Chapter 30
The remaining days of November drifted by in a dreamy haze, a carefree blur of discovery. From sunset to sunset, Tiffany explored more of the beauty and sweet charm that was unique to Paris. December floated along, spinning days of rosy cheeks and cozy fires.
Every dawn, Tiffany would wake up to the rich aroma of hot coffee that Sébastien would make and the last thing she remembered of every day was the soft crackling of the fire mingled with the musky fragrance of Sébastien as would mark his book, put it away, and glance at Tiffany to make sure she was okay before settling onto the rug beside the fire.
All the moments in between were just as heavenly. She would smile her greatest smile when she sent Sébastien off to rehearsals at noon, and smile even wider when he returned. At mealtimes, Sébastien to take her to eat the best things at boutique cafés or pull out a cookbook and laugh at the disaster the food they tried cooking together always turned out to be. They could talk about music, art, philosophy, as well as frivolous gossip. They respected each other, but a sarcastic remark or a good-natured insult always added a touch of life into the conversation and left them chuckling.
All too soon, she was so comfortable in the cozy routine of things, she had half-forgotten her anxiousness in looking for her family. After all, she had sent letters home and all she could do was check in with the various hotels to see if they had any news. Granted, the frocks she now wore had cotton linings and French lace trimmings, unlike the satin ones at home, and the accessories she now wore were hardy wildflowers she picked and put in her hair or made into a small corsage. But it was all unimportant. The quaint charm and quiet serenity of life in Sébastien's small cottage was unexpectedly sweet.
Christmas was around the corner and she wondered how and what she should get for her host. She was adamant that the money for the present be something her own. Made or earned through her own means, not bought using Sébastien's money, which she had already used so much of. She wanted him to have something truly her own.
As the date drew closer, she would slip out of the house while Sébastien was at rehearsals. At the café, she would help Nana serve and make an assortment of the smoothest coffee, the heartiest sandwiches, and the richest cakes in exchange for some money. The two women worked well together. Nana loved to talk about old times when Sébastien was a boy, while Dada would occasionally look over his paper and make a few corrections or comments. Sébastien's childhood escapades, adventures in the woods, and freedom seemed rather exciting as compared to her sedate childhood of porcelain dolls and slumber parties. She loved to hear how he used to stain his shirt with spaghetti sauce and how he used to devise plans to raid the café pantry when Nana was not looking. The stories made the man she stayed with so human. She felt as if she'd been the one seeing him grow into the fine person he was.
Each night when she managed to hurry home before Sébastien got back from rehearsals, she would count the money she earned that day, place it behind the third book of the top shelf of the bookcase, smile because she was that much closer to getting him something, and clear up the house before she welcomed him home with a smile.
This wasn't the sort of life she had always expected to live. But it was such a simple, sweet life, and somehow, she wish it would never change.