Six Months to Dinner

April 30th

The spring air had just turned into a warm summer breeze as the Comte watched Caroline walk down the cobblestone path to his office. Gone were her sweaters and her graceful, long arms were shining pale in the sun. A few weeks more and they would darken with the rest of her. Not that she ever got very tan in the summer. Caroline was nothing if not a practical woman and very careful of her complexion. But just her day-to-day activities alone would give her that healthy, girlish glow he so looked forward to every year.

It was at this point that the Comte realized he was blatantly staring and Caroline, who had been stopped by another villager, was now staring back. He swallowed the embarrassment he felt rising in his stomach and gave a quick nod before quickly retreating from the window. She would not speak of this when she reported to her desk in less than two minutes.

Many things had changed in the little village since Mademoiselle Rocher had invaded his little town. The Tranquilite forever disturbed by this small chocolatier with her big ideas. While the upset had been a painful trial, initially, The Comte de Reynaud found that he didn't mind it so much after all. He was still glad, however, that Caroline maintained the unspoken tradition of looking the other way when she saw something she wasn't supposed to see. He respected her for that.

May 15th

The Comte wasn't to a point that he would call Vianne a close friend. His lifelong hardened exterior would keep her from becoming too close for at least another two to three years. But that wasn't to say that he minded her company as a casual acquaintance when the occasion called for it. Like this fine summer night, for example, as they found themselves walking the same way home from the grand opening of Josephine's new café. As the chief landlord of the small town, it was his civic duty to preside over the evening, but it was no chore. As much shame as he still felt in his soul for what she had gone through, and the various parts he had to play in it, it made him equally glad to see her change. She smiled, she laughed, she danced between the tables serving and taking orders as they came.

He told Vianne as much as they trodded the streets home. "You know, I never properly thanked you for all you've done for Madame Muscat."

"It was nothing, Comte, any decent person would've done the same."

There was that tinge again and he hung his head slightly, "But no one did."

He was thankful that for all of her brazen ways, Vianne was tactful enough to not speak at the inappropriate time. Instead, she held on to his arm for balance as her heel caught an uneven stone. Before she released her grip, she gave him a small squeeze.

The Comte smiled in the waning evening light before she completely countered him and broke the silence.

"I noticed Madame Clairmont at the café. She seemed to enjoy your suggested menu."

"You know, Mademoiselle Rocher, you would be a far more pleasant woman if you held silence in a little higher regard."

"Like Madame Clairmont?"

The Comte was about to give Vianne a taste of her own medicine before she countered him once again.

"Ah, here we are. Goodnight Comte." She winked as she ducked into her shop and quickly shut the door behind her.

He let out an exasperated sigh as he crossed the square and made his way home.

Caroline would never push his buttons in such a childish manner. He was thankful to her for that.

June 21st

The Comte had to admit, he had been looking forward to the Summer Solstice Festival Vianne had petitioned him for that summer. The little village had endured smoldering heat wave for the past few weeks, and the Solstice Festival was to be held on the riverbank. Mademoiselle Rocher, of course, was going to provide a large portion of the desserts but she insisted that she was not to be the only one running the festival. She wanted to make sure the entire village got involved. A band recently formed by some of the older men of the town was to play. Every house in attendance was to bring their favorite dish to share in a massive sunset picnic. The children had a firefly contest to compete in for small prizes. And those who felt so inclined could compete in a sunset swim race, to which the Comte agreed to be the judge.

As the sun went down, and the stars came out, the Comte found himself sitting on a picnic blanket, mindlessly nibbling away at a delicious slice of glazed boar roast.

"I'm glad to see you are enjoying my dish." Caroline smiled as she sat down next to him on the blanket. At an appropriate distance, of course.

"This one was yours?" The Comte started, in spite of the food still in his mouth. He quickly reddened at his rudeness and cleared his throat, swallowing the bite. "Forgive me. Yes, it is quite delicious."

"It was Victor's favorite as well." She smiled wistfully as she stared off into the darkening evening sky.

The Comte blushed again, at a complete loss as to what to say. It was rare for Caroline to bring up her late husband. One would be blind to not notice that it still affected her. Though she was gradually moving on, the Comte remembered how terrible it had been when she was a new widow.

For months she closed herself off publicly, only leaving her house to take Luc to and from school, attend mass every Sunday, and to report to work. He had insisted that she take the time she needed, but she refused. Every day she came in on time, and worked until he dismissed her in the evening. He would occasionally ask if she would like some time off, but she continuously refused the offer. He knew why. It was the same reason he still worked day in and day out while the Countess enjoyed her 'vacation'. Sometimes it was all one could do to keep oneself from going mad.

He noticed a lone tear roll down her cheek and the Comte realized he wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. She had suffered enough in her life and he never wanted to see that sadness darken her beautiful face again.

He didn't, however. It wouldn't have been proper, the still married Mayor getting too familiar with his secretary, no matter how well the village knew them to be friends. Caroline seemed to realize this too, and stood, taking the Comte's hand for balance.

"It's getting late, and I should get Luc home and out of his wet suit before he catches something."

"Of course." He responded, gazing up at her silhouette in the starlight. It was this moment when he noticed she was still holding his hand. She gave it a small squeeze before letting go.

"Don't stay out too late, yourself Monsieur. I'll see you in the morning, Comte, 8 o'clock sharp."

And he knew she would be there. No matter the day, no matter the circumstances, he could always depend on her at first light of the day. He admired her for that.

July 31st

"Monsieur Le Comte?... Monsieur Le Comte?... Paul?"

The Comte's ears perked at the mention of his given name, and at the realization at the only person in the whole town who would dare refer to him by it. Caroline.

Still, it did little to actually physically move him from where he had been sitting for most of the night. He hadn't moved from his desk since he opened the letter. He didn't even know what time it was. It was dark outside and his dinner had gone untouched. He hadn't even noticed when it was brought in.

"I know it's late…" Her voice echoed throughout the building as she made her way though the halls to his office. "…but I was on my way home from Women's Guild when I noticed your light was still on. Do you require any assistance with th-…." She trailed off as she entered the room and found him there.

He had no idea how he must've looked, but it had to have been bad.

"Oh, Paul…"

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the picture of his wife to his side. His ex-wife now. It was just like her, to stand there in permanent perfection as she stared off into the distance. Away from him. Always away from him. Away from his bloodshot eyes and tired, gaunt face.

He blinked for the first time in what felt like ages, as he cleared his throat and turned to look at the letter he still had clasped in his hands. He realized he had not yet responded to Caroline, much less acknowledged her presence since she came in. He wanted so bad to reassure her that he was just tired, that he had just had a long day collecting rent, that he was coming down with a summer cold. Anything except what had actually transpired.

Caroline quietly made her way behind his desk and gently pulled the letter from his hands. For all the pain in his hands at having clutched the letter for so long, he found that he didn't have the strength to keep her from taking it. She stood at his side, silently, as she read. Now she would know everything.

Though he hadn't received any word from The Countess in months, it had been understood that her ever-growing holiday for "their health" had been her breaking away from him. It took him longer to come to that realization than he would've liked to admit. For the longest time, he held out the hope that she just needed the time away to cleanse herself and come to her senses. When she was ready, she would come home to him and he would welcome her with open arms. But she was never to come back. Somewhere deep inside he knew that. Still, it didn't make this letter any easier to read. 'We have been unhappy for so long… It really is beautiful here…This really is for the best…You are your own man now…'

It stinged that she had the nerve to try and ease her guilt by claiming that is was best for the both of them… that it was for their own good. Why couldn't she just admit it? She never loved him. He knew that as well, but had again fooled himself into thinking that would change. God had brought them together. Why wouldn't it be anything but His plan?

Through all of his thoughts, The Comte hadn't noticed that fresh tears began to roll down his face for the tenth or thirtieth time that night. What made this time different, however, was Caroline.

At some point, she had set the letter down and began gently rubbing his back, not saying a word. She didn't need to. He turned his chair to face her. He wanted to say something. He opened his mouth, but the excuses wouldn't come. The platitudes, the verses of wisdom and faith in the coming tomorrow, the determination to be the constant strong leader everyone in the village expected him to be. Nothing came.

"I'm so sorry, Paul."

He broke down right there, right in front of her. This stunning, strong woman who knew loss as well as he. She didn't say a word as his head fell forward and landed against her dress while the tears and sobs just came and came. And he didn't say a word when he felt her soft, summer-golden arms carefully encase his head. Neither said a word as he soaked her beautiful, yellow dress and she brushed his hair back with her delicate hands. She stayed there, silent and unmoving, until he had no more tears left in him.

Afterwards, she slowly pulled away and moved towards her desk in the adjacent room. "I've cancelled your morning appointments. You really should sleep off your fever. Tomorrow's Saturday anyway. Everyone will understand."

Again, he willed himself to say something to her as she came back into view, and again nothing came.

"Get some rest, Paul. I'll see you tomorrow."

The Comte nodded as she quietly backed out of his office and the building. He knew she would not speak of this the coming day, or the next, or any other. He cherished her for that.

August 2nd

The Comte looked about him as he crossed the square that was covered in various parishioners after Sunday Service. They chatted with each other, while the children played, burning all the energy that had been building throughout the long sermon. As the last to leave, The Comte was waiting at the doors for Pere Henri to emerge, when he noticed Vianne waving him over to her shop.

She gently turned away customers who were surprised to see her door open on a Sunday. As a concession to The Comte, and as a show of good will, Vianne had agreed to not run her business on Sundays. She even commented that she was glad for the weekly day off to enjoy with Anouk.

He heard her mention needing to see him for business reasons as he approached the shop, with the villagers nodding in understanding.

He shook the last few hands that reached out to him, offering up comments of 'Good Sunday' and 'Remember our meeting next week', before she closed the door behind them.

"And where is your daughter this morning?" The Comte opened with the usual pleasantries as he made his way to the stool Vianne was offering.

"She is off playing with the boys. She mentioned something about needing to collect specimens for her science class." She nodded to the seat at her counter before retreating behind it.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mademoiselle Rocher? Are you finally looking to convert?"

Vianne silently cocked an eyebrow as she reached under the counter and produced a jar filled with some form of chocolate.

"What is that?" The Comte questioned as she placed it in his hand and slid him a small spoon.

"Try it. It's your favorite."

The Comte cast her a doubtful glance before dipping the spoon in the smooth, chocolaty paste and bringing the most modest amount to his mouth.

It was like nothing he had ever tasted before. It was rich and smooth, yet it didn't overpower you with sweetness. It had a nutty note, followed by a small zing of some kind of berry. It melted in his mouth and it took every ounce of his prided self-control to not finish the jar right then and there.

"So? What's the verdict?" Vianne leaned across the counter, waiting for his response. No doubt, it was written plainly across his face.

"It is perfection itself. What do you call it?"

"I haven't thought of a name for it yet…" She took the jar from his trembling hand and sealed it with the proper lid before placing it in a bag and handing it back to him. "But it is a semi-sweet chocolate spread infused with a hint of hazelnut and raspberry extract. Was I right? Is it your favorite?"

"I guess it is now. How did you know?"

Vianne gingerly took the spoon he still held in is hand and gave him a smug grin, "I didn't. Madam Clairmont did."

The Comte was dumbfounded. "What do you mean?"

"She came to me yesterday morning with an interesting request…" Vianne pulled up a chair on her side of the counter and regarded him as she continued. "She wouldn't tell me why, but she said that you 'needed' this." She pointed to the bag resting between them. "She told me what flavors you liked and what consistencies your preferred."

The Comte slowly turned his gaze to the bag, reaching out to hold it, reverently in his hands. Caroline?

"She really cares for you, you know. I thought I was the only one in the village who had the knack for guessing favorites." She smiled as she slid her hand over his.

Caroline?

"I think… no one would pay you any mind, should you decide to tell her you care for her as well."

He wanted to tell her to mind her own business for once. He wanted to remind her of the laws of God and marriage, still observed by this town. He wanted to evict her for good, had she not been under the lease of Caroline. Caroline.

Without saying a word, the Comte stood, grabbed his bag, and tipped his hat to the Atheist Chocolatier before making his escape from her shop.

Caroline had gone to Vianne. She used her knowledge to have her make something for him, something so unique and personal to his specific taste. No one else could've done that. No one else would have thought to do that. As Comte and Mayor to the village, it was always his job to protect his people and look out for their safety and best interests. 'But who looked after him?' He realized. Caroline. It had always been Caroline. He adored her for that.

September 10th

The sun was beginning to set as the cool breeze drifted in from the open windows in the Comte's office. This would probably be the one of the last weeks of summer wind before the air started to cool for the season. The Comte chanced a quick glance over at Caroline who was high on the bookshelf ladder, sorting the new volumes. For the last few weeks, he found himself staring more and more, while managing to say less and less.

He finally resolved to ask her out to dinner but wanted to wait for most of the town hall employees to go home for the day, so he kept her late on Monday with the ruse of asking her to help him reorganize the library. Then the hours got later and later, and the Comte still couldn't ask her. So he kept her late the next night, with the same intention, and the same results. The next night worked the same. Each day he asked if she would be willing to stay late and help him, and each day she unquestioningly said yes. Now it was Thursday and he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer. It wasn't fair to her or Luc that he couldn't muster the courage to say what was on his mind.

"Where is Luc tonight?" He said casually, trying to remember the lines he had rehearsed in his head a thousand times by this point. "I sure hope he doesn't mind all the late nights I've been giving you this week."

"It's no problem at all, Monsieur le Comte." She grabbed the book he handed her before placing it in its proper place on the shelf. "Vianne invited him over to learn some baking tips. He was only too happy to go."

"Madame Clairmont, you can call me Paul, you know." He stood at the foot of the ladder, wringing his hands as he gazed up at her.

She stopped at this, and carefully descended the ladder. "Only if you call me Caroline." She noticed his nervous hands and covered them with her own. "Is something the matter, Paul?"

The Comte lost his breath at the contact and quickly paced away. "Nothing, at all Mada- …Caroline."

He returned to the massive, and unnecessary, pile of books he had collected at his desk. He had really made a mess of his whole office for the sake of keeping Caroline late each day. "I just wanted to ask you something, that's all."

"What?" Her voice came from right behind him, soft and curious.

"I-I…. I wanted to a-ask you…." He stammered, his face hot from nerves. Why was this so hard? He wasn't fourteen anymore.

"Paul, if it's something you need help with, you know you can ask me anything." Her face a picture of concern at the obvious spectacle he was making of himself. Cautiously, she stepped closer, once again taking his hands in her own.

"It's the silliest thing… it really is…" He laughed in an almost crazed matter.

The growing hysterics must've concerned Caroline even more as she released his hands and held his face still. As he stared into her eyes, and she his, he noticed her face was inching closer and closer. He couldn't hold himself back anymore. Without a word, the Comte lunged forward and met her lips in a kiss. Caroline, much to his gratitude, didn't back away. Instead, she slid her hands past his face and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him to her. He gently enveloped her waist with his arms, being careful not to lose his control.

After what seemed like forever, they eventually broke away from the kiss, though they stayed in their tentative embrace. Almost as if they were afraid they would lose the closeness it had taken them years to achieve. Out of breath and mentally drained, they pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed, and relishing the intimacy they had both wanted for so long.

"Paul…" Caroline whispered, eventually pulling away enough to meet the Comte's eyes. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tomorrow night?" He sighed, the weight that had been crushing him finally rising from his person.

"I would love to." Caroline smiled and held his face in her hands, as she planted a final chaste kiss on his lips.

Tomorrow they would go to dinner and set the whole village abuzz in gossip. And Paul found that the thought didn't make him shudder as much as it would've before. Caroline would be there to catch him as she always had and always will be. And he loved her for that.

The End.