. I love you and I love Adele!!!!

Cordially,

Maple Defleuvier

Maple had a new plan and nothing motivated her like an insane plan that required minimum lying. She was a skilled liar and bending the truth was her default reaction to most difficulties, but this time, she would lead with the truth. Not the entire truth, but most of it.

She left her moms’ house and drove to Brooklyn’s bakery. One person who could help her, and Maple was grateful it was her roommate and not someone from her crew. She hadn’t turned her phone on again, avoiding the surge of bad press and questions she still didn’t have answers to… yet. If her plan worked—and most of her insane plans did—then she’d have something to reassure the crew with.

 The suspicious SUV was tailing her and Maple wondered if the driver was trying to be noticed or just really bad with the concept of discretion. If the person inside was a journalist, what were they waiting for? They had plenty of time to leave their car and ask Maple questions when she’d left her mom’s place earlier. If they were the killer, then why were they so obvious? 

What if Ermett is trussed up in the trunk or something? She thought as she parked in front of Brooklyn’s Warm Croissant, Sobriquet Lake’s most popular bakery. The facade was painted in shades of orange and brown around the large bay window that gave outsiders a view of the quaint shop. A fake croissant shaped into a vulva was installed above the entrance. The delicious smell of fresh bread and butter circled the block.

Maple gave the SUV a departing glance before she entered.

The inside of the shop was as lovely as the outside. Red tiles covered the walls, with thrifted, mismatched chairs, tables, and comfy armchairs occupying the floor. The glass display on the left side of the room was brimming with sugary delights and savoury treats, from rhubarb-tomato crostatas to dinner rolls filled with raspberries and basil Brooklyn cultivated in their back garden. Maple’s mouth watered at the view even though her stomach was still full with breakfast. Faced with such delicacies, it was impossible to resist. 

“Oh, hello, stranger,” Brooklyn said when she noticed Maple. She had flour in her hair and chocolate marks on her cheeks. Her pink and white apron, covered in colourful stains, was haphazardly tied around her waist.

Maple clocked her friend’s tired eyes. “Have you slept at all?”

Brooklyn sighed, stirring a green mixture in a metal bowl she held under one arm. “I can’t. The application’s deadline is tonight.”

Brooklyn was applying to be a contestant on British Columbia’s Most Influential Young Baker, a provincial contest that could open many doors for an autodidact who’d learned to cook from her father’s recipes. She’d applied twice before, and since the contest’s age limit was thirty, it was Brooklyn’s last chance to get in.

Maple gave a forced smile to two customers on their way out. An older gentleman sat in the corner, picking at the remnants of a lentil-parmesan muffin.

Mindful not to be overheard, she spoke low. “I need your help. It’s not baking related.”

Brooklyn frowned. These days, her entire life revolved around baking. “What do you need? I told you I don’t have your vibrator. Storm took it with her to Vegas, not me.”

A flash of Salvatore using said vibrator on Maple crossed her mind. She shook her head, prompting the lewd images away. “No, not that. I need an address that’s impossible to get online. Something that only a talented private detective could dig out.”

There was a long silence. Brooklyn poured her green mixture into an icing syringe. She said nothing.

Maple knew it wouldn’t be easy to convince her roomate, but she had no other option. She’d decided to write a new letter to Daphne Dutrignon with the same ardour she’d written that letter two decades ago. This time, however, she wouldn’t be asking Daphne for a signed picture but for the actress to return to Betteraves & Betrayals.

She’d been right with her initial lie to Ermett. The show’s salvation lied with Daphne Dutrignon.

Maybe it was desperation that made Maple certain, but she was sure that bringing Daphne back to Sobriquet Lake would save the show from its production hiatus and secure her spot as showrunner. It was a very long shot, but it was better than staying at her moms' place to cry.

Brooklyn looked away. “You know I don’t do that anymore. I can make you a cake if you want—”

“Brooklyn, listen to me.” Maple prepped her arms on the display and leaned in, pulling her friend’s attention back to her. “This is my last chance to save the show.”

“But—”

“If the bakery was on the brink of collapse, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to save it?” 

“Well, I would, but—”

“See, I knew you would get it!” Maple exclaimed, victorious. Her craze diminished when she noticed Brooklyn’s grim face. “Brooke, I really need this.”

Brooklyn and Maple had met a few months after her conversion from private detective to baker. Her roommate had never been keen to discuss her time as a PI, but that hadn’t stopped Maple from snooping around. She’d seen the surveillance equipment in Brooklyn’s room and had been there to witness her roommate pay cash for the bakery. Brooklyn’s secret past life had equipped her with skills Maple was now desperate enough to leverage.

“Whose address?” Brooklyn raised one finger in warning. “That doesn’t mean I agree.”

This was the part of the plan that required Maple to twist the truth just a little. “Daphne Dutrignon’s.”

“Why?” Brooklyn’s brows furrowed and she looked confused.  Her reaction was enough to convince Maple she’d done the right thing by deciding to stick to the semi-truth. 

“I want to send her a gift basket.” Faced with narrowed eyes and a suspicious glance, Maple decided to deliver the speech she’d rehearsed on the way here. “I know they’ve shut production now, but it won't be forever. I’m afraid Daphne is going to see the news and panic. Her agent is being coy with her address, but I read in her memoir that she adores gift baskets. I just need a little push to reassure her, to let her know I have things under control.”

Maple had read Daphne’s memoir, Destiny Chose Me: How I Became the Most Famous Betterave in Canada three times over. There was no mention of gift baskets in it, and there also was zero chance for Brooklyn to know that since only a die-hard fan like Maple would have read it.

Brooklyn started to shake her head, gently letting her down. “Maple, if her agent doesn’t want to give you the address…”

Maple leaned in closer, unashamedly slouching on the display. “Her agent is an old man, and you know how old men are!”

She’d screamed that last part and both women turned with apologetic smiles to the older man eating the last bite of his muffin. He gave Maple the finger and left the shop.

“You’re scaring my customers.” Brooklyn wiped her hands on the stained apron.

She was playing hard to get, but ultimately, Brooklyn Saint-Denis was a good person who liked helping people. Maple could use that to her advantage. She sniffed, tearing up a little—a skill she’d picked up from Marsha on set and from Storm at home when she didn’t want to do her chores.

That was enough to push Brooklyn to her limit. She sighed. “Are you sure it’s going to work?”

“Yes! Absolutely, yes!” Probably the biggest lie of all. Maple delivered it with the biggest smile she could conjure. “So? Are you in?”

The baker raised another finger in warning. “Alright… but only if you agree to take over the cake tasting I have scheduled for this afternoon. I must keep working on my spinach-cinnamon eclairs for the contest. If you do this for me, then—”

Maple clapped her hands. “Yes, no problem! I love cake, and I love tastings!”

The over-enthusiasm she displayed did little to convince Brooklyn. “Right… The samples are in the back.”

“Wonderful!” Maple walked to the backdoor and then stopped. “Who’s the lucky person I get to visit with the delicacies?”

A sharp and vengeful grin twitched Brooklyn’s lips. “Our lovely neighbour. Mrs. Parviére.”