Nora was drawn into the view of the twinkling city lights. Into the magic.
A quiet night was just what she needed after the whirlwind few days since her arrival. She knew she would be in bed early. A frisson of happiness tingled through her about having made the decision to come to Paris. About being impulsive. She had done it.
A moment later, her cheeks were wet with tears.
Jeremy. It was still all about him. If she was honest, every one of her visits to Chloe in Paris had been about him. This time, though, after meeting with the counselor and talking to Cynthia, she thought she might be able to keep him tucked in her heart and move forward. It might not be easy though.
She pushed back her thoughts, dried her eyes, and resolved to make this time different. It was way overdue. She simply had to get a grip and figure out how to do it. Tomorrow she would get back to writing and see if she could lose herself in that.
If Paris couldn’t cure her writer’s block, nothing could.
ChapterEleven
On Nora’sfirst morning alone with Atticus, Chloe dropped by for an espresso before leaving for the studio.
“Here’s an apartment-warming gift,” she said as she handed Nora a saucer with what looked like a bunch of seeds lying atop a damp cotton cloth. “This is how we celebrate la Fête de Sainte Barbe at the beginning of the December festivities. The holiday season is also called la Calendale. The celebrations start now and go right through to February second.”
“What on earth is it?” Nora asked, looking puzzled.
“It’s a mix of wheat and grass seeds, and you have to keep them watered so they grow tall and strong to ensure the harvest will be good in the new year and you’ll have good luck. At Christmas, we will put the plate with all the sprouts on the table with our feast … that is, unless it goes all droopy. Then we’ll toss it! So make sure you water it just right.”
Nora thought it seemed like a rather odd challenge but was determined to get the seeds to grow.
For the next two days, she fell into a comfortable pattern of catching up with work, walking Atticus, and spending time playing with him. She also made plans for things she wanted to do in the city.
She listened to her French lessons during each walk. Hearing the language all around her made it easier to absorb what she learned.
The number of excellent exhibits showing at museums and galleries was so large, they could keep her busy every single day. She needed to be organized with her planning, or she’d easily have no part of the day left for work.
And she was writing. Sitting in the square at Place du Tertre each afternoon with Atticus, surrounded by artists plying their craft, a glimmer of an idea had settled in her imagination.
On her first afternoon there, she had noticed a young man at a nearby table sketching a waitress who had taken a break outside a restaurant. Her hair was piled on her head, and she drew long pulls on her cigarette as she sat in the sunshine.
Nora’s imagination took her to the portrait of Agostina that Vincent had painted in the Café du Tambourin. Was it a coincidence the young man at the other table also had reddish-blond hair and stubble, just like van Gogh? It was enough to fire her imagination. She quietly recorded thoughts into her phone to be saved for when she was at her computer.
The length of those recordings grew effortlessly and she hesitated to stop, not wanting to break the spell. She was aware of some strange looks as she spoke into the end of her phone and she chose carefully where she sat so as not to annoy anyone. Poor phone courtesy was a pet peeve.
She hoped her words would spill as easily onto the pages of a manuscript. To her relief, that was happening.
Chloe and Olivier worked late into the night for several days, but they finally all had dinner together. Conversation revolved around everyone’s current projects. Nora was fascinated with their bold creative ideas, and she shushed them as they apologized for not having been available very much.
“Stop it. I appreciate how busy you are with all you plan to exhibit in Nice in February. It’s exciting.”
Olivier said, “Thanks for understanding. It’s keeping us occupied trying to arrange to ship everything by the end of December. We’re about to finish.”
Chloe dropped by for an espresso again the next morning and continued to apologize for not being more available. Nora made clear it was not an expectation.
“Simply being next door to you brings me great satisfaction. I know we will do lots of things together at some point. And besides … I’m writing.”
Chloe screeched with delight and pulled Nora into her arms. “I’m so happy!”
“That makes two of us!” said Nora with a laugh.
“You knocked the block.”
“Apparently, I did.”
Nora’s plan was to visit with Marie-Louise that afternoon. She texted to see if13hwould be convenient, remembering to use the European time.
