He made a tut-tutting noise. “Merci, yes? You must learn some French while you are here.”
Raya racked her brain for the right word. “Merci beaucoup, Ahmed.”
“You are learning already!”
After dragging her luggage up the narrow flight of stairs, Raya deposited her bags in the small but clean room and returned to the ground level in search of food.
“Back already?” said Ahmed.
“Is there somewhere I can get something to eat this late?”
“Walk to the cross-street on the right and you will find a small supermarket. To the left you will find a bakery. Take your pick.”
Raya thanked him and crossed the hotel threshold into the night.
A supermarket promised a solid meal, perhaps a pre-made sandwich or a ready-to-eat tray of fruit and cheese.
On the other hand …
Visions of Parisian pastries danced in Raya’s head.
She turned decisively to the left.
She found the little bakery lit up from within like a glass jewel box filled with treats instead of gems. Raya nearly pressed her nose against the glass like a small child. Instead, she opened the door and stepped inside.
“Bonjour, madame,” called the shopkeeper from behind the counter.
One of the very few things Raya knew about France was that you must greet the shopkeeper upon entering the shop or asking for assistance, so she summoned her best French accent—which, in all honesty, was probably terrible—and offered a greeting that made up in gusto what it lacked in polish.
The shopkeeper, a tall blonde woman dressed in the white clothing of a baker, did not offer a smile in return. Instead, she regarded Raya gravely.
Raya swallowed. Her limited French vocabulary deserted her. She pointed, tentatively, at a stack of pink macarons, then held up three fingers.
A ghost of a smile flitted across the shopkeeper’s face. She added the treats to a small box and started to close it.
“No! I mean—please? A few more things?” Raya gestured for her to wait, then pointed to a tray of chocolate croissants and held up two fingers.
The shopkeeper attempted to place the two croissants into the small box, realized it was too small, and transferred everything to a larger box.
Encouraged, Raya waved the shopkeeper over and pointed to what appeared to be an array of savory mini-quiches. She held up four fingers.
The shopkeeper raised a questioning eyebrow and held up four fingers in return.
Raya rubbed her stomach. “So hungry!”
The shopkeeper shrugged eloquently and loaded the quiches into the box, filling it to the very top.
Raya spotted eclairs. “One of those?” She pointed with a hopeful expression.
This time, the shopkeeper closed the box and retrieved the eclair with a small sheet of waxed paper. She mimed taking a bite, then handed the eclair to Raya.
“For now? That’s perfect. Thank you.Merci beaucoup.” Raya stopped herself from gobbling the pastry and instead attempted to take a dainty bite, leaving only a little bit of cream filling on her upper lip. She paid and waved goodbye with the eclair as she left.
As she walked toward the hotel, she heard the tell-tale flutter of wings behind her. “You can’t startle me now, Phoenix,” she called.
He emerged from the darkness to walk by her side. “What, and spill your dinner on the Paris sidewalk? Even I have some manners.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
