Sara en Provence

 by Thomas Martin

When Sara’s divorce became final in May, she decided, at the last minute, to get away from everything and everyone and spend some time alone.  Inspired by reading the book A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle, she decided to take a week and explore Provence and the South of France, seeking the places described in the book and experiencing the region for herself.  She found an adorable little mas (house) on the internet and rented it for one week only. 

Wednesday

Sara flew into Marseilles and rented a car.  From there she drove to Bonnieux in Provence.   The house was only two bedrooms and one bath, but it was right out of Peter Mayle’s book.  It was open, light and airy with blue shutters and a small garden around a cozy patio.  Inside it had beamed ceilings with what had come to be known as a “shabby chic” interior design in the US.   It was comfortable, relaxed and beautiful.  

She opened all of the windows, inviting in the cool breeze and fresh air.  It was about 3:00 in the afternoon, she poured herself a glass of the local white wine she had purchased at a small market on the drive from Marseille, and sat outside on the patio soaking in the fresh air and local smells.  Just as described in the book, the air was laced with the fragrance of lavender and rosemary. She reflected on her rather short marriage, what had led to her decision to marry him, and what she would do moving forward.  For now, the glass of wine, the warm sun, and the cool breeze were everything she needed. 

She picked up the travel guide she had brought with her and began considering what all she might do during her week.  Her first decision would have to be for dinner that night.    She began scanning the section on area restaurants and reading the various reviews.  One seemed especially appealing and was highly rated.  Not speaking much French, Sara hoped that they spoke English in the restaurant and that she would not inadvertently order something too unusual. 

As the sun began to set and the air cooled, she went in and donned a light pullover, checked herself briefly in the mirror thinking, “Yes, I still looked pretty good for a divorced woman.”   She picked up the keys to her little Renault and headed out the door. 

She drove along the quiet two-lane road from her house into the village.   As she entered, she saw a small market and amazingly, an open parking space just out front.  She decided to pick up a few more items to have at the house before proceeding on to the restaurant.  She entered the market and was greeted by a lovely older woman sitting at the checkout counter, “Bonjour Madame!” she cheerfully called to Sara.  Sara, smiled back, waved briefly, and returned the greeting. 

After picking up some butter, yogurt, croissants, fruit, cheese, wine, coffee, and juice, Sara returned to the counter.  She smiled again and asked, “By any chance do you speak English?”  The lovely lady smiled back and said, “a little bit.”  

“Can you recommend a good restaurant nearby where they would also speak English?”

“Oui, Madame, just up the street is L’Oenophile.  C’est magnifique!”

Sara put her few items in her car and began walking up the narrow street searching for the restaurant.  As she walked, she soaked in the beauty of the village and understood why Peter Mayle became so enchanted with this region and was compelled to live here and write about it.

Sara’s plan was to take some time writing during this trip as well.  She brought along her laptop computer with hopes of leisure afternoons sipping wine and beginning work on her first novel. 

 As she crossed a small side street, she looked up and saw L’Oenophile on the corner.  It looked warm and inviting and she entered the lovely establishment.  She was met by Jean-Paul, the maître d’ and warmly greeted again with a “Bon Soir, Madame!”  Sara smiled and said, “One for dinner, please.”  Jean-Paul escorted Sara to a table with a bench on one side and a chair on the other, near a fire place set into the wall.  There was a fire blazing and Sara noticed it was also being used to cook some of the food.  There were what looked like two small game birds gently roasting near the fire and the aroma drifted to Sara’s table. 

She looked down at the menu Jean-Paul had given her and saw that it was all in French.  She took a deep breath and decided to do the best she could, come what may. 

Her waiter, Arnaud, came to her table and said, in perfect but heavily accented English, “Welcome to L’Oenophile.  May I get Madame something to drink? Perhaps a glass of champagne?”  

Sara smiled back and said, “That sounds wonderful.”

As the flute of sparkling champagne was set before her, Sara looked up at Arnaud and asked if he might help her select a meal for the evening.  Arnaud immediately suggested the fixed-price, multi-course dinner. “It will give Madame the opportunity to try a variety of many small dishes.  The food is excellent.”

Not wanting to spend a lot of time discussing the menu, Sara simply smiled and said, “That would be perfect.”  She looked down at the menu and the list of about seven items under the dinner she had just ordered and wondered how she would ever be able to eat so much food.  But, she decided, “When in France…..”

Arnaud quickly returned with a small plate containing something sitting atop a small square of puff pastry.  Arnaud explained that it was an amuse bouche, just a quick bite of something to enjoy before the main courses arrive.  She picked up the nugget and popped it into her mouth.  It was savory and the flavor nearly exploded in her mouth.  Although she couldn’t really identify what she had just eaten, she enjoyed it immensely.  A sip of the champagne was all that was needed to complete the experience and, yes, her mouth was amused and ready to sample more of the delicacies of the restaurant. 

Arnaud soon brought out the most delightful first courses Sara could ever imagine.  It was several small spears of asparagus with each tip delicately wrapped in prosciutto ham.  Next to the small bed of spears was some sauce that Sara assumed was either Hollandaise or Bearnaise.   She gently lifted one of the warm spears and dipped the end into the sauce.  As she bit down on the spear, it was warm, crisp, and delicate and the earthy flavor of the asparagus along with the salty tang of the prosciutto and the smooth, creaminess of the sauce.  It was all just about too much for Sara’s taste buds, she could not help but emit a small moan of pleasure at the taste.  “Such a simple yet lovely dish, so flavorful and elegant.  Why have I never been served anything like this back home?”

The next course was a small plate of several beautifully carved and simply prepared vegetables, each was its own small work of art, perfectly arranged on the plate.   As she sampled each morsel, she again quietly sighed at the freshness and beauty contained in each bite.

The next course was a small portion of locally caught redfish, again, very simply prepared to bring out its own unique flavor.  Sara was beginning to realize that the American view of French food being hidden in heavy sauce was a myth.  She had never enjoyed a meal quite this much. 

As each subsequent course was served, she saw that the portions continued being quite small and the meal reflected a variety of foods, textures and tastes, each one more lovely than the last.  After finishing the champagne, Arnaud suggested a glass of a local red wine that would pair beautifully with venison she was to be served shortly.  Sara was relaxed and enjoying herself far more than she had ever anticipated.  She had worried about being alone on this trip, but was now savoring the joy of solitude and soaking in every moment of this meal.   

After finishing the main course, Sara was surprised when Arnaud wheeled a small cart in front of her table.  Under the glass dome of the cart was a variety of cheeses.  Uncertain of the intent, Sara looked up at Arnaud and asked, “Are all of those for me?”   “Non, Madame, you may choose which cheeses you would like to sample and I will prepare a plate for you.  They range from very mild, creamy cheese on my right, such as Brie and Camembert to more robust, firm cheeses in the middle and on to very strong cheeses such a Livarot on my left.  You may try as many or as few as you like.”

A little overwhelmed and not really being all that familiar with cheeses, Sara asked, “Please just use your best judgement and select a few cheeses you think I might enjoy.” 

Sara was rewarded with a small plate of about four different cheeses, some slices of lightly toasted bread, a few almonds, and a small dollop of fig jam. 

“Bon Appetit,  Madame! I suggest you start with the lighter cheeses on your right and work across the plate finishing with the Roquefort on the left.”

This truly was a new experience for Sara, sampling various cheeses alone, as its own dinner course.  As she took a taste of the Camembert cheese, she again was caught off guard by its outstanding flavor and the creaminess of its texture.  “I think I need to get some of this to have at my little house.” She thought. 

When Arnaud came back to the table to check on her, Sara, pointing to the Camembert asked, “This is excellent, what is the brand or name?  I would like to buy some more.”

“Oh Madame, I am so sorry, but we purchase that cheese from a farm in the next town.  It isn’t something you can buy in any store.”

“Sara, you’re not in Kansas anymore.”  Sara said quietly to herself. 

Dessert was a small tart along with some local fruit and Sara felt as if she was on cloud nine.  She knew she had made the right decision in making this trip and very much felt like merely another character in Peter Mayle’s book. 

“Arnaud, I just arrived in Bonnieux this afternoon.  Can you recommend anything for me to do or see tomorrow?”

Arnaud smiled broadly and said, “Oh, oui, Madame, you have come at a good time.  Tomorrow is the weekly local marché, or outdoor market in the central place.  It really is not to be missed.  Plan on spending most of the morning there.”

Sara finished the lush dessert and ordered a cup of coffee, which she also enjoyed.   She walked out of the restaurant with a satisfied smile upon her face.  She was surprised that she had eaten so much and yet did not feel overly-full, it was just the right amount of food and the right balance of flavors. 

She found her car and drove back to her little house.  Still somewhat jet-lagged and under the influence of the wine and excellent dinner, she quickly changed out of her clothes and crawled into bed.  Laying in the dark, she sighed contentedly, thinking of where she was and how proud of herself for making the decision to take this trip, AND, she thought, this is only the first day!

Before falling asleep she thought about the events tomorrow and exploring the open market.   She wasn’t sure how she would handle the language issues, but after her successful dinner, was somewhat confident that everything would work out.  If it came to it, she did have an English-to-French dictionary on which she could rely. 

 

Thursday

Sara awoke to the songs of local birds outside her window.  She pulled a blanket more tightly around her as she realized that she had forgotten to close the windows in the house the night before and it was now quite chilly.  She rose slowly and dressed comfortably in a pair of shorts and a loose, yellow cotton top.  She went out to the kitchen and put on a pot of water to boil so that she could make coffee.   She took one of the large, flakey croissants from her shopping bag along with some of the local butter and some fresh blackberries.  After pouring the boiling water over the coffee grounds in the French press, she took everything and walked back outside to the arbored patio and sat down.  It was already 9:00am, she having surprisingly slept a full ten hours.  The good part was she felt that her internal clock had now reset to the local time.  She wondered what time the outdoor market would start and decided that it must be open by 10:00am. 

Sara sat enjoying the hot coffee and the flakey croissant onto which she slathered some of the local butter.  It was so lush and creamy, unlike any butter she had ever tasted.  She picked up the yogurt and was slightly dismayed to find that it was plain, not flavored.  Undaunted, she peeled off the lid and took a taste.  Sara’s eyes opened wide with surprise as she realized that this was actually the first time she had ever tasted real yogurt.  It was so wonderfully creamy and flavorful.  It was now apparent to her that the yogurt back home, as well as the butter, was over processed, pasteurized and the yogurt was loaded with sugar or other sweeteners.  It made Sara a little sad that such wonderful, simple foods could be so horribly bastardized into their forms at home. 

After finishing her simple breakfast, Sara took the dishes into the small kitchen and rinsed everything, setting the few items aside to air dry.  She then retrieved her keys and with far more confidence than the night before, set off for the weekly marché. 

As she entered town, what was quiet and sleepy the night before was now a mass of cars and people.  She followed the blue signs to a parking area and left the car.  She simply followed everyone else to the square where the market was being held.  Sara was again almost overwhelmed by the beauty and vitality of Provence.  It was a perfect morning, with an intensely blue sky, few clouds, a warm sun and a cool breeze.  The place was a sea of tables and awnings bearing and covering a host of local products, both a wide variety of foods and house wares.  The market was alive with the bustle of locals and tourists examining the various treasures available to them.  As she walked along the rows, she saw one man with rows of jars sitting on a table.  The sign in front said “Foie Gras.  My own farm. My own Ducks.”   “Duck Liver?  Hmm, I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that.” Sara thought. 

She passed another table selling cards and prints of art by local artists.  Her eye was drawn to the beautiful and colorful work of an artist named Keflin.  His work seemed to perfectly capture the local color and beauty.  She thought she would have to come back later and purchase some of these prints.

From the short time Sara had been in Provence, it was already quite evident that the primary colors were the rich sky blue and the local yellow.  Many tablecloths and towels also showed a variety of bees embroidered on the fabric.   She stopped in front of one table ladened with linens an began looking at the various tablecloths and cloth napkins.  The lady behind the table looked at her and asked, “Bonjour! Puis-je vous aider Madame?”  Sara looked up and suddenly realized she was in over her head.  She had no idea what the woman had just said and no idea how to reply.  After smiling at the woman and replying with the requisite Bonjour! Sara starting asking in halted English how much the tablecloth cost. 

Feeling confused and lost, she suddenly heard a voice next to her say, “Madame, may I help you with anything?  You are American, Non?”

Surprised, yet relieved that the calvary had seemingly arrived, Sara turned to her left to face a tall, handsome, dark-haired young man smiling at her.” 

“Hello, my name is Antoine.  I went to college in the United States, in Michigan, actually.  It is rare that I am able to speak English to someone from the US.  May I help you with your purchase?”

Sara smiled and said, “I’m Sara.  Yes, I would very much appreciate your help.”

Antoine looked at the vendor, pointed to the items Sara was holding and said, “Combien ça coûte? “

After a short exchange, back and forth, Antoine turned to Sara and said, “We have been discussing the price and she is willing to sell it all to you for 40 euros.  Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, that sounds perfect.   Thank you so much for your help.”

Sara handed the lady the money and took the bag with her purchases. 

Smiling at Antoine, she turned to continue walking down the aisle. 

“Sara!   Before you go, may I buy you a cup of coffee?  There is a small café just across the place where we can sit outside and enjoy the day.  As I mentioned, you do me a favor by letting me speak American English.”

With having no real plans, Sara could not really think of a good reason not to have coffee with Antoine, although she did briefly wonder if he was some sort of scam artist.  On the other hand, he was pleasant to look at, his English was perfect, and he still had that beautiful, sensual French accent.  “Yes, Antoine, that would be lovely.”

As they sat down at a small table under the awning of the café, Antoine summoned a waiter and said, “Deux cafés, s’il vous plait.”  In a short amount of time, the two small cups were set in front of them along with some cubes of sugar.  Antoine offered the sugar to Sara who took two of the cubes.  She then watched as Antoine also took a cube of the sugar, placed it into the cup and very slowly stirred the hot liquid.  He looked deeply into Sara’s eyes and said, “What brings a beautiful woman, such as yourself, to Provence?”

Sara smiled at him, sighed slightly and replied, “I just went through a divorce after a fairly short marriage.  I needed to get away, but am not usually comfortable traveling alone.  Before my marriage, I always fantasized about coming to Paris to write a novel.   So, when my divorce was final, I thought back to that trip and the idea of writing.   About the same time I read A Year in Provence and became so enamored with it, that I decided to put my fears aside and just jump on a plane and come here.  I’m still rather shocked I did this, that I am actually here.  I’m even more surprised that I am having coffee with you, as ‘men’ are not a high priority to me at the moment.   Tell me about you?  Why did you go to college in the US?  What did you study?”

“Ah, ma Cherie, I am so sorry to hear about your marriage.  I hope you are feeling better now, though.  Provence is the perfect place to wash yourself of all sad feelings and start your life again.   Just feel the warmth of the sun on your skin, smell the fragrance of the lavender in the air, what could be more beautiful?  All that is needed now is a glass of wine and dejeuner, or lunch.  It is almost noon and you must be hungry, having traveled so far to meet me!”

“Ah, Antoine, thank you, but I really need to move on.”

“Where?  Where do you need to be?   It is a perfectly beautiful spring day in Provence.  You are a beautiful woman and all that you need to do is relax and enjoy yourself.  Please allow me to introduce you to a few of the local delights.”

Antoine summoned the waiter to the table and ordered in French. 

“I’m sorry, I did not answer your original question.  I went to the US to study English.  I wanted to be proficient specifically in American English, which is actually quite different from British English.  I realize that I never acquired an American accent, but it is so rare that I am able to speak to an American in this little village.  I appreciate you spending some time with me.”

The waiter came with a bottle of local rosé wine, some almonds, and some black olives in a most unusual little dish.  It was curved with two “compartments,” one small and one large, the larger one containing the olives.  The color of the dish, of course, was what Sara was now calling “Provence Yellow.” 

Antoine poured the wine for both of them, then reached down and retrieved one of the olives.  He rolled it around in him mouth briefly and extracted the pit and placed it in the empty side of the dish. 

Sara smiled to herself, thinking, “of course, how clever.”

Sara also sampled the refreshingly cool wine and found it to be delightful.  Pairing it with the olives and the almonds was perfection.  She leaned back in her chair and soaked in the beauty of the village, the weather, and Antoine’s good looks.  This trip was not heading quite in the direction that she had hoped, on the other hand, Antoine was correct, “Where else did she really need to be?”

“Do you like the wine?   Provence is famous for our rosé.  It is the perfect wine for a spring or summer day, n’est-ce pas?   Like yourself, so lovely and cool.”

“Yes, Antoine, thank you for introducing me to this wonderful lunch.”

“Lunch?  Oh no Madame, this is merely an entrée, or as Americans say, an appetizer. We have only begun our lunch.”

The waiter brought over a basket of bread along with a small ramekin sealed with foiled.  He carefully peeled back the foil revealing butter and placed it on the table. 

“I have another treat for you, beautiful Sara.  One I hope you enjoy as much as I do.  I know this is not common in America, but here it is an oft-served delight.”

The waiter then brought yet another larger plate with a variety of items on it.  As he set it down, Sara looked at Antoine and asked, “What is this?  What have you ordered?”

“You must try this, it is unlike anything you have ever tasted in your life.  Just follow my lead.” 

With that, Antoine picked up a slice of the lightly toasted bread on the plate and with his knife, cut off a piece of the light-brown paté-like substance and smeared it on the bread.  On that, he used his knife to take only the slightest touch of what looked like jam on the plate and then smeared it onto the paté.  He then bit into it and a smile broke across his face.  “Ah, this is proof that God loves us!”

Sara was still hesitant and really wanted more information, but relented and decided to just jump in with both feet.  She prepared her slice of bread exactly as Antoine and then took a bite.   Antoine was right, it was like nothing she had ever tasted before.  It was creamy and lovely with a unique, delicate flavor she could compare to nothing else.  She watched as Antoine reached down to the plate and picked up what looked like a tiny, little pickle and bit into it. 

“Antoine, this is magnificent!  What is it?”

Antoine smiled confidently and replied, “It is foie gras, fatty duck liver.  A local delicacy, although it is famous all over France.”

Sara recalled her thoughts earlier that morning when she saw the jars of foie gras on the table as she turned her nose from it.  She realized she couldn’t have been more wrong about something.  This was more than simply a treat, it was an indulgence, a delight.  

Also following Antoine’s lead, she picked up one of the little pickles and tried it as well.  It was just the smallest snap of vinegar and did taste like a pickle.  “And the little pickles, what are they?”

“Cornichons, yes, young, pickled gherkin cucumbers.  They are good, non?   They are always served with foie gras and paté.”

Sara looked up and realized the waiter had brought yet another bottle of the rosé.  She discreetly looked at her watch and wondered how long lunch would last.  Dinner last night was over two hours, and where was Antoine thinking this all was going?   She also had to think a little about where SHE thought this all was going!

As they finished the foie gras, Sara again sat back in her chair with the wine to relax. 

“Sara, are you enjoying yourself?  Are you falling in love with Provence?”

Sara chuckled softly and said, “Yes, I am falling in love with Provence.  Thank you for taking your time to introduce me to these wonderful things.”

“I have ordered only one more thing, a salad I thought we might just share.  I did not want to order too much food for you, you are probably still acclimating to our time and our food.  I hope you don’t think me too forward in ordering only one salad that we might share.”

As the salad was placed in front of them, Sara was relieved that he had only ordered one.  It was quite large and a meal unto itself. 

“This salad is also common throughout France and is often ordered as a meal, along with a bottle of wine, of course.”  

The salad was made with frisée lettuce, along with some sort of brown, fried meat and then topped with a lightly fried egg.  Again, something unlike Sara had ever seen before. 

“This salad is most commonly referred to as Salade Lyonnaise.  It is made of frisee lettuce, lardons, similar to thick-cut bacon, and, obviously, an egg.   You break the yolk of the egg and mix it into the sherry-vinegar dressing of the salad.  You will love it.”

Antoine took Sara’s fork and mixed the runny yolk of the egg into the salad.  He then returned the fork to her and motioned for her to give the salad a try.   She plunged the fork into the frisée, being careful to get one of the small lardons onto the fork and tasted it.   It was magnificent!  There was the acid taste of vinegar, the smooth, subtleness of olive oil, the smokiness of the lardons, and the creaminess of the egg yolk along with just a touch of Dijon mustard.  Like just about everything Sara had experienced, so far, on this trip, it was perfection. 

Sara suddenly noticed that the crowds for the marché had thinned considerably.  She also noticed that all of the wine had found its intended target and she was just a little bit tipsy.  She tried to think if she should quickly leave or just give in to the time and place and continue enjoying herself. 

As they finished the salad, Antoine smiled and said, “We cannot end such a meal without a little something sweet, non?  Do you like chocolat?”

“Do I like chocolate?  Who is he kidding?” thought Sara.   “Yes, something with chocolate would be wonderful.” She said to Antoine.

Antoine spoke briefly to the waiter in French and shortly yet another plate was set in front of them.  It looked like little clouds of pastry drizzled with dark chocolate. 

“Have you had profiteroles before?” 

As Sara bit into the first little “puff” she discovered that it was filled with some sort of custard or cream.  Again, the sweet bite of pastry with the cream and chocolate was heavenly.  She briefly thought that she may never want to leave France, that she might just start her life all over here. 

When the pastries were all gone, Sara looked at Antoine and said, “I think I need some coffee. Oh, and no more wine, I’ve had quite enough for the day.” 

“Of course!”

Coffee was again served and Sara suddenly felt a little more in control of herself.   She was enjoying herself but also concerned she was sending the wrong messages to Antoine…. or was she?   Maybe an affair was just the thing she needed.  Looking back at Antoine, she did feel she could do far worse than him.  

“Sara, get a grip.” Was her next thought. 

“Do you work, or do you just hang around the square seducing American women?” she asked Antoine.

Antoine laughed and replied, “Yes, I work at a local small hotel.  I am the concierge there, helping Americans explore Provence.  I am more than capable of helping you as well, dear Sara.” 

“Yes, I am certain you are.  But, I need to get back to my place and rest.  This day has been a most pleasant surprise.  I cannot thank you for such a lovely lunch.  Thank you for your help in the market, I love what I bought.”

“Yes, it was nothing.   Might I see you again?  Maybe for dinner some night?”

Sara thought briefly of A Year in Provence.  Peter Mayle, being married, did not really write about l’amour, but then, Sara was here to write her own book, n’est-ce pas?

“Yes, I think that would be very nice.  I would enjoy that.  I am not at a hotel, I have rented a small house on the edge of the village.   How might I reach you?” 

“I work at the Domaine de Capelongue, at the top of the hill, just over there,” as he pointed to the west.  “You may call, or simply take the highway road up the hill and turn into the hotel.  It is quite lovely, maybe we should just have dinner there one night.  The restaurant has two Michelin stars and has a lovely patio where we could sit outdoors and enjoy the evening.”

“Antoine, that does sound beautiful, you are overwhelming me with your kindness.”

“Why don’t we just plan for Saturday night.  Come to the hotel and we will have dinner together.  Come about 8:00pm.”

“8:00pm?  So late?!”

Antoine laughed softly and said, “Americans eat very early.  Here dinner does not usually start until 9:00pm.   Most restaurants do not even open for dinner until 8:00pm.  Be aware that time in France is usually stated on a twenty-four-hour clock.  Eight p.m. is 2000 and nine p.m. is 2100.”

Sara gathered her few purchases and began walking back to her car.  The lot that was brimming with cars this morning was now mostly empty.  She was not particularly hungry and was still feeling the effects of the wine, but she decided to stop at a market and pick up a few things to snack on as well as items for breakfast tomorrow. 

As she scanned the items in the store, he eyes fell upon a jar of foie gras.  She picked it up and looked closely at it, remembering its amazing taste and texture.   She set it back in the cooler, moving along and picking up a couple more croissants and more fruit for breakfast.  Dinner was another challenge as she did not feel yet ready to cook anything.  She also knew she would feel hungry in a few hours and would probably not want to go out to eat.  She hastily picked up some eggs and decided she would just scramble a few, if it came to that. 

After her experience the night before with cheese, she also stopped and picked up a couple of kinds of French cheese and grabbed a baguette of French bread as well. 

As she passed the row with wine, she hesitated and wondered what wine went with scrambled eggs.  Without much consideration she threw a wine from the Loire into her basket and proceeded to check out. 

Arriving back at her little house, it was mid-afternoon and the sky was still clear and blue.  She carried in her few groceries and put them away.   She wandered back outside to the little patio, noted the sun shining on the chairs and felt the cool breeze on her skin.   The property was quite private, yet she looked around stealthily and made her decision.  She, went inside, opened the wine, plated the cheeses, sliced some of the bread and took all the items outside, setting them on the table.   She then went back inside and stripped naked.  She grabbed a towel and went back out to lay nude in the Provençal sun.  She laid back and relished the warm glow while savoring the new white wine.  She then spread some cheese on the bread and enjoyed that as well.   After and deep, relaxing sigh, she thought, “Yes, I do love France.  Taking this trip was the best decision EVER!”

As the sun set in the west, the air became quite cool.  Sara finally got up and took everything inside and put on a light robe she had brought with her.  She looked at the half-drunken bottle of wine and had to decide if she was going to be prudent and put it away or wild and drink it all. 

After struggling briefly with the decision, she re-corked the bottle and returned it to the refrigerator. 

In spite of the bread and cheese, Sara felt that she needed something a little more substantial before calling it a day.  She did take out two of the eggs from the refrigerator.   As she broke them into a bowl to scramble them, she thought of the salad she had shared with Antoine and how wonderful the day had turned out to be. 

Sara ate her light dinner and turned into bed. 

 

Friday

Sara woke slowly and stretched gently in her bed.  Her body was all a-tingle as she could not help but think of her attraction to Antoine.  Yes, he was likely seducing her, but she felt more and more certain that she did not care.  In fact, the attention felt wonderful and exciting. 

As she languished in bed, she listened again to the morning singing of the birds and thought how nice it would be to have someone serve her.  “I’m certain that is something that Antoine would do, if he were here.”   She realized then just how attracted she had become to this man and that she would need to decide before dinner tomorrow where exactly this foreign romance might take her. 

She begrudgingly got out of bed and dressed comfortably.  She entered the kitchen and prepared a mug of the rich, dark coffee and took it outside.   She let her body soak in the quiet beauty of the day and thought briefly about her plan for Friday. 

She went back inside and picked up her travel guide, bringing it with her onto the patio. 

After scanning through the descriptions of several villages, she picked two and decided she would explore them today. 

She drove her little red Renault to Buene, a small wine producing village famous for Beaumes des Venices, a sweet dessert wine.  As she drove into the village she saw the multiple signs directing her toward wine tasting establishments and could think of no reason not to sample the local fruit of the vine. 

She parked and entered one small, older stone building.  She was immediately enchanted by the fragrance of wine aging in oak.  A lovely, charming woman beckoned her over to the counter and pushed a price list toward her.   In Sara’s limited French she could tell that there were two tasting flights of wine and two prices.  One was five euros and the other ten.  She splurged on the ten euro tasting and took a place on the stools facing madame.  

Madame placed three glasses in front of Sara and poured the wines.  Each was a white with a golden cast.  She swirled the first wine in the glass and inhaled the lush bouquet of the wine.  She could already smell its sweetness.  She tipped the glass back allowing a small amount of the wine to coat her tongue, then bought the glass down so that she might savor that first taste.  It was delightfully sweet, although not overly so.   The flavors were rich and deep with notes of apricot.  She set the glass aside knowing she would likely take a bottle of this first wine home with her. 

The second glass was similar to the first, but possibly a bit sweeter.  She could not decide if she liked it more or less than the first. 

The third wine was a marked change from the first two.  It was considerably more viscous and sweet, almost like a light syrup.  Sara guessed that this was their most highly prized and priced wine, but it was not her favorite.  She still preferred wine number one the best.

She raised the first glass to Madame and asked in English if she might purchase a bottle.  Unsure if Madame fully understood, Madame raised a bottle to show Sara.  Sara smiled and reached for her purse, hoping Madame would understand that she wished to purchase a bottle. 

Of course, Madame was no fool, she quickly bagged the bottle and rang up the purchase.  It set Sara back twenty euros, but it was well worth the price. 

Sara left the tasting room with her purchase feeling just slightly buzzed from drinking so early in the day.  She decided to find a restaurant and enjoy lunch.  She was in the middle of the village, so she just left her car while she explored on foot, seeking a place to enjoy lunch. 

While walking around the village, she came across a small art gallery and noticed that some of the original oil paintings were by the artist who had painted the greeting cards she had bought, Keflin.  She entered the gallery and began admiring many of Keflin’s oils.  They ranged from quite large to a few that were on the smaller side.  All were stunningly colorful and reminded her of the beauty of Provence.  Fields of poppies and lavender surrounding small, charming farm houses.  In other paintings, vases of flowers almost illuminating the gallery with their bright and beautiful colors. 

As she looked at some of the smaller paintings, she found one she especially admired of a small farm house (similar to the one she was renting) with a brilliant field of red poppies surrounding it.  She asked the salesman for the price and was told it was 250 euros.  It was more than Sara had planned to spend, but she felt that the painting perfectly reflected this trip.  As the salesman picked up the painting, he asked Sara, “Would you like the artist to sign the painting?”   Sara looked at him with a puzzled look in her face and said, “Isn’t it already signed?”   “Oui Madame, but Monsieur Keflin is standing just over to your left.  He would be happy to sign the back of this painting just to you!” 

Sara met Monsieur Keflin and he signed her new acquisition.  She took the painting to her car and dropped it off.  Across from where she had parked the car was a rather charming restaurant and it was just about lunchtime.  She wasn’t overly hungry, but walked across the street anyway.  After being seated the waiter suggested a drink with which she was unfamiliar, but the waiter was quite enthusiastic about it insisting Madame would enjoy it.   Sara caught the words Alizé and champagne, and felt she knew enough to give it a try.   Alizé is an orange-colored liqueur made from passion fruit and it was mixed with champagne and likely finished off with Chambord, a liqueur made from raspberries.  It was light and very tasty.  Sara decided she should be very careful.  After two or three of these little lovelies, the afternoon could easily get away from her. 

She had a rather simple lunch of roasted, local, free-range chicken with roasted potatoes and a mélange of vegetables.  The chicken was especially flavorful, considering that roast chicken in the US is often dry and tasteless.  This was moist, and full of flavor.  She could tell that a considerable about of butter was used in the roasting and she savored every bit.  The skin was perfectly browned and dusted with sea salt from the north of France. 

As she left the restaurant, she walked around the town to work off some of the champagne cocktail she had enjoyed.  Like so many of the villages, it was both magnificent and charming.  She thought of Meg Ryan in French Kiss, walking through a village, sweeping her hands at the lovely buildings and saying, “Beautiful! Beautiful!  Wish you were here!”

It was mid-afternoon and Sara decided to simply run by the market and then back to her little house.  She thought she might take a stab at writing and there was no better place than her patio. 

She again picked up some items for the evening and for breakfast the next day.   The more she thought about writing, the more committed she became to it.  Once home this afternoon, she did not want to give herself any reason to leave the house until her dinner tomorrow night with Antoine. 

Upon returning to the house, she put away her groceries and noted the wine she had in the house.  She seemed to recall that Lillian Hellman always drank while writing, so….   Maybe inspiration could also be found in a glass of French wine.  

She picked up her laptop computer, poured a glass of the same rosé wine she enjoyed with Antoine and walked out onto the patio.  She knew full well that an author should write about what they know best, and right now, what Sara knew best was acknowledging her marriage and accepting her divorce.  She also now was sensing a rebirth on this trip.  Maybe this was all something she should write about, a fiction story based closely to her own recent and current experiences.  After all, Peter Mayle isn’t the only person who could write about Provence!

She jumped into her book alternately writing and sipping on the wine.  After about an hour, she regretted that she had not bought some olives to enjoy along with the wine.  What she did have, though, was some excellent cheese and about half of the baguette she had purchased earlier. 

Her afternoon of writing turned into a small picnic under the tree.  The wine did help to keep the ideas flowing and she also kept thinking of the quote by Ernest Hemingway on writing, “Just write it all down then go back and take out all the crap.”   She pressed on, typing as fast as her fingers could take her, trying to get down as much of a story as possible.  She’d tackle the editing tomorrow.  

As dusk settled on her petite mas, she was finally forced to put everything away and head inside.   She quickly reviewed what she had written and was pleased with the results.   It still needed a lot of work, but she was happy with the overall approach and path she was taking. 

She crawled into bed and reflected on yet another wonderful day in Provence.  She had planned only to stay one week, but she could already see herself planning a return trip. 

 

Saturday

Sara again awoke to yet another beautiful morning.  She put on a fresh robe, made coffee, and walked out onto the patio.  She sat down in a lounge chair on a cushion with the same beautiful colors she had seen all over the marché.  She was relaxed and energized at the same time.  Each day had seemed to be a new adventure.  Her thoughts then turned to the dinner that evening with Antoine.   Audibly, she said, “What’s on his mind?  Hell, what’s on my mind by accepting?  Is this purely innocent or does one or both of us have other intentions?” 

After a light breakfast, Sara got into her little Renault and drove off for a ride through the region.  Loosely, her destination was St.-Remy-de-Provence, but she was more interested in the drive and to simply see the countryside than arriving at any particular place. 

As she drove along the country roads, Sara marveled at the beauty of the fields filled with lavender and the large, wild, red poppies along the roads.   She could not think of anywhere she had even been that made her feel this connected with the earth.  

The landscape suddenly changed and instead of lavender fields, she now saw rows and rows of vines.  She had stumbled upon the vineyards of Provence. 

Along the way she began seeing signs for wine tasting.   Not thinking of any good reason not to stop, she finally followed the signs to a small building by the side of the highway.  Even with limited knowledge of French, this looked like it could turn into a pleasant morning. 

As she entered through the wood door, she immediately felt the coolness of the room and the beautiful smell of oak and wine.    A lovely woman approached her with a smile and said, “Bonjour Madame!”   Sara replied in kind and followed the woman to a small seating area. 

The woman continued speaking to Sara in French until Sara finally stopped her by waving her hands, “Madame, en Anglais, s’il vous plait.” Again the woman smiled and asked, “Would you like to try some local wine?”  

“Why yes, that would be wonderful.”

Sara was brought a glass along with a bottle of rosé.  As Madame poured the wine she said, “This is one of our most popular rosé wines.   The perfect wine for a perfect day in Provence.   It goes with almost any food or just by itself.  It is such a simple pleasure!”

Sara smiled recalling her lunch with Antoine and the rosé they had shared. 

“Yes, Madame, it is wonderful.   I was fortunate to enjoy several glasses the other day at lunch!”

As Madame returned to the sitting area with a bottle of red wine, Sara thought about the day and evening ahead, unsure of what all Antoine might have planned and decided that drinking too much during the day would not be the best of plans.   She turned to Madame and said, “Madame, I have limited time, is there any one additional wine that you think I might enjoy?”

Madame left and returned with a bottle of Muscat de Beaumes de Venise.  She poured Sara a small sample and cautioned her that it was quite sweet.   Sara tipped the glass back and let some of the sweet, almost syrupy wine touch her tongue.  Yes, it was very sweet but also very lush.  Sara was relieved that the pour was quite small and that she would be able to enjoy this glass for some time.  

As she relaxed in her chair, a few other tourists from Germany entered the shop and Madame left Sara to greet them.   She brought this trio over to the same sitting area and Sara and the Germans began a rather awkward conversation, they speaking limited English and Sara speaking no German at all. 

Sara rose and walked over to the sales counter.  She asked Madame for a bottle of the Rosé, paid for it and exited, a bit relieved that she left before enjoying the day just a little too much. 

As she continued down the road, she saw signs for St.-Remy-de-Provence and that it was only 10 kilometers ahead.   It was now lunch time and she felt she needed to get something to eat before return to her mas. 

As she continued down the road, it suddenly curved slightly to the right and she saw a sign “Vous n’avez pas la priorité.”  Before Sara could even consider the meaning of the sign, she found that she had entered a traffic circle or roundabout.  Thankfully, she was the only automobile in the circle but she realized she had not even slowed to give the right-of-way to others possibly in the circle.   Obviously, those signs were similar to “Yield” signs in the US.   She made a mental note to slow down and possibly stop the next time she came upon one of those signs.

As she entered the lovely, quaint village of St.-Remy-de-Provence she found herself falling in love with Provence all over again.  Beautiful, old stone buildings around every turn, tables covered with umbrellas on almost every corner and beautiful people truly enjoying and savoring their lunch.  

One restaurant looked especially inviting and she looked for a place to park.   After parking, she walked back to the little restaurant and was seated on the patio.   Several young men in business suits were seated at a nearby table.  After being handed the menu, she watched the young men for a while to see what they were ordering.   What initially surprised her was one young man had a full bottle of pastis in front of him along with a pitcher of water.  Sara remembered reading about this in Mayle’s book.  She watched the young man poured a small amount of the anise-flavored liquor into the glass and then filled it with the water.  Although both liquids were clear, the mix became cloudy.  As he sipped the drink, his food arrived.  Sara immediately recognized his lunch as a Salade Lyonnaise, the same salad she had shared with Antoine the other day.   Along with some crusty French bread and rich local butter, that was the entirety of the young man’s meal.  

It seemed to be the perfect thing on this beautiful day.   When her waiter approached, Sara did her best to order the salad in French and was pleased when the waiter understood her request.  

A basket of the bread was set in front of her along with the butter. 

“Would Madame enjoy a glass of wine with her dejeuner?” 

“Non, merci.  Water will be fine.”

Sara really did want that glass of wine, but was still feeling the slight effects from the wine tasting.  It was too far of a drive back, at this point, for her to have too much to drink. 

The light lunch with the warm, crispy bread was quite satisfying.   Sara checked the time and decided she needed to get back to her place and clean up for her dinner tonight with Antoine. 

The leisurely drive in the beautiful countryside of Provence was joyous.  She kept the windows of the little car down so that she could enjoy the myriads of fragrances from the local plants and flowers.  By the time she reached her place, it was about four in the afternoon.  

She had four hours before she needed to meet Antoine, so she set her alarm for 6:30pm and laid down for a short nap. 

Awaking in a start from the alarm, Sara sat up in bed and look around, her heart beating rapidly.  After composing herself, she got up and took a quick shower.  After drying herself, she put on a simple light blue cotton dress and slipped a pair of simple sandals onto her feet.   She picked up the piece of paper with the directions to Domaine de Capelongue along with her car keys.

She drove slowly, partly because she felt no tension, pressure, or immediacy in her current life.  She had no one to please except herself.  As she drove through the vineyards and lavender fields surrounding Bonnieux, she smiled.

Upon arriving at the gates of the hotel, it looked more like a residence of a wealthy family.   The gardens in front were filled with a variety of herbs and vegetables.  The hotel grounds were quiet but she saw several people slowly strolling around the patio. 

She entered the large wooden doors of the hotel into a rustic, yet beautiful decorated lobby.  There at the front desk stood Antoine.   Antoine looked up and smiled at Sara.  Sara froze a moment with a sense that this night would change everything.  Should she move forward or should she turn around and drive off?

“Bon Soir ma cherie Sara!  Are you ready for diner?”
Antoine’s voice shocked Sara back into the moment and she set her concerns aside.  Antoine walked around from the back of the counter and reached for Sara’s hand.  He gently kissed it and said, “Our table is waiting.  It is such a beautiful night I reserved a table on the back patio.”

As Antoine led Sara through the lobby of the hotel, Sara’s apprehensions once again grew.  She tried staying focused that this was merely a dinner, but her heart was clearly falling for Antoine. 

As they stepped outside onto the dining room patio, one table in the corner had been set and was waiting for them.  At 8:30pm, the restaurant was only about 25 percent full, they were a bit early.  The patio was softly illuminated with small white lights and also with candles on each table.   Fresh flowers were everywhere.  

Antoine seated Sara, then took his own seat.  Once seated, Antoine reached again for Sara’s hand, holding it gently on the table.  Their waiter approached the table and a short discussion ensued between him and Antoine.  Antoine looked at Sara and asked, “Would you like to start with a glass of champagne?”

Relieved that the moment had returned to something more practical, Sara replied, “Yes, I would enjoy that very much.”

The waiter brought two flutes along with an open bottle of Bollinger champagne and poured the two glasses.  He also left them with a menu.

Antoine raised his glass, looked deeply into Sara’s eyes and said, “This is to fate; to the gods that brought us together on Thursday.”

As they savored the champagne, Sara looked briefly at the menu and was puzzled by it.  She asked Antoine about it and he replied, “This is the table d’hôte dinner for the evening.  Chef creates this menu each day based upon the fresh ingredients which are available at the market that morning.  It is seven courses and will give you a wonderful range of French culinary delights.

Sara was especially glad she ate such a light lunch today, seven courses sounded like a tremendous amount of food, but she trusted Antoine’s recommendation. 

After what seemed the perfect amount of time enjoying the champagne, the waiter brought the first course to the table.  As he set it in front of Sara, she immediately recognized the foie gras from Thursday.  It was served with four lightly toasted pieces of brioche bread and a small amount of fig jam on the side.   “Yes, I now know what this is!”  

Antoine smiled and said something additional to the waiter.  

“Foie gras is perfectly paired with a glass of Sauternes, a sweet wine from the Bordeaux region.  I don’t want you to miss the experience.”

The waiter again brought two small glasses and poured the golden amber syrupy wine into each glass.   Following Antoine’s lead, Sara spread some of the liver onto the toast, quickly touched her knife into the jam and thinly spread it across the foie.  She took a bite and it immediately took her back to Thursday’s lunch and the delight she felt when first tasting it.  She picked up the glass of sauternes and took a sip, yes, the sweetness and depth of the wine was perfect with the foie.  “Perfection” she said while looking at Antoine. 

Although rich and filling, the portion was also quite small and they quickly finished their first course. 

“So, ma cherie, what adventures have you experienced since our meeting on Thursday?  How have you found Provence?”

“I’m loving it here!   I bought a painting from a local artist and even had the opportunity to meet him.  I enjoyed the most amazing cocktail of Alizé and champagne.  This morning I drove to St.-Remy-de-Provence and sampled some wine from that region.  After the stress of my divorce, I cannot believe how relaxed I feel and how connected I feel to this place.”

“C’est Magnifique!  I am so happy that you are enjoying yourself in my country.”

As their conversation waned, the waiter re-appeared with the next course.   Setting it in front of them, Sara felt a light tightness in her chest.  “Are those what I think they are?”  She thought.

“Antoine, what is this?”

“Escargot.   You will love them, I am certain.  It is mostly the butter, garlic, and local herbs that you will taste.  I will order a glass of very dry white wine to go with these beauties. Bon Appetit!”

Sara gathered herself, sat straighter in her chair and decided to give them a try.  After all, Antoine was right about the foie gras, certainly, he would not mislead her.     

She picked up the small fork that had been set next to the small ceramic dish containing the snails.  Each snail was in a small dimple of the dish and swimming in the garlic/herb butter.   Again, following Antoine’s lead, she speared one of the mollusks and popped it into her mouth.  She picked up some of the crusty bread and plunged it into the remaining butter, letting the bread sop up what remained of the savory, garlicky sauce. 

They tasted wonderful and she was pleased with herself for not being squeamish about the whole thing. 

The wine Antoine ordered was a dry and crisp and he gave Sara a short talk about it as well.  

As Antoine and Sara finished their escargot, they both settled back into their respective chairs, both holding their glasses of the white Bordeaux.  Sara felt the light breeze against her face and through her hair.  She could feel her attraction to Antoine growing by the moment and felt she needed to cool everything down a bit, but she simultaneously, wanted to just submit to it. 

“This is crazy,” she thought, “I am far away from home in another country, whose language I don’t even speak, and I’m falling for a man here.   What good could possibly come of this?   I need to be near my family and friends.  I’m not the type to start my entire life over just because my heart is going pitter-pat.”

As she mused about her current situation, the waiter returned and set the next dinner course in front of her.   It was a local red fish with a few artistically pared vegetables.  There was a light sauce on the fish, into which she plunged her fork to taste.   It was clearly butter, but there was a lush tang to the sauce as well.   She cut into the light, flakey flesh of the fish and put it into her mouth.  The combination of the fish and the sauce was heavenly. 

“Ma Cherie, what do you think of the beurre blanc sauce on the red fish?”  Antoine asked.

“What do I think?   I’m not certain my brain is in control of me during this dinner.  I love it, is how I feel right now.   I’ve never eaten anything quite like it before.” Replied Sara.  “Antoine, this dinner is amazing.   I know we have not yet reached the end, but I want to thank you for introducing these various dishes to me.   Can you cook like this as well?

Antoine let out a soft laughed and said, “No, I cannot.  This restaurant, along with the chef/owner of Domaine de Capelongue has two Michelin stars.  He began his culinary skills even before I was born.  That is why he is the owner and I am merely in his employ.   Having said that, I will modestly tell you that I actually am a fairly decent cook.   Would you like me to cook for you one night before you leave?”

Sara let out a deep breath and said, “Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Very good, I do believe we can make that happen.”

Once again, Antoine reached across the table and took Sara’s hand in his, gazing deeply into her eyes and said, “Your eyes have shot their arrows through my heart.”  He paused and then said, “Those are not my words, dear Sara, they are the words of Danté, but they perfectly express my feelings toward you at this moment.”

Sara’s heart seemed to stop beating in that moment.  She had come to France to escape from romantic involvement, with anyone, yet here was a man who was more charming than any she had ever encountered before.  She felt the longing in her heart as well as in her loins.  In a small panic, she set down her napkin, removed her hand from Antoine’s and stood up.  

“Please tell me, where are the restrooms?”

As she stood, she realized that the wine had gone rather quickly to her head and that there was a slight stumble to her steps.   Antione stood up, came to her, and put his hand and arm around her waist to steady her.  “Let me help you ma cherie.”

Together they walked from their patio table to the inside of the hotel.  Antoine guided her to the ladies’ room and stood by the door.  Once in the restroom, Sara took a towel, wetted it and applied the coolness to her warm face.  

“This is all moving too quickly,” she thought.  “What do I do now? I’m in no condition to race out the doors to my car and leave, yet I don’t trust myself to return to the table.”

Looking into the mirror at herself, she weighed her options and decided that Antoine was likely still outside the door and that any escape would not only be impossible but extremely rude.  She took several deep breaths, smoothed down her top and dress, and walked to the door.  

Yes, Antoine was still there and he smiled as he asked, “Are you alright?  Is there anything I can do?”

“Let’s just get back to the table and continue enjoying that beautiful meal.”

Sara seemed to be a bit steadier on her feet for the return to their table.  After Antoine held her chair as she sat down, she took a deep breath and expelled it. 

Just as she was feeling settled, the waiter again came and placed a plate of magnificently sculpted, lightly cooked vegetables in front of her.  It had the look of modern art, covering a variety of colors and textures.  Each was dotted with a small amount of different sauces and seasonings.  Each bite was more delightful than the last.  There were even vegetables that Sara usually avoided, but found this preparation to be intoxicating. 

Each time Sara raised her eyes to look at Antoine, he was also looking at her and smiling with his perfectly straight, white teeth.  Each time she looked into his eyes, he became more alluring and desirable.  Sara knew she was in over her head, but decided that she really didn’t care anymore.   This trip and especially this evening were out of a dream she must have had at one time in her life.  She did want Antoine and she wanted to be as close to him as humanly possible. 

Her musings were interrupted by two waiters approaching their table.   One removed the plate from the prior course and the other set down a plate with two perfect small lamb chops paired with three small, sculpted carrots and a small fan of thinly sliced potatoes sprinkled lightly with Herbes des Provence.  The fragrance of garlic, rosemary, and balsamic vinegar wafted up from the chops.  In spite of the various courses that came before this one, Sara suddenly found herself to be very hungry and ready to enjoy the lamb.  

Yet another waiter set down a glass of red wine in front of Sara and Antoine.  “Dear Sara, I think this wine will be better with the lamb than the white Bordeaux we have been enjoying.”

Sara picked up the knife that had been set next to her plate when the lamb was served and noticed a small image of a bee upon it.   As she brought the knife closer to her eyes to examine it, Antoine said, “Yes, it is a small bee.  It is the symbol of the knives and cutlery of Laguiole, France.  They are all handmade by various manufacturers and include steak knives, pocket knives and corkscrews.  You will find most restaurants in France use them. 

As Sara cut into her lamb, it was the perfect preparation, that beautiful stage between rare and medium.   Even from her short time in France, she found herself holding her fork in her left hand and her knife in her right.   She cut a bite-sized piece from the first chop and dipped it into the surrounding herbed sauce.   As she slowly chewed it in her mouth the flavors of the gamey meat, the various herbs and the subtle touch of balsamic vinegar exploded in her mouth.  “Every meal in France is an adventure and a delight.  I am finding myself enjoying foods I usually avoid.” She reached for her wine glass and let the red Rhone wine selected by Antoine slip slowly between her lips.  As it touched her tongue she could feel her eyes sparkling as this wine was clearly made to complement this exact course.  As she tried the potatoes, they were light and tender and rich with butter.  The seasoning was perfect and was harmonious with the lamb.   The carrots were simply prepared but had the slightest hint of sweetness to them.   This main course was perfect.  The evening was perfect and well…. Antoine…..  yep, he seemed rather perfect himself. 

As they finished the course, Sara was still trying to minimize the amount of the red wine she was drinking, limiting herself to only a few sips.  But it was so good and was so perfect with the lamb, she found that she had already consumed most of the glass.  She was thankful she was sitting down. 

“This is the last course, isn’t it?  Please tell me that no more food will be forthcoming, Antoine.”

“No, ma Cherie, there are still two more courses, but they are quite light and only enough to tease your palate.  The next course it the cheese course and that will be followed by dessert.”

The reality was that each course was small enough that Sara really did not feel overly full, she was more concerned about any possible additional drinking.  If Antoine was trying to get her drunk, Sara was already there.  The evening was still warm with a light breeze and the stars shown clearly in the sky.  The moon, at about half of its full size, seemed to smile down upon her. 

Their waiter wheeled a covered cart to their table.  Under the glass canopy was a variety of cheeses.  He looked at Sara and asked her what she would like.  After her experience with the cheese course several nights before, Sara asked Antoine to select only two for her. 

Antoine spoked crisply to the waiter who picked up an empty plate from a lower shelf of the cart and selected the two cheeses he placed upon it.  Along with the cheese he also added a few walnuts, almonds, toasted bread, and a small amount of fig jam.    It was then placed in front of Sara.  

Antoine said, “On your left is a Camembert cheese from the Calvados region up north.  The second is a Comté, from the region of the same name.  Both are made from cow’s milk and are both quite mild.  The third cheese I selected is a Roquefort, also known as bleu cheese in the U.S and is made with goat’s milk.   It is rather pungent and will go nicely with the remaining red wine in your glass.   Bon Appetit!

Sara put a small spread of the Camembert on the bread and tasted it.  Yes, it was wonderful, so lush, smooth and creamy.  She continued with the second cheese and found it also to be delicious.  She could smell the third cheese before her knife even reached it.  She had never eaten Roquefort cheese alone and was uncertain of its likely strong taste.   As she bit into the Roquefort covered bread the strength of the cheese revealed itself to her and she experienced a slight recoil of her mouth.  Taking Antoine’s advice, she took a sip of the red wine and found that the flavors of the two married perfectly together. 

She reached for one of the walnuts and as she chewed on it, noticed for probably the first time how flavorful they tasted.   It was a discovery she seemed to be making with many familiar foods while here in France.  Everything just seemed to taste better here.  

Unlike the prior courses which all seemed so light, this course definitely gave her a sense of fullness.  The richness of the cheeses along with the bread made her set down her knife and gently push the plate away from her slightly.  She sat back in her chair and picked up her wine glass with the small amount of red wine that still remained.  

“Antoine, this was incredible.  An absolutely amazing meal and evening.  Do you eat like this every day?”

Antoine chuckled softly and replied, “No, dear Sara, not like this, at least.  I work in the hotel, but rarely dine here.  This is quite the treat for me as well, made more perfect by sharing it with you.  You do realize, don’t you, that we still have yet to have dessert?”

“Oh Antoine, I am so full, I don’t think I can eat another bite!”

“Let’s see what they bring is.  Since it is spring, I suspect that dessert will be something made from fresh fruit.  It should be light and the perfect conclusion to this wonderful dinner.”

It was as Antoine predicted.   The waiter appeared with a plate holding a small tart filled with just a small dollop of light custard and then topped with two fresh, plump blackberries.   Around the tart was a swirl of what looked like a raspberry puree and several fresh raspberries and strawberries.  

The tart was eaten in one bite and was the perfect combination of sweet and tart.   The remaining berries were all perfectly ripe and tender and the puree added the exact amount of needed sweetness. 

Sara curiously looked down at her watch and noticed it was nearing midnight.  They had been enjoying dinner for almost four hours.  “Antoine, look at the time.”

“Sara, just relax.  Everything is as it should be.  You are here to enjoy yourself.”

With the meal finally over, the waiter asked if they would like to move into the Salon for after dinner drinks.   Sara knew she had no business having more alcohol, but a change of venue sounded appealing.  As she stood, she realized how much she had actually already had to drink and how unstable she was.  As she quickly reached for the top of the next chair to balance herself, Antoine was quickly at her side and his firm grip steadied her and led her into the hotel building. 

The Salon was beautifully decorated in soft pastel colors and contained the hotel bar and several elegant chairs and small divans.   Antoine asked if she would like anything more to drink and Sara quickly shook her head “no.”  He seated Sara on one of the small sofas and sat down in a chair next to her. 

As she sat, she could feel the room spinning a bit and really just wanted to lay down. 

“Antoine, there is no way that I can drive back to my house tonight.   I have had too much to drink and the road is too unfamiliar for me to navigate it now.”

Antoine moved from the chair to the seat next to Sara.  He put his arm around her shoulder and asked, “Would you like me to get you a room in the hotel for the night?  You could just stay here and go home in the morning.”

Sara’s defenses were long gone.  She looked deeply into Antoine’s eyes and said, “Yes, that would be wonderful, and please, would you stay with me?

“Stay here, I will be back shortly.” Antoine left, went to the front desk, and returned with a key.  He helped Sara to her feet and led her to one of the elevators.  It took them to the second floor and they walked a short distance to one of the doors in the hall.   Antoine opened the door with the key and led Sara into a beautiful room decorated in the same lovely colors as the Salon.  It was considerably larger than most hotel rooms in Europe and very comfortable.    

He led her over to the bed and said, “Sleep well, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Antoine,” Sara said, putting her arms around his neck, “Please stay here with me.  Don’t leave”

Antoine responded by putting his arms around Sara and pulling her tightly to his own body.  His lips began exploring her neck and she relaxed into his muscular arms.   She surprised him by suddenly taking his head in her hands and moving his lips firmly onto her own.  She slightly opened her mouth and kissed him deeply and passionately.  

Antoine moved both of them over near the bed and sat down.  Still locked in a kiss, Antoine began unbuttoning his shirt and then slowly removed Sara’s loose-fitting blouse.   Sara was surprised by Antoine’s tight, lean, muscular physique as it had not been obvious when he was clothed.  She unfastened her own bra and let it fall off. 

Antoine laid her back onto the bed and let his lips further explore her lips, neck and on down to her breasts.   Sara willingly submitted to him, not wanting anything to spoil the moment. 

Antoine suddenly stood up and removed his pants and undershorts.   He was clearly ready to take her and reached down to remove her skirt and panties.  Now with both of them nude, He returned to the bed to further pleasure her.   

For the briefest moment, Sara questioned what was happening in her mind and whether this was a wise move.  On the other hand, she was so enamored with Antoine and was so enjoying the moment that she could not think of a good reason to stop what was happening.  Antoine was clearly a master with his lips and tongue and he sent waves of pleasure through her body. 

She shuddered once from a small orgasm and knew she wanted more of him.    She again pulled him close to her, moving his body on top of her own.   She kissed him deeply and reached down to guide his hard staff into her.   Antoine anxiously followed her lead and they were soon providing each other with pleasure.  

After several minutes, Sara exploded in yet another more-intense orgasm and shortly after, Antoine followed with the same.  

They both lay back on the bed spent from their pleasure, smiled at each other and kissed once again.  

“Thank you, Antoine.   I needed that more than I realized.” 

Antoine walked nude across the room to the bathroom and took a quick shower.   He dried himself and returned to the bed.   He pulled Sara close to him and again kissed her deeply on her mouth.   As they lay in the bed next to each other, Antoine holding Sara in his arms, they both quickly fell into a deep sleep.  

Sunday

Sara woke slowly, opened her eyes, and looked around the room.   It was unfamiliar at first and she was slightly panicked by her uncertainty.  She then looked over and saw Antoine next to her in bed and the beautiful memories of the night before came flooding back.  

Sara cuddled in more tightly to Antoine’s body and he responded by tightening his arms around her. 

They lay there for some time as Sara pondered what had just happened in her life and what she was going to do moving forward.   One thing was certain, Antoine was something special in every way, but he lives here in France and Sara and her family live in California.  As these thoughts swam around in her mind, Antoine spoke, “Why don’t I call downstairs and have some breakfast items brought to the room.   No need for us to rush to get up.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“But first……”

Antoine again pressed his lips to Sara’s and deeply kissed her.  His hands exploring her soft, nude body.  He pushed the sheets and blanket off of both of them so that he could she her beauty in the morning light.   He again began exploring her body and teasing her with his mouth and hands.   She quickly became very aroused and moved to pleasure him as well.   Now they were both quietly moaning, enjoying each other’s bodies.   Sara pushed Antoine back onto the bed, face up, and straddled him.  She took his erect member into herself and moved her hips to pleasure both of them.   It was now Antoine’s turn to just lay back and enjoy the moment.   In far less time than either expected, they both exploded in orgasm and Sara fell breathlessly on top of Antoine.  

After a few minutes to recover, Antoine again slipped out of bed and went to take a shower.   Upon returning, he had put on a soft robe and walked to bed.   “Would you like to shower before I call for the food, ma Cherie?”  

“Yes, that would be perfect.   I won’t be long.”

Sara got out of bed and walked to the bath.  She turned the water on to a very warm temperature and just let the water run over her body.  She stood there taking in the events of the last 12 hours and was both surprised and thrilled at what all had happened.   The one thing she kept saying over and over in her mind was, “Don’t regret this.   No regrets.”

She washed herself quickly and also donned one of the plush robes in the bath.  She returned to the room just as the room service waiter was walking out.   There was a tray on the table near the window.  Antoine was placing the various items onto the table when he noticed that Sara had rejoined him.  He pulled out the chair facing the window to seat her.   He then walked over and opened the window which looked down upon the open grass lawn to the pool area.   The air was slightly warm and the sound of birds singing filled the air.  

On the table was a pot of coffee, warm, flakey croissants, creamy butter, local jam, and some local honey.  There were also two small glass jars of what Sara now knew to be local fresh yogurt.   There was also an array of fresh fruits and berries. 

The coffee was rich, dark, and quite hot but tasted wonderful.   As she enjoyed the rich brew she picked up a large, dark blackberry and ate it, the juice seeping into every corner of her mouth.  The next sip of the coffee complemented it perfectly.  

She reached for a small jar of the local yogurt, opened it and then took one of the small jars of jam, this one being pastèque or watermelon, and stirred a small amount of the jam into the plain yogurt.   It was so rich and creamy and the sweetness of the watermelon jam just slightly cut the tartness of the yogurt.  

“Ma Cherie, what would you like to do today?”   

“Antoine, I am overwhelmed by you.  These last 24 hours have been lovely, but I need time to process all that has happened.   I’m just recently divorced, as you know, and need to figure this out.  I did not take this trip to fall in love, it was supposed to be a trip away from relationships.  The purpose was to write and to find out more about myself.”

“I’m not here to confuse you, dear Sara.   I am enchanted by you and my heart wants to be with you.”  

“Antoine.  Thank you.  I am obviously very smitten by you as well.    But, let me return to my little house and take some time to think about all these things.   My flight back to the U.S. is not until Thursday, so we have time to talk further before I return home,” replied Sara. 

Not wanting to leave, but knowing that she should, Sara slowly stood, walked to the bed, removed her robe and began putting on her clothes.   When she finished dressing she walked over to Antoine, who rose as she approached.   He opened his arms and she willfully entered them, pressing her head against his bare chest between the opening of his robe.  “Thank you, Antoine, thank you.  I had a wonderful, memorable time.   You have made this trip something out of a fairy tale.”

As Sara walked to her car, her steps were lighter than usual.  It had been an amazing night and she seemed to have no regrets.  She could simply board her plane on Thursday, fly off and leave this all behind.   “That is what I want, isn’t it?”   she thought. 

She got into her little Renault, drove back through the herb garden and then the gates of the hotel back onto the highway.   She was in no hurry to return home and her heart was still full after the attention she had received from Antoine. 

She traversed the small country roads through the village and back to her petite mas.  She pulled in, got out of her car and looked around.  The birds were singing in the trees, the air was redolent with lavender and the air was warm.  She made it no farther than one of the patio lounges.  She sat down and relived the events of last night, reveling every moment in her mind and body.   The tastes of every bite of each course of the meal and every touch my Antoine’s hands and mouth.   As she fantasized about the night, she found her body longing once again for Antoine.

Yes, she found herself in a pickle or should she now say “cornichon?”.   What should and would she do?  

She lay back on the lounge and closed her eyes.  She had time to think and to plan. 

It was unfortunate that she could feel so good yet so confused and uncertain at the same time. 

She suddenly sat up after deciding that she should throw herself into her writing.  That was one of the main reasons for this trip, to express herself through her writing and to hopefully resolve any hurt or baggage from her divorce.  She smiled at that thought.  Was there a better antidote to the pain of divorce than Antoine?   Sara didn’t think so.  

She moved inside and retrieved her laptop and took it back out to the patio table.  She sat down, booted it up and opened the start of her story.  As she read through it, she struggled with the topic and direction she was taking.  Suddenly, she seemed to have a whole new story, one of a young woman on a trip to Provence who falls in love with a local man.   She clicked on File and New in her word processor and looked at a blank screen. 

The words and sentences flowed easily out of her and within a short time, she had pages and pages of text.  It seemed to help her look at her situation a little more objectively in trying to determine her next move.   “What would the main character in her story do? What should I do?” Her writing seemed to make her own decisions clearer. 

Before she knew it, it was late afternoon and the air was becoming cooler.  She realized she had worked through lunch and that she was quite hungry.   How was any meal ever going to compare with the dinner she had last night?   Yet, it was time to get something to eat.   She went foraging in her little kitchen and in the refrigerator.   She found a few leftovers that would provide a light meal.  She also found an unfinished bottle of white wine and pulled it out as well.  

Between some bread, cheese, wine, and some leftover saucisson, she had her dinner.  She put on a light sweatshirt, took her dinner items and returned to the patio.   The wine was the perfect complement to the setting Sunday sun and the end of a most memorable weekend. 

In between bites, Sara continued writing her book.  The story continued flowing out of her and she couldn’t help but laugh as she was reminded of the old writing axiom, “Write about what you know.”   Yes, she did know something about a foreign romance stealing a young woman’s heart. 

She nibbled at the food items and drank the wine more quickly than she realized and was soon at the bottom of the bottle.   Instead of feeling tipsy, she just felt very tired.  She closed her computer, picked up the few dishes and returned everything to the inside of the house. 

She simply stripped off her clothes and crawled into bed.   She fell instantly asleep while recalling the feeling of lying next to Antoine with his strong arms holding her.  

 

Monday

Sara realized that she had been awakened by several singing birds just outside her open bedroom window.  As she lay in bed her thoughts drifted back over the weekend.   It seemed that she could still smell Antoine’s scent, feel his lips on her own, and feel his hands exploring her body.  She could feel a slight wave of pleasure come over her just through her fantasizing of what happened two nights before.   Still enjoying the afterglow of the sensation, Sara rolled out of bed and put on some comfortable light clothing.  

In the kitchen, she made coffee and selected a few other items she now recognized as a typical French breakfast or petit dejeuner.   She noted that she was finishing many of the items she was eating.  She realized she would need to visit the market and pick up more croissants, more butter and jam, and probably more wine.   She again walked out to the patio which was bright with the morning sun.  She sat down at the table, opened her computer and began editing her writing from the prior day. 

As she read her work, she became even more enamored with her story and curious as to where she would take it.   She made several changes and corrections and decided she would spend most of the day writing, with the exception of a quick trip to the market later that morning. 

Sara’s keyboard nearly exploded from the speed of her writing her book.  She had so many thoughts and ideas for her characters.  She was pouring her own emotions into the story and feeling very proud of her progress.   As the morning warmed, she was thankful for the umbrella and the nearby tree protecting her little patio office. 

Upon completing a chapter in the book, she shut the computer down and drove to the market.  She parked her Renault on the street and entered the small, tightly-stocked mart.   As she picked up a hand-carry basket she smiled at the woman working the one register .and said, “Bonjour!”  The greeting was warmly returned and Sara began slowly walking the aisles looking for the items she needed.  She again bought some cheese and saucisson to keep on hand, she would need to go to the boulangerie after the market for bread and croissants.  As she walked down the aisle containing wine, she found a rosé that she had tried before and liked and she also picked up an inexpensive white Burgundy to aide in her writing.

Sara paid for the items and put them in her car.  She then walked about a block down the street to the boulangerie.  As she walked into the small, warm, fragrant bakery, she saw a familiar face.  There standing and smiling at her was Antoine.   “Ah, ma Cherie, I see you again!  Comment ça va?

Sara could not help but return the smile and the greeting.  She told Antoine that she was doing fine and was just picking up a few things to have around the house.

“Yes, your little house.  You know, I still do not know where you live.  How can I serenade you in the evenings when I do not even know the address?”

“Well, maybe some things are best kept private.”  Yet even as she said the words, she knew she did not believe them.

“You asked if I could cook, maybe tomorrow night would be a good evening for me to come to your place and cook for you.  We could have a simple meal with a nice wine and enjoy each other’s company, especially since your time here in Provence is short.”

Sara’s feelings were mixed, yet the idea of Antoine coming over and cooking dinner did sound delightful.  Other things sounded delightful as well.   

Sara asked the baker for a piece of paper and a pen and she wrote down her local address for Antoine.  “What time might I expect you for dinner.  Hey, by the way, do you ever actually work?”

“Oh yes, Sweet Sara, I am actually on my way to work and am just picking up a few items to have with me at the hotel.   On Mondays I only work in the afternoon and early evening. 

Sara picked up a baguette and several croissants and paid for them. 

Antoine looked at her and said, “I will be over tomorrow evening at about 1800 hours or 6pm.  I hope you like seafood.”

“I’m certain I will enjoy anything you prepare.   I look forward to your visit!”

Sara gave Antoine a brief kiss, gathered her purchases and walked out to her car.  On the drive back to her house, she could not help but smile as she thought of Antoine cooking her dinner and them eating out of the patio.   She discovered she was getting used to eating later in the evening than she would back in the US.  

Upon returning to her house, she brought in her food purchases and put them away.   She put a few things she purchased on a plate and poured a glass of the rosé wine and took it all out to the patio.  She opened and started her computer and again began reading through what she had previously written and made a few edits.   She realized her time was short, she had today to write, tomorrow during the day, Wednesday would likely be a wash, the day after her dinner with Antoine, and she would also need to start getting things together to return home on Thursday. 

Her “novel” was turning out to be far more autobiographical than she had intended, but the subject was just so delicious, as the last few days had been, that she saw no reason not to continue.  

Sara continued writing as she nibbled on the charcuterie plate she had assembled.  The wine was light and refreshing and was perfect with the warm, spring day.   Her story flowed easily from her fingers but she was reaching the point in the story that she needed to consider the path to the ending.  What would happen between the two main characters?  What would Sara do?

With her limited amount of time in Provence, Sara suddenly decided to do a little more sightseeing.  She put away her computer and notes and finished her light lunch.  She picked up her Michelin travel guide and began perusing the various towns in the area and considered what each had to offer.  She decided to visit the ancient Roman city of Orange.  Not only did it offer a variety of stores and restaurants, there was also the Roman amphitheater that still stood in the center of town and was still used for various outdoor concerts.  The town had quite the history as it changed hands between the Romans and the French.  It appeared to have enough to keep Sara engaged for the afternoon and evening. 

It was not too long a drive from her house to Orange, as she entered the town, she already knew enough to follow the blue “P” signs to the parking lots.   Upon parking she just slowly wandered through the town gazing at the various Roman ruins still in existence and contrasting them with the French architecture surrounding them.  

She came upon the amphitheater and found that it was open.  She wandered inside and discovered that some group was setting up on the stage for a performance.  Sara walked about half way up the tiers of seats and sat down, just soaking in the 2,000-year-old history around her.   She was amazed at how perfect the acoustics in the theater as she could clearly hear the conversations taking place on the stage.  They were all in French, so she had no idea what was being said, but it was obvious that a modern sound amplification system was probably not necessary.   

Sara finally stood and exited the amphitheater, returning to her walk around the town.  Along a narrow, cool, side street, she found a store selling only olive oil and other products made with olive oil, such as soap.   She was warmly greeted by the gentleman tending the store and he encouraged her to follow him over to a counter near that back of the room.  

There set up in front of both him and Sara were several bottles of olive oil, some bread and a few plastic spoons.  “Would Madam like to sample some of the olive oils we have available today?  All of these oils are from olives that are locally grown and pressed here in Provence.  They are all fresh and flavorful.”  

This would not be as fun as a wine tasting, Sara thought, but it still should be interesting.  “Yes, I would enjoy that.”   The clerk directed Sara to pick up a plastic spoon and hold it for him to pour a little of the oil onto it.   Sara put the spoon and the oil into her mouth for a taste.  It was a bit unusual tasting the pure oil, without anything such as vinegar to balance it, but she could taste the nuttiness and earthiness of the oil.  She picked up a piece of the bread that was offered in an attempt to cleanse her palate from the first taste of the oil. 

As they moved through the various bottles of olive oil, Sara found herself becoming more discerning of the various subtle flavors in the oils.  She also found her stomach rebelling against the pure oil being consumed.  She finally told the clerk that she had tried enough and asked to buy a bottle of the third oil she tasted, which was clearly her favorite.  She would ask Antoine to incorporate it into his dinner tomorrow night. 

Sara ate one last piece of the offered bread, collected her purchase and left the shop.   She continued down the narrow street taking in the various shops and products they sold.   One shop especially caught her eye, the store sold honey – only honey.  She entered the store and was stunned at a wall with shelves ladened down with well over 100 different flavors of honey.  Each was based upon the plant from which the bees had extracted their nectar.  The colors ranged from quite light to very dark, much like beers. 

The woman behind the counter asked if she would like to try a few samples of the honey.  After her experience with the olive oil, Sara could not think of a reason not to give them a try.   The clerk asked Sara if she had a favorite and Sara told her, “Not that I can say.  In the US, such a variety is not available.”   “These are all pure, raw, honey.  They have not been heated, as in the pasteurization process, and the flavors of the various plants and flowers are still quite evident.”   Sara was first served a honey that was rather light in color and the flavor was pleasant and very familiar to what she usually tasted in the US.   As she progressed through the line of honeys, she found the flavors becoming more intense and the taste and aroma of the plants coming through quite nicely. 

As with the olive oil, Sara selected a honey of a medium grade and color and purchased it.   She knew it would taste perfect in the morning with her bread or croissant. 

As she exited the shop she noticed that it was getting rather late in the afternoon.  She was not particularly hungry, having eaten so much bread with both the olive oil and the honey, but she knew she should eat before returning home.  She also wanted to get back on the road before it became too dark. 

After weighing her options, she decided to return to Bonnieux and enjoy dinner there once again.  She would be close to the house and she could easily find it. 

She found her car, loaded up her purchases, and returned to the route that would take her back to Bonnieux.  For all the small roads, there were many signs that easily directed her to her destination.  

Upon entering Bonnieux, she passed the restaurant where she had dined on her first night in Provence.  She decided to return to that lovely spot and enjoy a simple dinner once again.  

Instead of the multi-course dinner she had sampled the first time she was in the restaurant, Sara opted instead for a light meal comprised of a simple salad and some lamb chops which were encrusted with a variety of local herbs and finished in a sauce with a hint of red wine.  They were cooked a perfect medium-rare and were juicy and flavorful.  On the side were some crisp potatoes and a medley of local vegetables. 

Tonight, Sara avoided any additional wine or dessert, knowing that Antoine would likely provide an amazing selection of both, tomorrow night.   It was a wonderful meal and just enough food. 

She returned to her car and drove back to her little house.  It had been yet another lovely day and she felt ready for bed.   Before going to her room, she looked into her refrigerator, realizing that she would be leaving in three days and that she needed to finish the items she had already purchased.  She saw a variety of berries and took them out.  She spooned them into a small bowl and then re-opened a small bottle of Beaumes des Venice she had not finished.  She poured a little of the sweet wine over the berries and took them to the table to enjoy. 

As was true of most of the food she had enjoyed in France, somehow the simplest dishes tasted much better here than at home.

She put the empty dish in the kitchen and turned into bed.   She fell instantly asleep on this cool night. 

 

 

 

 

Tuesday

Sara woke to the sounds of men loudly speaking French.  She was a bit startled since it sounded so close.   She quickly got out of bed and dressed in a comfortable pair of shorts and a loose top.   She slipped on some shoes and walked outside.

She immediately saw the source of the voices, it was workers in the field of lavender next to the house property.   She breathed a sigh of relief and returned inside to prepare some coffee and her usual breakfast. 

As had become her routine, she took her morning meal, her petit déjeuner, and enjoyed it outside on her patio.   The sound of the workman in the field faded as they moved farther from her house.  Once again, it became a quiet morning filled with the songs of the local birds and the fragrances of Provence.  

Sara had become quite enamored with the French Press she had found in the kitchen.   It was stainless steel and thermal, allowing her to make several cups of coffee at once and the pitcher would keep the remaining coffee warm.  She also found that the coffee did not seem to be as bitter as when prepared through a drip maker. 

As Sara reflected on her time in France and the few days remaining, she was pleased with the progress she had made in her writing, but wondered how she would be able to finish her book without the inspiration and solitude of this place that had been her home for the last week.   Once home, she would be flooded with a myriad of responsibilities and stress.   Here life was beautiful, here in Provence she could fulfill many of her dreams and desires.   The thought of going home was beginning to weigh on her.  Sara missed her family and her life, but the time she had spent here had opened up an entirely new world to her.  

“This isn’t your house or your home, Sara.   It is merely a rental.   What makes you think you can just stay here in France?   You have responsibilities at home.  What would mother think if I just called and said ‘Guess what?  I’m staying here in France!’”  

All these things ran through her mind, yet it came back to two things.  Home seemed stressful and France filled her with joy and peace.   And, of course, there was Antoine.   Now what that meant, she did not know, but she did know that she was very taken by him and he also made her feel welcome here.

As Sara sat out on the patio and soaked in the morning sun, she enjoyed her simple French breakfast accompanied by a cup of strong black coffee from her French press.    It was all so peaceful and lovely. 

Tonight would be quite interesting, having Antoine come to her house and cook dinner.   The more her mind drifted to all of the reasons to remain in Provence, the more her mind set aside the reasons she should go home on Thursday.  

Sara picked up her laptop and resumed writing her book.  As she had found lately, she was filled with inspiration and writing came easily to her.   The time passes leisurely but quickly and before she was aware, it was mid-afternoon (l’après-midi, as she had learned).  Without even trying to study French, she was surprised by how much she seemed to now understand when walking through the markets or driving through town.  Menus also seemed to make sense to her and every day, France seemed to be more and more a welcoming place to her.  

Sara set aside her writing and picked up her travel guide and leafed through it.   She really didn’t feel like sight-seeing, but also realized her time was short and she didn’t want to miss anything that the guide indicated as a “must see.”    As she read about the various sights, she decided that simply being here in her petite mas for the day brought her great comfort and enjoyment.  As she had done on the first day, she poured herself a glass of wine, stripped naked, and laid back on a lounge outside in the sun.  She felt the warmth of the sun on her body and the wine took away any concerns she otherwise might have.

She checked the time, noting when Antoine would arrive when the thought of him being there now, the two of them naked in the sun filled her with a sensual energy that took her by surprise.  She wanted Antoine completely and she wanted him right at that moment.  

Sara had no way of contacting him and thought, “Even if I did, what exactly would I say to him?  ‘get your butt over here quickly, and get into my bed, I want you Now!’”

Sara smiled at that thought as well as the idea of him actually being there at that moment and the two of them making love under the Provençal sun.  Sara’s felt a warm glow all over her body as if she had just experienced an orgasm.  For the moment, it left her satisfied and she began relaxing again. 

Without realizing what had happened, Sara fell asleep on the lounge her body feeling relaxed and sated.  She awoke in a start and looked at the time on her wristwatch.   She jumped up as Antoine would likely be there at any time now.  She ran inside and quickly donned a simple yellow cotton dress.  As she returned to the patio to gather the final dishes from her morning meal, she heard a car turning into the drive.  “whew, I just made it getting dressed.” She thought. 

Antoine pulled up to the house, smiling when he saw Sara standing outside.  She waved to him and approached the car.  As Antoine opened his door, he looked at Sara and said, “You are all flush my sweet.  Have I interrupted something?” Sara smiled and slowly shook her head. Antoine approached her and wrapped his arms around her, giving her a very firm and intimate kiss.   Sara’s body again relaxed into his hold on her, submitting to his embrace. 

“Here, please help me bring in the bags for our dinner tonight.  I had intended to cook a dinner of fresh fish, but while I was at the market I noticed some fresh duck breasts from game ducks.  The meat will be strong but I will prepare it in such a way that you will enjoy it.  I also picked up a bottle of wine from Burgundy that I think will pair perfectly with the duck and that you will enjoy.”

“I have no doubt about that.  I am in your hands this evening.  Would you like to sit outside, here on the patio?”

“Bien sûr, of course!  This is Provence!”

They carried the various bags of food into the kitchen and began unpacking the items Antoine had purchased.  Out of one bag, he removed a bottle of sparkling wine he said was from the Loire Valley.  He asked Sara to get a couple of wine or champagne glasses and they would enjoy the bubbles while preparing the dinner.  

It was a lovely wine, slightly sweet on the tongue, but not like one would expect to find in a dessert wine. 

Antoine took command of the small kitchen and it was much like watching the conductor of a symphony as he began preparing the various meats and vegetables for the meal. 

“Antoine, I bought this excellent olive oil the other day in town, might you be able to use it in the dinner?”

She presented the bottle to Antoine who poured a drop or two onto his index finger and tasted it.  “Yes, perfect, you have made an excellent choice.  I will use it in the salad.”

One thing that impressed Sara was that other than the wine, nothing was already prepared.  All the ingredients were fresh, down to the various herbs that Antoine chopped and julienned with expert precision.   As Antoine worked, Sara sat at the counter adjoining the kitchen and watched Antoine.  He seemed to be as comfortable in the kitchen as he was in bed, she smiled.  Sara continued enjoying the sparkling wine from the Loire that Antoine had selected for them, as he too, took sips from his glass while preparing the meal.

In very little time at all, Antoine had prepared a beautiful salad of Bibb lettuce, fresh diced tomatoes, fried lardons, and thinly sliced radishes, and dressed it with a combination of the olive oil, red wine vinegar, and various fresh herbs.   Also on the salad were pine nuts he had caramelized in a little sugar.   It was absolutely beautiful and Sara was tempted to jump ahead and sample it.   Antoine set them aside, outside of Sara’s reach and instead handed her a tire bouchon, a wine corkscrew, and the bottle of red Burgundy wine he had selected.  “Please open the wine so that it might breathe for a short while.”

Sara begrudgingly opened the wine while continuing to admire the salads Antoine had made.  She took two wine glasses, cloth napkins, and the rest of the place settings and took them all out to the table on the patio.  

When she returned to her place at the counter next to the kitchen, Antoine was seasoning the duck breast and heating some of the fat in a heavy skillet.   He was just about to place the duck into the pan when he suddenly looked up at Sara and asked, “you do prefer your duck breast to be on the rare or red side, don’t you?  It is much more flavorful that way, I think.” 

Sara smiled and said, “I leave all of the food decisions to you, tonight.”

Antoine seared the breasts on both sides giving it a beautiful brown color.   He left it in the skillet for a short while to let it continue cooking.   After removing the breasts, he placed them on a plate and covered them lightly while placing them into a warm oven.  

He returned to the pan and deglazed it with some of the red wine, scraping the burnt pieces from the sear off of the botto[TM1] m of the pan.  He let it bubble slightly and then poured in some duck stock and stirred it all together.  To that he added some fresh blackberries and fresh herbs.   He let it reduce until it was all a light syrup consistency and returned the warm duck breasts to the pan. 

In another pan, Antoine had been roasting small red potatoes which he had seasoned with only salt and pepper and then sprinkled some grated parmesan cheese over the top.  Antoine poured some of the duck fat into another skillet and quickly sauteed some spinach.    

Sara finished her glass of the Loire wine and while doing so, Antoine plated the main course and was placing it in the oven to keep warm.  

Antoine picked up the salads, looked at Sara, smiled, and said, “Dinner is ready, Ma Cherie.  Will you join me on the patio?” 

Sara followed Antoine out the front door to the table on the patio and looked longingly at the beautiful salads.   Antoine poured the red Burgundy into the wine glasses and then held Sara’s chair for her to sit down.  He then took his own chair across the table from her, picked up his glass of wine and held it between them.   “Sara, you have brought a warm spring day into a cold time of my life.   I cannot thank you enough nor tell you just how much you have meant to me this last week.   I know that you must return home, but my heart wishes that you would stay here with me.”

Sara let out a deep sigh, leaned across the table to give Antoine a kiss, and then raised her own glass to Antoine’s.  

As they clinked their glasses together Antoine said, “Do you know why glasses are touched together during a toast?   It is because in wine, there is something for all of the senses, save for hearing.   There is the beauty of the wine that we see as we hold the glass in front of us.  There is the rich aroma of the bouquet and we smell the wine.  There is the sense of the crystal of the glass in our hands.  Only the ear is left without stimulation.  Therefore, our glasses chime together so that all senses might be satisfied.” 

The wine, of course, was excellent, and Sara knew that this would be, once again, a night she would never forget.   The salad, as she had anticipated was sweet, sour, crunchy, tender and flavorful.   She was able to taste the olive oil she had purchased and silently complimented herself on her selection.  

Upon finishing their salads, Antoine stood, took their plate and returned to the kitchen.  There, he retrieved the main course of the duck breast with blackberries, roasted potatoes with parmesan, and the spinach.   He returned to the table, set it in front of Sara and said, “Bon Appetit!”  

Antoine had sliced the duck breast exposing the beautiful red center of the meat.   She cut into the breast and swiped it gently through the sauce.   The taste was magnifique!  The gamey flavor of the meat was not lost in the sauce, yet the sauce added a wonderful dimension to the flavor.  It all melded perfectly together and was crowned by the taste of the Burgundy wine.   Sara could almost not believe what Antoine had so quickly prepared for the two of them.  “So, my handsome prince, did you train to be a chef?  This is excellent!” 

“Well, I have worked in many kitchens and learned from many of the outstanding chefs of this region.  I just never wanted to be confined day and night to the kitchen.   I do enjoy cooking, and especially for so beautiful a guest as you, but I wanted my life to be something more than just a kitchen.”

“Well, as unqualified as I am to rate this meal, I do give you two stars for what you have served me.  Of course, I give you personally, three stars.  You have made this trip something I shall never forget.  I absolutely love France and especially this region of Provence.  Thank you, Antoine.”

“So, ma cherie, what will you do when you return home?   Why don’t you stay here with me.  I am not wealthy, but we can carve out a comfortable life together.”

“Antoine, you need not tempt me.  I have been struggling with this very issue for several days now.  I love it here, and I do think that I have fallen in love with you.   I am just so conflicted as to what this all might mean.  I concerned what my family will think, how they will react.”

“It’s your life, your destiny.  Take a chance and follow your passions.  Here, let me pour you a little more wine to help you focus.”

“Antoine, I am so confused.  I just recently divorced; a marriage that was a bad decision.  I’d like to think that I have learned something from it and that I will make more rational decisions going forward.   Now you want me to set aside all reasoning and simply follow my heart.   Yes, I do want to stay here, I do want to be with you, but my life and my family is back in California.”

“Of course you made the wrong choice for your husband, how could you not?  You had not yet met me!   Sara, I have said nothing about marriage, I am just asking you to stay here with me.  We do not have to decide our entire future at this moment, but let’s take this one day at a time.  You now have the chance to right that wrong, to fix what was broken.  Don’t deny yourself this opportunity mistaking it for what you believe to be atonement.”

Antoine sat looking deeply into Sara’s eyes and waiting for her response, but none came.  She was silent on the matter.  He stood up and walked into the house, turning on the radio and selecting a station with beautiful dance music.  He returned to the patio, picked up Sara’s hand and said, “Dance with me.”

Sara stood and let Antoine’s arms wrap tightly around her.  Their bodies began to sway to the music and she could feel Antoine’s warm breath on her neck.   She surrendered into his arms and his body.  She could feel the excitement building inside of her and for a moment she pulled slightly away from him.   Antoine kept the movement and she quickly moved closely to him again. 

The song ended and Sara took the lead, taking Antoine’s hand and taking him to her bedroom.   They both quickly disrobed and lay back in the bed.  Antoine’s taut arms still holding Sara tightly, his hot lips exploring her mouth and her neck. 

Sara leaned back and let out a quiet moan, fully submitting to Antoine’s advances.  

For the next hour, the two made love, becoming more together than apart.   Between the wine, the excellent dinner and the sex, they both fell soundly asleep. 

Wednesday

Morning came to Sara’s petite mas in Provence.  There in bed, laying next to her, was not only the object of her desire but the object of her conflict.   “Was last night merely a dream?” she wondered.  “Just because this is not what she had planned, did that alone mean it was the wrong path?”   For now, laying naked next to him was all that really mattered. 

Antoine awoke slowly, opened his eyes, and turned to Sara, wrapping her in his arms.  “Good morning, Sweet Sara.  Did you sleep well?”

Sara let out a small laugh and said, “I’ve probably never had a better night’s sleep than last night.  With all the wine, the excellent meal, and the amazing sex, I don’t think I could be more relaxed.   And you, mon cher?” 

“Beautiful.  Even more beautiful now.  For I woke with concern that last night truly was no more than a dream.  But I have slept and I have awakened and you are still here with me.   You are no dream, you are my reality.” 

Antoine turned Sara onto her back and he then straddled her, holding her arms back over her head and he leaned forward and kissed her deeply on the mouth.   “Let me brew some coffee for the two of us and then I will explore your refrigerator and see what I can find to make us breakfast.  I think that the traditional breakfast for lovers is an omelet.  Does that sound good to you?”

Sara watched as Antoine got out of bed and walked naked to the chair where he had thrown his clothes.  He put on pair of brief, tight shorts and nothing else.  He walked over to the closet, removed Sara’s dressing robe and brought it to her. 

“Take your time, I’ll get the coffee made.”

Sara looked lustfully at Antoine’s mostly nude body and the obvious bulge in his tight shorts.   She was trying to decide which she wanted more – coffee or Antoine in bed with her. 

Antoine left the bedroom and entered the kitchen.  Sara rose slowly and put the robe over her nude body, enjoying the feeling of the silky material on her bare skin.  She could still feel the afterglow of sex from the night before.   She finally willed herself to stand up and tie the robe around her waist.  She slowly walked into the kitchen and watched as Antoine masterfully prepared their breakfast.  

Sara had always struggled when making an omelet and Antoine made it look like it was the easiest possible dish to prepare.   To the eggs he added salt, pepper, a mix of fresh herbs remaining from dinner, which he quickly minced, he also added some hot pepper flakes to add some heat.  He used some of the leftover cheese he found in the refrigerator, cheese that Sara had periodically nibbled upon, and in no time at all, breakfast was served on the patio.

“How old were you when you learned to cook?”  asked Sara.

“I think in France, we begin learning before we are even born.   It seems that I was always in the kitchen helping with either preparing a meal or sometimes even cooking.  I can remember making omelets when I was as young as five years old.   We all have a very competitive nature when it comes to food preparation and you grow up feeling that you must be able to out-cook even the best of chefs.  Now, we know that that is not likely, but the competitive spirit in the kitchen never leaves us.”

They sat down to eat their breakfast and Sara marveled at the flavor contained in the omelet.  The freshness of the eggs and the herbs was quite evident as well as the spicy tang from the hot peppers.  It was such a simple dish yet so full of flavor.  As usual, with anything regarding Antoine, she was very impressed.  

As they finished their breakfast, Antoine looked up at Sara and asked, “What would you like to do today, your last day in France?”  

Sara looked blankly at Antoine and said nothing.  

“I know!  Let’s pack a picnic and ride bicycles along the Rhône river in Vaucluse.  We will stop and have a late lunch outdoors.   It will be beautiful!”

Sara simply smiled at Antoine and replied, “That sounds lovely.”

Antoine picked up the breakfast dishes and returned them to the kitchen.  He quickly washed and set aside the plates and pans that they used.   In the meantime, Sara changed into clothes more appropriate for a bicycle ride in the country.  

When Sara emerged from the bedroom, Antoine said, “Since this is your last day, I think it would be an advantage if I did not use your kitchen.  Why don’t we stop at a small market in town and pick up a variety of charcuterie and wine for our lunch?”

They loaded up the car with a few things and drove into town where they put together a lunch from items in the local market and then drove off for the river to rent bikes.  The weather was quite beautiful as they drove through the field of purple lavender and the various vineyards.  They took several small roads that link the many small towns together until they came to the Rhône river.  They parked in a public lot and found a vendor renting bicycles.   There was a bike path along the river and they saw several houseboat-type barges cruising up the river with guests sitting on the top decks enjoying the view.  They gathered their lunch items and set off on the bike path at a rather leisurely pace.   Large trees lined the river and shaded the path.  The path was wide enough for them to ride side-by-side and talk.  Sara asked Antoine more about his life growing up in France and his time in the United States.  

They rode for about an hour when they found a beautiful spot to stop and eat lunch.  Antoine spread out a blanket on a grassy area next to the river and began laying out the various meats and cheeses he had purchased in town.  Of course, he brought out a bottle of white wine and a corkscrew.   Obviously, no meal in France was worth eating unless accompanied by wine.  It was a tradition to which Sara felt certain she could easily adapt. 

As they ate, they told stories from their respective childhoods.    The more Sara knew about Antoine the more comfortable she felt with him and the stronger her desire to stay in France.  The wine and the sun started taking their effects on Sara and she started feeling quite sleepy. 

As she laid back on the blanket, Antoine lay down next to her and put his arms around her.  As the lay there together, Sara looked toward tomorrow and what she would do.  Should she simply go with her feelings or with what she felt were her obligations?   She took in a deep breath, smiled and decided to just relax and enjoy this afternoon.  

With that, she fell quickly asleep.   Antoine too was running various scenarios through his thoughts.  He found himself in love with Sara, something that surprised even him.   He was not really looking for a relationship, just someone to spend time with.   He too was trying to work this all out in his mind and what it would mean.   Like Sara, he decided to just lay back and soak in the beauty of the day. 

After about thirty minutes, Sara woke in a start startling Antoine who was still next to her.  She sat up, looked around and stood up.  “Antoine, I need to get back to the house and start packing.  I’m leaving tomorrow and I have a lot of things that need to get completed.   Can we go now?”

Antoine was taken aback by Sara’s sudden desire to return home and pack as he was thinking that everything she had been saying would keep her here in France.   But, he did as she asked and picked up all of the picnic items and put them on the bikes.   Together they mounted their bicycles and began the ride back to the car.  

Not spending time enjoying the scenery, the ride back was much shorter than the one coming down.  They loaded the picnic items in the car and returned the bicycles to the rental agent.  They were both very quiet on the ride home, but a couple miles from the house Antoine ventured a question, “So, what are you going to do?  Stay here with me or return to the US?” 

“Antoine, I have many responsibilities back home, my family is there as well as my job.  How can I just walk away from it all?  What do I tell my mother?”

“That you’ve found another chapter of your life, but it just happens to be in France.   Do you really think your family will disown you if you stay?  I want you to stay Sara, I’m in love with you.  We don’t need to make any long-term commitments, let’s just take this one day at a time and see where it goes.”

 

Thursday

Antoine woke in a start and looked at the clock next to the bed.  It was almost nine o’clock that morning.  He quickly looked over at Sara to find her next to him in bed, wide awake. 

“Sara, what are you doing?   You have to get to Marseille.”

“I’m just thinking of coffee and breakfast and what we might have for lunch.”

“Sara, you are going to miss your flight!”

Sara looked directly into Antoine’s eyes and firmly replied, “Yes;  Yes I am.”

 

Copyright © 2021 by Thomas Martin, All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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