Killian sighed with relief as he spotted the cream banner blowing gently in the breeze. He'd spent most of his day just walking; exploring the small village he'd picked for his getaway, enjoying the silence and calm it had to offer compared to the usual hustle and bustle of New York City. While he wasn't a stranger to vacationing in France, having visited the country every few years since he was a little boy, Peillon was a new location for him, and Killian loved nothing more than the chance to explore somewhere new.
After a day spent walking and snapping pictures to show to his mother when he returned home, he was ready to finally sit down and eat something, and Le Bistrot Des Sources looked like the perfect place to make that happen. The view it offered was simply breathtaking, and Killian already knew that regardless of how good (or bad) the food was that evening, he would be returning to this very spot the next day… and the day after it. It was the perfect location to sit and write his memoirs.
The moment he stepped onto the premises he was greeted with an enthusiastic welcome. Killian heaved a sigh of relief that the server spoke fluent English. Given how much time he'd spent in France, his grasp of the language was woefully inadequate, and being outside of the usual tourist spots often meant language barriers were harder to overcome. Thankfully, the bistro didn't seem to have that problem. He placed his order for a Diet Cola and was encouraged to take a seat outside while his server went to fetch his drink.
Killian settled himself comfortably on the small balcony overlooking the forests and mountains surrounding him, then scanned through the menu as he waited for his drink to arrive. After ordering a large bowl of pasta, he pulled out his laptop to fire up the device. Killian wasn't normally a fan of seeing people work while they ate in public. It was fine to do so when he was curled up at home with Lily in a pair of sweats and a ratty old t-shirt, but it just felt so rude to work in a restaurant. However, given that it was early September and he was miles away from the nearest city, Killian didn't feel too rude that evening. Only one other person was sitting on the deck, and she was on the other side of the building with her head buried in some sort of book.
The pasta that was brought out to him was some of the best he'd tasted outside of Italy, and Killian groaned a little as he considered his waistline before shoveling more into his mouth. He was a terrible creature of habit and now that he knew just how good their Linguine was, he knew that he'd be ordering it again. (And probably at least another time after that, before he boarded his flight back home.)
He took his time with his meal, enjoying the flavors that the chef had combined perfectly together and sipping his drink before he finally pushed aside his empty dish to reach for his laptop. Just as his hand landed on the device, a small laugh rang around the silent space, and Killian turned his head instinctively to follow the sound.
The woman on the other side of the balcony still had her head buried in her book, but this time, there was a steaming mug of something sitting in front of her and small lines seemed to crinkle the corners of her eyes.
Killian shook his head and grabbed his laptop, pulling it close to begin tapping out notes for what he wanted to include in his book. Some of the horrors he'd seen felt like they'd happened centuries ago, and it wasn't as easy to place each one in chronological order as he'd first thought it would be.
When the night around him began to darken and the small fairy lights decorating the space flared to life, the server came out to light candles and refill his drink. Killian was pretty sure that he heard the sounds of couples and small families coming and going from the restaurant, but the night was beginning to cool, and nobody else came out to join him on the deck.
He was just starting to suspect that he was finally alone out there when a loud gasp echoed around the space. Killian lifted his head once more and turned to follow the sound. His eyes landed again on the woman sitting on the other side of the building with a book folded aggressively in one hand and a mug of something frozen halfway to her mouth.
"The good kind or the bad kind?"
The words were out before he could stop them, and as they hung in the air between the two strangers, Killian found himself scrambling for some reason as to why he'd even given them a voice.
The woman on the other side of the balcony slowly lowered her mug back to the tabletop before she raised her eyes to see who had interrupted her moment. The instant her gaze met his, Killian knew he'd made a big mistake.
"Excuse me?" she asked; her English accent was dripping with ire.
"I, uh…" Suddenly, words seemed impossible to form. Killian knew he had them. He was a well-educated, well-spoken, well-respected journalist. His job was to talk. But that evening, while his mouth moved his vocal cords failed to work.
She raised an eyebrow at him and set the book down on the table, sending him a very clear message – I'm waiting…
"I uh…" he tried again. "I um… I was just wondering if that was the good kind of gasp or the bad kind," he finished, a little lamely. Now that he'd put the thought into words, Killian realized just how stupid it sounded.
She scoffed with her derision before fixing him with another harsh stare. For the longest moment, he was certain that she wasn't planning to answer, but then she finally spoke up, enunciating each word clearly to make sure he heard her. "I wouldn't know. Someone interrupted me before I could even turn the page."
Killian wanted to slap himself. He hadn't just interrupted a perfect stranger, he'd interrupted a perfect stranger during the climax of a novel she'd spent hours reading that evening. He knew how frustrating it was to be on the receiving end of that. He'd snapped at Mary-Margaret and his mother enough times for doing the same thing, and yet, here he was, being that person to someone else.
"I'm, uh… I'm really sorry," he offered. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'll um… I'll let you get back to your book."
"Thank you," she shot back.
The sarcasm that she managed to infuse into those two small words was rather impressive, Killian thought, as he turned his attention back to the document before him. But it was no good. The words on the page now seemed to be a blurry mess and the roaring in his ears was far too loud for him to focus on anything else. He'd just humiliated himself in front of a complete stranger. He should leave, and allow her to finish the novel without having to worry about him interrupting her with stupid questions about a book he'd never even set his eyes on. However, he couldn't seem to force his legs to stand up and move. What if she thought he was running away? That would make his humiliation even worse. While he hadn't been able to see her properly, thanks to the darkness of the night and the distance between them, he was pretty sure she was younger than he was. He didn't want to let a young woman chase him away from a restaurant he'd already grown attached to. And if he was being painfully honest with himself, Killian knew his pride would never allow that to happen.
After floundering for a moment over what to do, he finally decided to take the New Yorker approach to the situation. He fished his headphones out of his pocket, plugged them into his laptop, and pulled up the first playlist he came to. The calming familiarity of the classical music he'd chosen soon helped to ease the tension he was carrying, and after fifteen minutes of staring out over the darkened mountains, Killian was finally able to turn his attention back to his document and make some real progress with his outline.
He wasn't sure how much time he spent working that evening. The minutes seemed to blur together as the beautiful scenery around him inspired paragraph after paragraph after paragraph. He didn't want to stop while the words were flowing so freely, but he knew that eventually, the restaurant would need to close for the evening.
Coming to the end of the section he was working on, Killian reached out to grab his glass, intending to drain it dry for the final time that night, but before he could, something fell past his eyes to land with a thud on his keyboard.
He yanked on the cord for his headphones, pulling them out of his ears, and then reached for the battered paperback that was now lying upside down on his open laptop. Killian turned it over in his hands before he finally looked up from the table to see the woman standing beside him.
He only had a brief moment to appreciate that she was almost the same height as he was while he was sitting, and the way that her green eyes seemed to blaze with some unknown emotion in the candlelight before she spoke.
"There. Now you can find out for yourself what kind of gasp it was," she said.
She tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and then strode away across the deck, disappearing into the darkness as Killian sat in stunned silence staring after her, the battered paperback clenched tightly in his hand.
He wasn't entirely sure what had shocked him more – the fact that she'd finished her book and clearly decided to gift it to him (even if it was out of spite) or the fact that he was pretty sure he'd just met the most stunningly angry young woman he'd ever come across in his life – and that said a lot, given his choice of profession.
He was finally snapped out of his haze when the server from earlier came bustling back outside with a small spray bottle in one hand and a cleaning rag in the other.
"We're closing now," he said kindly, startling Killian back to the present. "I need to turn off the lights but you can stay for as long as you'd like."
Killian glanced at the clock in the corner of his laptop and frowned at it in confusion as he attempted to puzzle out why the numbers didn't accurately reflect the darkness of the night. It took him far longer than it should have to realize that the device was still set to New York time.
"Sorry," he finally said to the server, who had already finished cleaning down one of the tables, "Jet lag. I'll uh… I'll just pack all of this away and then get out of your hair."
The young man offered him another kind smile and said, "Take your time, Sir," before he returned to his duties.
Killian wasn't entirely sure how long it took him to pack away his laptop and fish out a generous tip for his server, but by the time he'd made it back to the small home he'd rented for his stay, the fatigue from earlier in the day had completely faded. He felt wired in a way he hadn't experienced since the last election cycle, when he'd been awake for almost forty hours, covering the results as they came in live on-air.
He locked the door safely behind himself and then hung up his jacket on his way through to the kitchen. Once inside, Killian grabbed himself a banana and a can of Diet Cola from the small fridge before he made his way back over to his bag. However, instead of pulling out his laptop to continue working on his book, Killian reached for the battered paperback laying on top of it. In the harshness of the kitchen lights, he could now see that it appeared to be some sort of trashy romance novel. It was the kind of thing his mother would read when she was bored, and absolutely not the kind of literature he kept on any of his bookcases either at home or in his office.
Yet, after making himself comfortable on the sofa in his small lounge, Killian cracked open the cover and began to read. He'd already finished the first chapter of the book before he'd even begun peeling his banana.