Page 30 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘It is nothing. Just a paintbrush to wash.’

‘No. For everything. For being kind to me. It’s… well not many people in my life are kind. Or maybe they are, and I’m too busy to notice.’ Her eyelid flickered again, and she felt suddenly just how tired she was of all of it.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Do not think about it. And I am sorry you have so many horrible people in your life. Maud, when I got stressed about my work, she always used to say that it is OK to get things wrong. To fail. This is how we grow.’

‘Well, looks like I’m going to be growing A LOT,’ she said with a watery smile.

He laughed, lightly. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

Before leaving the room, she turned and looked at him, earnestly clearing up her things, and felt a rush of gratefulness before turning and making her way to bed.

12

The next morning there was a tentative knock on her bedroom door. She groaned, rolling over, feeling her head throb. ‘Yes?’

‘No rush, but I have some breakfast for you in the kitchen when you are ready,’ said Pascal from behind the thick wood.

‘Oh! Thank you!’ she said, sitting up slightly. ‘I’ll just be a moment.’

She climbed out of bed rather reluctantly, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. She’d have her usual weird bath after eating, she decided, and made her way down the stairs.

After Pascal’s kindness the night before, she felt a little shy to see him, but he beamed at her as she came into the kitchen as if nothing untoward had happened. He gestured to a plate of pastries on the table, a carafe of coffee, a plate and – in an apparent gesture of solidarity – one of her enormous white mugs.

Through the open door, she could see the interior of the still closed café; her eyes rested on the wall she’d nearly collapsed against last night. And she gasped.

‘But it’s…’ she said, looking at the smoothly painted wall. ‘You…’

Pascal joined her in the doorway, folding his arms. ‘Yes, perhaps I tidied it up a bit.’ He smiled and raised an eyebrow.

‘It looks… Thank you.’

‘Ah, it is nothing. I did a lot of painting for my mother in the past. And I had some time.’

‘In the night?’

He shrugged. ‘What is that you said? That rest is overrated?’

She turned to him, grinning, and gave him a playful slap. ‘Now you’re being facetious!’

‘Perhaps a little.’

She looked at the wall again. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Really. But… why?’

He touched her shoulder lightly, gently. ‘Last night you felt alone,’ he reflected.

‘Yes.’

‘When I came here, that’s how I felt too. A little lost.’ His arm rubbed her back lightly. ‘I wanted to show you that even when we feel we are alone, it is often not the case. I may not feel that the renovations you wish to do are necessary. But I will help you, Becky.’

Relief flooded through her and she stood on tiptoes and kissed him firmly on the cheek, flinging her arms around him. ‘Thank you,’ she said, seeing his neck redden.

‘It is nothing. Let’s get the café open,’ he said. He turned and walked back into the kitchen, his hand subconsciously rising up to touch his skin where her lips had been.

Becky pulled out a chair and sat at the table. ‘Wow, thanks for this,’ she said a few minutes later when Pascal wandered back through with an empty jug.

‘I do not always start my day this way,’ he replied, turning from the fridge with a bottle of milk and smiling. ‘Or I would probably not fit through the door into the café. But sometimes you need to do breakfast properly. This is one of those times.’

‘Well, it’s appreciated,’ she said, picking up a still warm croissant and pulling it gently apart on her plate. She popped a piece in her mouth and closed her eyes. It was delicious – buttery, fresh, just the right amount of sweet. ‘Are these from theboulangerie?’

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