<em>Dialog in &lt;&lt;&gt;&gt; is in French</em><br/><br/>"<<Anton! Where is that pâte à choux?>>"<br/><br/>For some reason, his father's voice grated on his nerves this morning. Maybe it was because he was out late last night, in spite of the fact that he knew he had to pull a shift at the bakery this morning, and was a little hung over. He took another swig of the bitter black coffee before answering.<br/><br/>"<<Right behind you.>>"<br/><br/>His father turned and saw the saucepot still on the stove.<br/><br/>"<<Damn it, Anton! You just left it like that?>>"<br/><br/>Anton tried not to lose his temper with his father - it would only deteriorate and become a full-blown row.<br/><br/>"<<I finished it just before you came in; it's still cooling.>>" His voice was measured and steady and just a little bit strained as he struggled to keep his cool.<br/><br/>His father gingerly touched the side of the pot, feeling the warmth still there. Acknowledging that Anton was telling the truth, he grunted and returned to his work.<br/><br/>"Andrè, we're just about to open. I thought we agreed to only speak in English when in the shop, yes?"<br/><br/>Anton smiled (Making sure his back was to his father so he couldn't see). His mother always did manage to have the upper hand around him.<br/><br/>"Oui, Jeanette," grumbled his father in a low voice.<br/><br/>His mother came into the kitchen and kissed Anton lightly on the cheek.<br/><br/>"You were out late last night, no? You're a good boy helping your father anyway." She patted him on the arm as he folded the dough for the batch of croissants he was making. "I've got to open the shop now. Try not to kill each other back here."<br/><br/>Anton nodded and resumed his work. A quick glance at the clock showed 6:57. God, who was willingly up at this hour?