✔️Romance || WomanxWoman || short novelette was written together with bibi_the_nomad
Sarcastic, sharp-tongued Ava Allard didn't get to college. Almost ten years have passed since then, but the young woman is still working at her mom's misfortunate (...
Сousine germaine de ma mère gave me crate blanche: I found myself standing amidst the overgrown splendor of one of the garden's neglected corners, envisioning how it could be transformed into a serene retreat for visitors. The air was filled with the scent of lavender and the distant murmur of bees. Sunlight filtered through the ancient olive trees, casting dappled patterns on the weathered stone pathways. It was a place where time seemed to slow down, a perfect spot for tourists to escape and immerse themselves in the essence of Provence.
Mom's suggestion of a trip to Paris initially met with strong resistance from me. Provence had become more than a home; it was a haven of peace and restoration after the tumultuous years. The rolling hills, that stretched to the horizon, had woven their tranquility into my soul. Each sunrise over the fields, each sunset painting the sky in hues of amber and lavender, had become my solace.
Despite my reluctance, the allure of Paris eventually beckoned. The road trip from Provence to the capital was a journey from serenity to the vibrant pulse of city life. As we traversed the winding roads that led us out of the countryside, I felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with anticipation for the unknown.
Arriving in Paris, we found ourselves seated in a charming café tucked away on a cobbled street. The ambiance was a stark contrast to the rustic simplicity of Provencal life. Mom, savoring her coffee, gazed out the window, lost in memories of our past challenges in America.
"I can't believe we once struggled through running that dreadful café in America," she murmured, her voice tinged with both relief and disbelief.
I nodded, understanding the weight of those memories. "It feels like a lifetime ago. We pretended that our café in America was French, but in reality, we were the only thing that was French there."
We both laughed.
As I scanned the bustling Parisian scene outside, my thoughts drifted to the garden back in Provence. I wondered how to preserve its tranquility while opening it up to visitors seeking solace and a taste of Provencal charm. The idea of hosting traditional Provencal lunches amidst the olive groves and lavender fields stirred my imagination.
Across the street I noticed a bookstore displaying Bo's latest book.
"Let's go in," I suggested impulsively.
Mom hesitated. "Are you sure?"
I paused, contemplating. "I don't know. I just want to see what she's scribbled there."
"Do you miss her?" Mom asked softly, sensing my mixed emotions.
"I don't know," I admitted, feeling conflicted. "Everything just feels so tangled and odd. She was like a bright fireworks display! Quickly burst into my life, dazzled beautifully and brightly, but left nothing behind except a couple of photos and memories."
"I understand," Mom nodded sympathetically.
"Has Libbie reached out to you recently?" I inquire, shifting the conversation.
"Yes," Mom replied, her expression thoughtful. "She mentioned they're planning to visit with her papa in a couple of weeks. Apparently, they have news for us."
"I hope it's good news," I murmured, uncertain about what to expect.
"It seems they're considering a move," Mom revealed cautiously.
"Oh, really?" I reacted, surprised. "So she's finally decided to use Morris's money."
Mom chuckled. "He'll certainly appreciate the better cheese and wine here. And as for Libbie, I'm sure she'll find ways to keep herself occupied," she added, a hint of warmth in her voice. I notice a faint blush on her cheeks, suggesting there might be more to Libbie's plans than she's letting on.
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