Chapter Two: Before He Touched Her

It was a small village, not really for tourist. Hayley was assured by the old man at the front desk of her hotel that she would be able to find her way around easily. His kind face was a maze of crinkles and time spent laughing. The twinkle in his cloudy blue eyes made her think he was flirting, even though he spoke no English… She smiled her thank you, as he handed her a hand sketched map to the down town area, a few blocks away.

She walked along, fingering the amber amulet Bonnie, who now taught magic at the Salvatore School, had given her. She was really one of Hayley's best friend's these days… They bonded over a history of being pulled into drama that wasn't their own, loving the wrong men…and losing them. Heartache.

Bonnie understood the risks, and didn't love the idea when Hayley mentioned what was in her mind, one slightly drunken night at The Grill. But. If she could see Enzo, Bonnie admitted, she would also try…

So. If you're going to do it, keep this on you. It will mask your essence, her friend told her. Just in case.

He's been compelled to forget, remember? …He's forgotten all about me. About all of us, she'd sighed. Bonnie had studied her, with her trademark sad smirk.

Yeah, well. Shit happens. Also, she joked, it will bring out your werewolf eyes.

That was for sure. Too much shit happens, thought Hayley now, tucking the amulet into her shirt.

The streets were awakening with the evening. Couples sat at intimate tables outside cafes, and golden lamps lit the walkway. Every now and then someone in a neat white apron would try to direct her inside, offering her to try les speciaux, mademoiselle? Hayley demurred, and followed the sound of music until she came upon its source. She gazed through etched glass double doors of what seemed to be a jazz club, not unlike those back in New Orleans.

Elijah always loved the music of New Orleans. There was hardly anything in this village, if he were here at all…this is where he would be, she decided. This is the kind of place they would have been together. The thought made her ache…

She could feel him.

It could just be her imagination, her obsession playing tricks on her. But she started to breathe a bit faster as she stepped inside.

The room was filled with more small tables, like those that lined the street outside, and also intimate booths lit from overhead by antique looking crystal and bronze lamps. Old mirrors and black lacquered paneling lined the walls, and glasses clinked, and delicious smells of cheese and bread and red wine floated around her—reminding her she was starving. In the back of the room was a long, very solid looking mahogany bar, just filling up with people.

Her eyes fell on the piano in the corner. Even though she thought this had been the source of the music she's heard, no one played it now. She let out the breath she'd been holding. Oh, honey. You need a drink.

At the bar, she could see her reflection in the mirrors behind it, through the forest of bottles filled with honey colored liquors. She looked tense, she realized. She rolled her head from side to side, and took another deep breath.

Get it together Hayley. He's probably not here, and you're never going to see him again.

What were the chances of him being here, really? Just because she'd carved the name of this village he promised her into her brain—Venosc, Venosc- obsessing like a like a child obsessed over what they wanted for Christmas? It was a guess, at best. A far-fetched crazy hope.

She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands until she saw stars. It was ridiculous. This whole thing. And worse than that, probably dangerous to them all.

The bartender approached and spoke to her in French. She shook her head in apology, "Oh…ah… Just, ah. Wine? Vino? —That's not French, is it? Shit."

The bar tender smiled and nodded anyway, turning to hold up two bottles. "Blanc? Ou Rouge?" He asked.

"Oh man, thank god. Rouge. Please. Ah…Merci."

He poured for her, and set down a small basket of warm bread with a golden crust. It smelled like heaven, and when she put a piece in her mouth she looked at him like he was God.

"This is amazing. Oh my god," she reported, seriously.

He smiled and nodded, "Ah, oui." As if it were obvious the best bread on the planet would be here.

She took another piece, and kept talking. "I mean, we had good food in New Orleans. But Mystic Falls leaves a lot to be desired. You…don't know what I'm saying."

He kept smiling and nodding, refilling her wine. "Thanks…" she raised her dark brows in question for his name.

"Je m'appelle David", he lightly patted his chest.

"Daveeeed… Nice to meet you." Hayley attempted to pronounce as he did, making him laugh lightly. "I'm Hay—" she stopped herself. She hadn't thought what she could call herself on this little nutty mission. "Leigh… I'm Leigh. Je m'appelle Leigh."

"Leigh", He repeated. "Oui, bien."

Behind her, someone tinkled the piano keys. Hayley's eyes rushed to the mirror, searching the reflection of the room. A red-haired woman stood near the piano at a microphone stand, and a dark skinned man sat at the piano starting up a rolling prelude.

A man who wasn't Elijah.

Hayley sighed. But when the woman started singing, in a rich melodic voice, she couldn't help but turn on her seat. Even in French, she could hear how beautiful the singing was. She tried to pick out the song, because the melody sounded familiar. She tilted her head, as though it would help her pick out what it was…

"An old Eva Cassidy tune. Always a favorite." He said, from right beside her.

Hayley looked up into his profile. His familiar, strong profile, as he watched the singer across the room.

She stopped breathing.

He looked down into her eyes, his own warm and brown, and crinkling around the edges in thoughtfulness. "Lovely, is it not?" He asked.

Elijah.

When she didn't answer, he titled his head in question, prompting her.

"Yes. Lovely," she heard a ghost of her own voice answer.

He turned to the bar and spoke to David in French. David put a short glass down before him and filled it with a rich brown liquid he'd taken from under the bar. She watched him, her whole body felt stunned. He smiled sideways at her, in curiosity, before downing the drink and tapping the bar for another.

"You are visiting." It was a statement.

"Yeah…" the ghost said.

"We get very few visitors this time of year." He fingered his glass, and watched her. "Especially…like you."

She cleared her throat, and picked up her wine. "Like me? American?"

He slowly smiled again. His eyes making a study of the contours of her face. He didn't answer. His gaze fell onto the hand that held her wine glass, and the ring she donned.

It wasn't a daylight ring, as she didn't need one. But it was a Mikaelson family ring, that Rebecca had once given her to be handed down to Hope someday...Tell her that her Auntie Becks loves her… Hayley passed her glass to the other hand and tucked the ring hand into her pocket.

"I'm terribly sorry, I'm being rude. Please allow me to introduce myself; my name is Elijah."

Hayley was stunned when he said it. She assumed he had been compelled by Marcel to forget who is was…

"Elijah… Nice to meet you…I'm Leigh." She responded as if from a fog. All of it seemed like a dream to her.

"…Leigh." He mulled the name she gave him, still studying her face to the point of causing her to blush. "Leigh, would you care to dance with me?"

Hayley looked at the open space between the singer and the tables, where only one couple danced closely. Before she could figure out what to say, she felt him take her wine glass from her hand and set it on the bar. Then he was holding it, her hand… and Hayley was sure she was dreaming. Everything slowed down, as if she were in a spell. She could no longer hear the sounds in the room like she had just moments before.

Before he touched her.