Cecilia - Six #2
“Wonderful!” the man replied and slipped two of the pastries into a paper bag, passing it to Siena and asking for ten euros, which I handed over, knowing I’d promised to pay.
In reality, I was also paying for a peaceful morning and I didn’t want to face her wrath, especially not with my head still threatening to split at any moment .
I glanced around at the stalls, inhaling the differing smells of aromas around me.
I spotted a fruit and vegetable market stall to my right, the sight of the fresh produce grabbing my attention.
Instantaneously, the idea of making a fruit salad formed in my mind and my mouth practically watered at the idea of consuming it, especially given my current state.
“Hey Siena, I’m going to head over there,” I said, hiking a thumb over my shoulder and in the direction, I was just looking.
I turned to her to check she had paid attention and immediately laughed when I realised, she had stuffed a good three-quarters of the pain au chocolate into her mouth, causing her cheeks to puff up like a squirrel collecting nuts.
She nodded and let out a small moan as she swallowed some pastry. “I’m going to grab a coffee,” she mumbled around a mouthful.
“Okay,” I laughed, reaching into my purse to pass her some more money, but she shook her head and swiped the remaining flakes of evidence from her top. “I’ll meet you at the flower stall,” she added.
“Which flower stall?” I asked for clarification, considering I could already see three flower stalls and that was only in my peripheral vision.
“That one,” she nudged me and nodded towards a flower stall just opposite us.
It was a riot of colour, spilling over with neat bunches of peonies, hydrangeas, and cheerful sunflowers with faces tilted up like they too wanted to soak up the morning.
Lavender sprigs were tied in delicate bunches with twine, nestled beside wild poppies, marigolds, blush-toned roses, and soft white lilies that gave off a creamy, heady scent.
The gentle breeze carried a mix of them all—sweet, floral, almost honeyed.
Behind the table sat an older woman with silver-streaked hair twisted into a low knot, wearing a pale blue cardigan and the kind of smile that made you feel like you’d known her forever.
She watched the flow of people with a calm ease, her hands gently arranging one bouquet even as another was sold.
"Let’s meet back there in a few minutes?" I said, nodding towards the flower stall.
"Perfect," Siena replied, already halfway to her coffee, her fiery red hair fanning out behind her as she walked.
I started in the direction of the fruit thinking about what ingredients I wanted in my salad, imagining the taste and texture as it hit my tongue.
The idea of having a fresh pineapple, kiwi, strawberries, mangoes and even the crunch of an apple had me salivating, but I needed to see what the kind-looking man had to offer.
My feet stopped just shy of the front of the stand, patiently waiting as the couple in front of me had just finished their order, their paper bags already brimming with plump aubergines and sun-yellow courgettes.
I shuffled forward eagerly, my eyes sweeping across the rainbow of produce in front of me.
The stall was a feast for the senses—velvety figs sliced open to reveal their jewel-toned centres, cherries so glossy they looked like they’d been polished, bunches of pale green grapes, and boxes overflowing with peaches, nectarines, apricots and strawberries that glistened under the morning light .
I could already picture it—us stretched out on the veranda later, a bowl of that fruit between us, a glass of iced rosé in one hand, our skin warming under the sun.
Siena would probably complain about getting sticky fingers from the melon, and I’d pretend to be annoyed while secretly hoping she never changed.
The marketeer turned to me with a kind smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Bonjour, mademoiselle. Qu'est-ce que vous voudriez acheter?"
And just like that, everything came to a halt.
My heartbeat surged, pulsing in my neck like a bass drum.
My mind emptied completely, a tumbleweed of panic rolling through my brain.
I was practising French—technically. But I was only on unit ten of Duolingo, and nothing in that cheerful green owl’s lessons had prepared me for real-life market stall small talk.
I really should have spent more time learning when the notifications had popped up.
I blinked at the man, frantically scrambling through the recesses of my memory for any vocabulary.
Bonjour. Merci. Baguette. No, that wasn’t helpful.
I scanned the fruit in front of me as if it might speak up and help me out.
I presumed he had asked what I wanted from his stall, but any fruit related vocabulary in my mind had vanished.
Peach. Strawberry. Melon. What were they in French again? I knew this. I did. I thought back to my conversation with Theo last night—telling him proudly how much my French had improved since Bordeaux, laughing about my accidental order of truffle pasta and red wine.
Yet here I was, flailing .
And very much not laughing.
I mumbled something incoherent under my breath, then took a slow, deliberate breath through my nose, trying to steady myself. The man waited patiently, still smiling, his hands hovering over the produce.
"Bonjour," I said shakily, my voice lighter than I intended, but it was a start. I forced a smile and tried to channel every French lesson I’d ever half-heartedly absorbed.
"Je voudrais... des framboises... des fraises..." I paused, holding my breath slightly. I was positive I had said, ‘I would like raspberries and strawberries,’ albeit not in my best French accent, but it was definitely a good start.
The man nodded with a grin and began gathering raspberries and strawberries into a paper bag. Relief bloomed in my chest. I was doing it. I was actually doing it.
My eyes darted across the stall one last time, locking on a pyramid of crisp, red apples glinting in the sun. They looked perfect.
"Et... des pommes de terre," I added, remembering that ‘pomme’ was most certainly the word for apple.
The man gave a polite nod and turned to collect the last item.
I reached into my purse and pulled out a few bank notes, ready to complete my moment of victory.
He said something as he handed me the full bag – I presumed it was the total in euros and I handed over the money, smiling and hoping I’d given him the right amount.
"Merci beaucoup," I said brightly, taking my prize and stepping away from the stall with a skip in my step. I’d done it. My heart was still fluttering, but I’d managed.
I’d spoken French at a real market. It might not have been the best French I’d ever spoken and I’m sure I’d insulted the poor gentleman with my feeble attempt, but I successfully had a bag of goodies – fresh fruit – that was going to make Siena and I the most refreshing fruit salad later.
I peeked inside the bag, excited to see the colourful bounty I’d chosen—and stopped.
Nestled at the bottom of the bag, beneath the glistening strawberries and plump raspberries... were potatoes.
Not apples.
Potatoes.
I stared for a beat, then exhaled a soft, incredulous laugh. "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me," I murmured.
A light chuckle sounded behind me, “Your French has certainly improved,” a voice said.
The sound of it sent a ripple down my spine before I even turned.
My stomach did that slow, involuntary flip it always had when it came to Theo.
When I finally turned around, my breath caught a little.
He looked effortless—like the sun always knew where to find him.
His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, and his short beard framed that familiar, infuriatingly charming smile.
His eyes, still that stormy ocean-blue, locked onto mine with a spark of something unreadable.
He was in a white linen shirt, the top few buttons undone, sleeves casually rolled up.
He looked like a walking daydream, and I was half-convinced I hadn’t slept enough to be seeing him this clearly.
“You heard all that?” I half laughed, half sighed as my shoulders fell in defeat .
He nodded, trying his best not to laugh at my expense. “I love having strawberries and potatoes together, a real delicacy,” he smirked and I threw him a glare, not that I really meant it.
“I am so embarrassed,” I groaned, tucking my hair behind my ear and letting out an exasperated sigh. “Do you want any potatoes?” I asked with a small laugh as I held the bag out.
“I’ll trade you,” he replied, pulling his hand from behind his back and producing a paper bag.
My eyebrows raised in confusion as I peered into the bag he was extending in my direction and that’s when I saw juicy apples looking back up at me. I peered at him in question and he motioned for me to take them.
“I thought you might need these,” he said, gesturing for me to take the bag from his still outstretched palm.
Within the space of twenty-four hours, he had slotted seamlessly back into my life and saved the day without me even having to ask; something he’d always done. I never had to ask, Theo just knew what I needed.
Our fingers brushed for a fraction of a second during the exchange, but it was enough to send a quiet jolt through me. That familiar warmth settled in my chest again—the one I used to feel whenever we were together, when things were simpler, and life hadn’t stretched us six years apart.
“Thank you,” I said softly, cradling the bag of apples like he’d just gifted me something far more valuable.
He smiled, and for a moment, neither of us moved. We just stood there, two people trying to figure out what to say next, surrounded by morning bustle, the smell of crushed strawberries and the scent of lavender springs carried in the breeze up the street.