My goodness, Modette was thinking. Was this really what the city was like?
Yes, from behind the windows and the parapets of stone, she had gazed upon the people of Paris. She had seen the millers and the weavers and their wives—the way they shouted and scolded and went about their lives had made her hungry to see more. It was so noisy and rushed and the ground was kind of wet and the smells around were that of food and heat. Needless to say, Modette was going through a bit of culture shock.
Maybe she should turn back. Froella was out there. She didn't want to disappoint her again.
She was so frazzled and all over the place that she didn't even notice she was crumpling the flowers in her clammy palms. Before anything, Modette wanted to get them to whoever they were meant for. Then she could go hide. After all, Froella had always instilled in her the value of honoring her promise.
Modette turned toward the first person in her vicinity. The man, leaning against the tent, smoking a hookah made eye contact with her that was so fierce it immediately caused her to avert her gaze.
"Um, sorry," she murmured. "Have you seen… Do you know where someone named Esmer is?"
Whoosh. The man blew a ring of smoke in her face that she had to struggle not to cough up and jutted his chin to a nearby tent. "He's in there. You one of his groupies?"
Modette didn't know what that word meant. "Uh, no. The girl… Clopine sent me to give this to him."
"Figures. Been lusting after him ever since he set foot in her colony."
"Oh."
"Can't blame her though. Sexy, mischievous, always staring into your soul with those emerald eyes? Just look at him. How can you not fall in love with him?"
"Oh." Modette almost wished this seemingly lovestruck man could deliver the flowers for her. Froella was in the audience, taking her seat in the caravan. Missing her daughter by mere feet.
"There's nothing to be scared of, doll. His bark is worse than his bite." It took a minute for Modette to realize what the man was talking about. And he shoved the flowers into the girl's hands and tossed her into the tent in question.
Modette came crashing in, tearing it down half of the barrier and exposing what was inside to the whole world. She looked up and came face to face with a tall, dark gypsy with green eyes and a single gold earring. It was the boy—Esmer.
He was basically naked with the towel wrapped around his bottom half. "Can I help you?"
Modette lifted the shawl, averting her eyes. "I'm so sorry." She was mortified.
The man didn't seem to be. If anything, he was only mildly surprised. "You're not hurt, are you?" He approached. "Here, here; let's see…"
"No!" She drew the cloth closer. "Please."
Esmer backed off, chuckling. "Okay, okay. I won't look at your mask. Just know that I've seen worse. Dated worse." He shook his head. "Forgive me, I'm prattling on; what brings you to my tent?"
"Uh…"
"Are those for me?"
Modette had completely forgotten about the flowers. They were kind of smushed together now. She thrust them out, reddening.
The boy brought them to his nose. "They're lovely. From Clopine, I'm guessing?"
"Y… Yes."
"I thought so. The acacia symbolizes secret love, the angrec means royalty and the apple blossom means 'I prefer you.'" Esmer laughed out loud. "And then, the arbutus means 'You are the only one I love,' as if she couldn't get more obvious."
Modette let out a short laugh and snorted. She covered her mouth.
Esmer chuckled. "Poor thing. I'm keeping you from something, I'm sure. Are you staying for the show?"
"Yes!" she managed, forcing more confidence this time.
"Good. I'll be in it. But do me a favor—just try to be a little more careful." Modette wanted to die. But what was she supposed to do? It wasn't entirely her fault. She was bucketed about and knocked into the tent like she was some kind of… But the boy was looking at her with kind eyes. "For me?"
"I will!"