Page 10 of Love in Bloom

“I find that hard to believe. You were always making lightning fast decisions.”

“Once I’ve done the research and know what direction I want to go, that’s true.” She slipped the bag off it’s hook. “It’s smaller than what I usually carry.”

“Maybe it’s time to lighten your load.”

“Hmm.” She unzipped the top and searched through the pockets inside and out. She’d assumed the bag would be lined with a cream or matching brown color, but instead it was lined with a deep aqua that reminded her of the Mediterranean Sea she’d stared at for the past few days.

“Do you like it?” Tristan asked.

“I do, but there might be another bag here I’d like better, or it could be at another stall.”

“Do you always overanalyze everything?”

She smiled at him. “Is there any other way to live?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose it’s the researcher in me that digs her stubborn heels in.”

“We’ll have to work on your impulsivity.”

She shook her head. “Good luck with that.”

“Answer me this, if we were to check all the stalls in Old Nice, how likely would you be to end up here buying this one?”

Camille reexamined the bag, checking the stitching and the craftsmanship. “Very.”

“Done, then.” He took the bag from her hands and approached the merchant.

“No, no.” Camille caught up with him. “I can buy my own bag.”

“I know. This is a gift from a friend.” He paid the merchant, who wrapped up the bag in tissue paper. He placed it in a paper sack with handles, then returned it to Tristan, who handed it to Camille.

“Thank you. I feel like all you’ve done is spoil me today.”

“How long has it been since someone did that for you?”

“I think the better question is, how long has it been since I allowed someone to spoil me?”

“You’re right. When was the last time?”

They walked along the cobbled streets toward the hotel.

“My birthday. I let Connor throw me a dinner party at his house. Well, actually, he was pretending it was Greta’s house at the time and Maddie was staying in it.”

“This sounds like an interesting story. Will you share it with me over dinner?”

Camille nodded. “I’d love to.”

♥ ♥ ♥

Camille woke at sunrise, prepared for more yoga torture. This session went smoother, her movements more fluid. She felt less impatient, and her muscles were loosening up. She spent most of the session preoccupied with thoughts of Tristan. It seemed easier to do yoga when she was focused on something else, probably due to all her years of multitasking. They hadn’t made plans to meet for breakfast or anything, but she felt certain Tristan would pop up sooner rather than later with an adventure in mind. She looked forward to the adventure but found she felt more anticipation about seeing his handsome face and hearing his delightful chuckle. She’d forgotten how nice it was to spend leisure time with a friend, and Tristan was very charming, especially with his Welsh accent. She hardly noticed the accents of her fellow Londoners. In the past few days she’d grown accustomed to the French accents speaking English to her. Her French had always been abysmal, whereas her sister seemed to pick up languages the way Camille picked up botany, fast and easy, with all the words immediately stuck in her head.

Camille stowed her mat and decided to go for a walk on the beach before the heat penetrated the sand. She wandered along the line where the water and sand met, letting the grains squish between her toes. Maybe she’d get a pedicure. She watched the sun glint off the water and the white caps of the cresting waves washing into shore. A few walkers passed her in bright colored spandex and trainers.

A wave caught her by surprise and splashed up above her ankles, soaking her yoga pants. “I should’ve rolled them up. Too late now.” She shrugged and continued her walk, listening to the sounds of the waves and the birds. A mother called after her young child making a break for the water. She swung the little boy up on her hip and scolded him. Camille only understood a few of the French words, but the tone was clear.

She thought about seaside trips with her parents and Clara when the girls were young. Clara had always been afraid of the water, but Camille would rush headlong toward it, earning scoldings from her mum. Camille imagined her mother’s favorite day was when Camille learned to swim proficiently and the worry of her drowning significantly decreased.

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