A Single Daffodil

Claudine didn’t speak English.

We learned this rather quickly when Elodie, the waitress, had to continuously translate Claudine’s part of the conversation.

“She wants you to come upstairs.” Elodie said as Claudine beckoned the three of us towards the back of the cafe.

I tried to swallow but my mouth was much too dry. Instead, I nodded and started to follow them—Harry kept his hand on the small of my back the entire time. It was reassuring to have someone familiar around me. It was exactly the kind of security blanket I needed.

When we reached the last step of the spiral staircase, we were led into what looked like a small apartment with a very minimal aesthetic. I chewed my bottom lip nervously as I looked around. Everything was creme-colored: the bare walls, the furniture, even the door frames. The only color in the room came from the crimson-colored roses, that sat in a vase by the living room window.

Elodie directed us to sit at the kitchen table while Claudine busied herself near the countertop. It smelled like a mixture of coffee, cigarettes and banana bread. A few seconds later, Claudine came over to the table with a fresh pot of French Pressed coffee and three mugs.

While Harry politely thanked her, I couldn’t prevent myself from staring at her. Claudine has aged in the most beautiful way one could. She was thin, had greying hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, and was wearing a black, fitted shirt with jeans. She was intimidating, but at the same time, felt very warm and welcoming. A strange combination.

Claudine looked right at me and spoke fluently in French.

Elodie quickly spoke. “She said she knew you were Bridgette’s Granddaughter zee second you walked in. You look exactly like ’er”

I sucked in a breath, nodding. Grandpa Gene always told me that, ever since I was little. It was strange hearing it from someone else, especially when you only met that someone ten minutes ago.

Claudine said something else in French to Elodie and my heart started racing when I heard Grandpa Gene’s name being mentioned. Elodie responded back in French too before turning back to me and Harry.

“She ez sorry for your loss too.” Elodie paused for a moment, struggling to translate the words. “Gene was someone sheez grown to admire…over ze years.”

“How did…how did you know he passed away?” My voice quivered as I directed the question to Claudine. I couldn’t believe it. How did she know Grandpa Gene wasn’t alive anymore? Grandpa Gene didn’t talk to anyone outside of Miami. He was very introverted in that way.

“Becauz she no longer received heez letters.”

“Letters?” I repeated, amazed by this new piece of information. “He sent letters?”

Turns out, Grandpa Gene and Claudine have been sending letters to each other for years.

Years.

As I gingerly sipped on my cup of coffee, I listened to Elodie’s translated version of Claudine’s story. Apparently, Grandpa Gene and Claudine weren’t always on the best of terms. In fact, they kind of hated each other when they first met. Claudine found my Grandpa to be an “annoying and idiotic American fool”. She didn’t even think the blind date was a good idea to begin with because Bridgette was on the rebound. She then proceeded to describe what it was like being around my Grandparents when they were together.

“Terribly annoying.” Elodie giggled when she translated Claudine’s words. “She said zey were zee most annoying lovesick couple she ever ’ad to be around.”

Harry and I laughed when Claudine jokingly pursed her lips and gave a pointed look.

She went into detail about what it was like when Bridgette moved to Florida with Grandpa Gene, and how Bridgette would often send letters describing how happy she was because she finally got married. She would also talk about Grandpa Gene developing a passion for painting and how they were expecting their first child.

“My dad.” I whispered, watching both of them in awe. Claudine, who watched me carefully as Elodie translated, nodded. I wonder if my dad ever knew anything about Claudine and her relationship to his parents.

Probably not.

And then she got to the part about Bridgette passing away, which was clearly hard for her to talk about, even to this day. Claudine and my Grandmother were best friends, it showed clearly on her face as she spoke about it. It made me sad suddenly, seeing Claudine miss my Grandmother. I somehow felt myself missing her too, even though I never met her.

“Zat was when your Grandfather would start writing ’er.” When Claudine said something else in French, Elodie quickly added. “Gene would write for Bridgette. Once a year, she would receive a letter and a drawing from heem.”

“I never knew.” I said solemnly. I began wondering why he never told me about it. I thought I knew everything about Grandpa Gene. I even checked his mail every once in a while when I would visit him and not once did I ever come across a letter from Claudine. Maybe it was the one thing he wanted to keep to himself, although I couldn’t figure out why.

I looked over at Harry to see how he was taking all this. He wasn't even looking at Claudine or Elodie. He was watching me, his green eyes ever so brilliant underneath the sunshine that cascaded through the kitchen window. When our eyes met, he offered a lopsided smile and in that moment, I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking about.

“Claudine,” I said, tearing my gaze away from Harry. “how did you know my name? When I walked in, you said it with such confidence. It was like you were waiting for me to walk through your cafe doors this whole time.”

After Elodie translated my question to Claudine, her expression changed gravely. It was like she was having an internal battle with herself, arguing whether or not she wanted to share the information with me. A moment later, she quietly stood up and disappeared into the living room. Shuffling could be heard in the distance.

Harry and I shared a look before I turned back to Elodie. She was just as confused.

“Ça va, Grand’mere?” She called out, leaning back into her chair to get a better look into the living room.

“Oui!” Claudine replied, before waltzing back into the kitchen. My eyes fixed onto the small object she was holding in her hands. A cream-colored envelope, with a shaky scrawl written over it.

My hands began to tremble in my lap when I realized it was Grandpa Gene’s handwriting.

Claudine said something I obviously couldn’t understand, but the tone in her voice was easy to interpret. Her French dialect was saturated with worry and remorse, which made me feel even more anxious about what was in the letter.

“Zis es zee last letter my Grandmozer received from Gene.” Elodie said carefully, taking the letter from Claudine. “She wants you to ’ear it.”

I exhaled a long breath and turned to Harry, wondering what I should do. When our eyes met once again, he didn’t have to say anything. I could already see it on his face. You’re gonna be okay no matter what.

“Okay.” I finally said, nodding.

“Oh! It’s in French!” Elodie exclaimed with surprise as she unfolded the letter. “It’s in…terrible French.”

“French?” I repeated, gobsmacked once again. “He could write in French?” I looked over at Harry again, completely in disbelief. “I didn’t know he could do that either.”

“I can translate it.” Elodie said after a moment.

I sat quietly, anxiously wringing my hands. The anticipation of this letter was killing me.

I watched Elodie’s eyes scan the page quietly, her mouth silently pronouncing every other word as she read. She studied it only a second longer before sitting up straight and clearing her throat. With that, she slowly began to read:

Claudine,

It is early, much too early to be writing a letter, but as always I find myself unable to sleep. Outside, the sun is slowly rising and the day is finally new, and yet, all I can think about is the past. About Bridgette. About how much I miss her. Dear Claudine, if there is one thing I need you to know, it is that I always find comfort in our letters. These letters would make my darling Bridgette very happy, knowing that after all these years, we still speak to one another. Oh, how I miss Bridgette this morning, just as I have missed her every day for the last forty years.

How are you, dear Claudine? I hope that you are well. Strange to think it has been so long since we’ve last seen each other. When I think back, there is so much to remember. Now we are older, frailer and much more complicated, health-wise. I am no longer the strong, healthy, tenacious soldier I once was. The trying twitch in my left hand is alive and well—too well, in fact. I fear that at my age, it is getting even worse. I am afraid that it will lead to something much more complicated and cruel, so I am to write this letter with great detail, as if it might be last.

Elodie stopped reading to look at me because I involuntarily let out a small whimper behind my hand. I could feel myself freezing up and the color draining from my face as I tried to process Grandpa Gene’s words. Suddenly, I felt a shift of something heavy on my lap. I looked down to see Harry’s hand, palm facing upwards, waiting for mine. I gratefully took it, lacing my fingers tightly through his. Elodie, remaining patient and poised, continued reading.

I want you to know that I love my son very much. It is hard for me to admit that somewhere along the path of life, I disappointed him as a father. It was always difficult for me to connect with him after Bridgette passed. We were nothing of the same. We did not have the typical father-son relationship. He did not let me show him how to shave like a man, he did not let me help him with his homework, or problems he faced as he grew older. My son has the world on his shoulders, day in and day out, and he will not, to this day, let me help him hold the world up. At times, it frustrates me, other times, it hurts. It hurts to think that he cannot trust his own father with his life. I have failed him somehow, and I wish I could tell him just how sorry I am about letting him down. I do not see him anymore, once every six months perhaps, and then I do not see him until the seasons have changed.

But I have Vita.

I know I have spoken about Vita, my Granddaughter, before. I remember writing you a letter the year she was born because I felt so much joy as I wrote it. Vita is so special to me because she is a gift from Bridgette. And I know somehow, Bridgette planted a piece of her own soul into Vita when she was born. They are much of the same person. Kind, loving, selfless and most importantly, she sees the good in everyone. I worry sometimes that my son does not see it and I hope so desperately he does not push her away as he did me. She is always happy, my Vita. She does not believe in misery. She knows that that type of emotion should only be seen on stage or the screen or on a printed page. I confess that I am not a very emotional person, and maybe that is where I went wrong with my son, but my dear Vita has carved a place inside my heart. I dream for her happiness everyday. Her victories are my victories, her defeats are my defeats, her worries are my worries. Vita gave my existence meaning once again. And on the cusp of this, I think I now understand why Bridgette was taken away from me. It was to show me how special life can be. And through the long process of grieving, Vita reminded me how important it is to love and to be loved.

I write this to you in a letter because it feels as though the end of an era approaches me. I would never say that to Vita, because I do not want to worry her, but it is true. My time on this earth is limited. And I want you to know, my dear friend, that I hope you get to meet Vita one day. I hope that one day, Vita will find her way to Saint Malo and experience the wonder, the magic, the amour of your town, just like I did. And when she does visit you, let her know that me and Bridgette will be watching over her in heaven. Because in the end, if there is a heaven, Bridgette and I will find each other again, for there is no heaven without her.

With all my love,

Gene Spoelstra.

There was no point in fighting back the tears. When she finished reading, I could no longer see her through my blurred vision. I cried, I cried, and I cried.

“Don’t cry, Vita.” Harry whispered as he leaned into me, his hand moving in a circular motion on my back. I covered my face with both hands now, my body shaking uncontrollably. “Please, don’t cry.”

But I couldn’t help it. Everything in Grandpa Gene’s letter left me feeling so sad. He thought he was a terrible father to my dad and he wanted to apologize for being…himself. I couldn’t stand it. Grandpa Gene longed for a normal father-son relationship this entire time and what made it worse was my dad didn’t even care. And now I felt guilt, almost selfish, for taking advantage of my time with Grandpa Gene. I should have spent more time with him, I should have paid more attention to the signs of him getting sicker, I should have been there more. It feels like I didn’t do enough.

“It ez incredible to me zat he could predict you coming here.” Elodie spoke softly as she carefully reinserted the letter into the envelope. “Gene zounds wonderful, Veeta.”

“He was.” I choked out, nodding slowly. “He was everything.”

Like a precious piece of history, Claudine delicately held the envelope in her hands. She stood up then, and leaned over the table, reaching for my tear-stained hands. She put the envelope in them and made me hold onto it tightly.

And then, out of nowhere, Claudine spoke English for the first time.

“Keep.”



I was sitting on the bench outside Merce And The Muse, feeling exhausted from the conversation I had with Elodie and Claudine. I kept my head down, not bothering to fix my hair when it started to whip across my face from the hard ocean breeze.

I felt awful, my once high-spirits about visiting Saint Malo now long gone. In the past two hours, I have managed to learn more about Grandpa Gene then I ever have in my entire life. Even worse, I found out how he really felt about his relationship with my dad. Grandpa Gene felt guilty about how things turned out between them because he couldn’t relate to my dad’s cold, harsh, carefully-calculated personality. He felt like he was the one who was creating the problem. It made me sick to my stomach.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry, patient and kind, waited next to me on the bench as I tried to gather all my thoughts.

I shook my head. “I think I want to go back to Zayn’s now.”

“Really?” Harry questioned. “But we only just got here. Didn’t you want to visit the harbor too?”

“I did,” I answered. “but that was before all this. And I just—I don’t know.”

I stopped speaking when my voice threatened to break. I felt so overwhelmed with Grandpa Gene’s letter that all I wanted to do was crawl into a bed, close my eyes, and pretend none of this was real. I couldn’t handle the rest of this town now. Not anymore.

“You can’t leave feeling like this though.” Harry tried. “That’s not how Grandpa Gene would have wanted it.”

I didn’t say anything because I knew he was right. Grandpa Gene would strangle me if he knew I didn’t finish exploring this town. After listening to his letter, it sounded like he loved this town almost as much as he loved my Grandmother and me. But I just couldn’t do it anymore. I hated that I couldn’t experience it with him.

“I think I have an idea.” Harry shot up from the bench, an unexplainable surge of excitement taking over him. He walked a couple of steps towards the cafe, before he turned around to look at me. “Just—just wait right here. Don’t move! I’ll only be a second.”

“Harry—” I called out but he was already back inside Merce And The Muse.

I sat back into the bench, letting out a swoosh of air. In the distance, I could still hear the two musicians from earlier, playing a lovely tune. The sun was much higher now than before, but the temperature was still cool.

Harry took a little longer than I expected, so I took out my camera and took a couple of polaroids of the exterior of the cafe and the street it was on. Just as he was walking back out with his phone in his hand, I was carefully placing the polaroids and Grandpa Gene’s letter into my journal.

“What were you doing?” I questioned when he reached me.

He had the biggest grin on his face. “I have a surprise. You ready?”

“Oh Harry,” I said, shaking my head. “please don’t. I just want to go back to Bayeux.”

“I know you do, and I promise I’ll take you back. But we need to go on a tiny detour before then.” He said.

I wasn’t completely convinced, but there was something about Harry’s urgency that was starting to make me curious.

“Trust me, Vita.” He said again. “You’ll like it.”

Relentlessly, I agreed. So with a huge smile on his face once more, he led the way.

As I followed Harry down the street, I started bombarding him with questions about where we were going. Typical Harry didn’t budge with his answers. All I could get out of him was a smirk and an “Oh, you’ll see.” Frustrated, I gave up and quietly followed him.

It was so weird that we were getting along like this. And it was even weirder how lovely he was being to me. Okay, it wasn’t that weird. In fact, I should have expected Harry to act like this as he accompanied me on this trip. Butterflies burst inside my stomach when I remembered he held my hand in Claudine’s kitchen. It felt so natural holding his hand and at the time, I didn’t even question it. Holding his hand was so necessary. His entire existence was so fucking necessary.

“We’re back at the car.” I stated smartly as we walked back to the Range Rover.

“Well look at you, Inspector Gadget.” Harry laughed. “You figured out the first clue.”

I glared at him from over the hood of the car before reaching for the car door. “Listen, if you’re gonna be a sarcastic dillhole, at least call me Sherlock Holmes. It has more of a comical kick to it.” When we both got into the car, I slammed my door shut before adding. “And besides, Robert Downey Jr. is relatable subject matter to Sherlock Holmes, and I find him to be very delicious.”

“Looks like the ol’ Vita is back.” Harry gave me a pointed look. “That didn’t take long.”

“Yeah, well I’m feeling a little riled up about you not telling me where we’re going. Which reminds me,” I leaned over the console slightly and slide my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose. “where are we going?”

“Not telling.”

Oh how I wanted to slap the smug smile off his face right then and there.

We weren’t in the car for very long. Harry only had to make a couple of turns here and there before we arrived at a destination.

“A flower shop?” I turned to look at Harry. “Why are we—”

“Shh,” Harry shushed me immediately. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

“But—”

Harry slammed the door shut before I could even finish my sentence. I watched him with disbelief as he hopped up onto the sidewalk and waltzed into the flower shop.

Now I was super confused.

I waited impatiently in the car for over ten minutes before Harry finally reappeared from the store, but this time he was holding two brown bags full of—wouldn’t you have guessed it?—flowers.

“Have you lost your mind?” I barked as Harry shoved the two heavy bags of flowers over the console and into my lap. “What are all these for?”

“You’ll see.” He started the car up once more and backed out of the parking spot.

I was getting really tired of that response.

Instead of fighting him on it, I curiously peaked into the bags of flowers. He bought all kinds of bouquets. Pink roses, purple tulips, blue hydrangeas. Daisies, sunflowers, and even yellow daffodils.

I looked over at Harry curiously. What did this guy have up his sleeve?

I guess I didn’t have to wonder for too much longer because before I knew it, the paved road had suddenly turned into a dirt road and we were completely surrounded by tall grass and green hills. Harry stopped driving when we reached a dead end. Just as I was about to point out that we should probably turn around, he turned off the engine.

“Ready?” Harry asked, taking one of the flower bags before hoping out of the car.

“Wait—” I felt frantic all of a suddenly, quickly hopping out of the car too. “—you can’t just park here! Where are we going?”

Harry looked at his phone briefly before looking up at me with a smirk. He jerked his head in the direction of a narrow trail of grass. “This way. Come on.”

“I—Harry, what!?” I exclaimed, having to break into a light jog to catch up to him. He was already walking through, his retreating figure quickly disappearing behind the tall grass.

I held onto the bag of flowers tightly with my left hand as I pushed the grass away from me with my right. I think Harry has officially lost it. He was taking me to the middle of nowhere. How did he know about this random trail in the first place? This was his first time here too, and what was with the flowers--

And suddenly, all at once, it hit me.

“The U.S vessel was only going to be deployed to Saint Malo for the summer, so I was able to spend a whole summer with Bridgette. Our whole relationship was full of taking adventures around the town, climbing mountains, discovering secret hideaways. She’d often make picnic baskets for the two of us when we would spend a whole day hiking off the coast. She would always let me draw her when we’d lay out in our favorite spots. There is one specific memory I often like to think about when I tell this story.”

I gasped loudly, stopping in my tracks when I realized then, where Harry was taking me.

He was taking me to the lake. Grandpa Gene & Bridgette’s secret hideaway.

Too excited by this new realization, I dropped the bag of flowers I was holding and squealed, tackling Harry to the ground. Harry let out a loud ‘oof!’ as we collapsed onto the ground, rolling around a couple of times before coming to a complete stop.

“How’d ya find it!?” I exclaimed excitedly. “And how far off are we!?”

He started groaning after the impact, but I could tell he was trying not to laugh by the way his smile, already so big, fought to spread even wider.

“God, took you long enough to figure it out.” He groaned again, looking over at the crumbled bag of flowers he was once holding. “Oh no! The flowers!”

“Answer the question, Styles!” I pressed. “Where is it? Where’s the lake!?”

“Relax, will ya? We’re not that far off!” He laughed again, lifting his torso up by sitting back on his elbows. “Did you really have to tackle me so hard? I feel bruised.”

“Oh quit being such a baby.” I picked myself up before taking his hand and yanking him up too. “Come on, let’s go!”

I couldn’t stop smiling as Harry read off the directions from his phone. The trail climbed ahead of us, weaving among trees and grass so thick in some places, it was plausible to think that it’s been a while since someone has passed through here. In other places, however, the trail opened up into beautiful vistas. They were the kind that you’d only expect to see in movies, in photographs, and even on the backs of postcards.

“So who knew about it?” I asked Harry as he helped me jump over a huge tree trunk that was in our path. I relished in the fact that I got to hold his hand again, if only for a couple of seconds.

“Claudine knew.” He answered easily, clearly unfazed by our hands touching. “I had to explain it in great detail before Elodie and Claudine figured out which hideaway we were talking about. Apparently, there’s several around here.”

As we walked deeper into lush green, wildflowers started to appear and butterflies—real butterflies, not just the ones in my stomach—started to flutter around us. There was no way this place was real. There was just…no way.

“I think we’re here.” Harry stopped in front of a Weeping Willow tree, where a curtain of its branches concealed what was behind it. Just as I reached where Harry was standing, he slid his hand between the drooping leaves and lifted the delicate branches carefully.

It looked exactly like Grandpa Gene’s painting. The lake remained untouched with it’s lily pads speckled on the surface. More Weeping Willow trees hunched over the body of water, their roots tickling the surface as it swayed in the wind, causing tiny ripples. Underneath the trees were empty beds of grass, and more wildflowers popping out of bushes as different colored butterflies hovered over them delicately. And just like in the painting, there was an empty row-boat, wedged between a couple of rocks underneath the tree.

This place was even better then I imagined.

“It’s so beautiful.” I commented as I ducked beneath a low-hanging branch. From the corner of my eye, I saw Harry do the same thing.

“Exactly like the painting.” Harry pointed out as he made a bee line for the empty boat. “Which is a good thing, because I was hoping we could go in this thingy.”

“I don’t know what is funnier to me; the fact that you called the boat a ‘thingy’, or that you’d even think I’d go in that with you.”

“What?” He acted like it was the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “You are absolutely getting in this boat with me. We are to experience this place the right way.”

“Can’t we admire the lake from here? On this nice piece of dry grass?” I motioned to the grass beneath my feet dramatically.

Harry’s mouth twisted into a frown. I willed myself not to stare at it, or his cute nose.

“But then…we can’t lay the flowers on the water.” He said finally.

My grip tightened around the brown bag in my arms. The flowers. I was so wrapped up in being here, that I completely forgot about Harry buying these. Now I felt numb, putting two and two together at last.

“You…you wanted to put these in the lake?” I questioned, stunned by the sweet gesture. I couldn’t believe he even thought of it.

“Well, yeah…” Harry kicked imaginary dirt in front of him, avoiding my stare. “I thought maybe…” He paused, finally looking back at me. “I thought maybe it’d be a nice way to remember your Grandpa. Taking something you love—” He gestured to the bags of flowers, “—and bringing them to a place Grandpa Gene loved.”

I tried to will my heart from beating so hard as I stared at Harry. Preventing myself from grinning like an idiot was almost impossible when he offered me a shy smile—something I haven’t seen from Harry in a long, long time. His gesture made my whole entire being shake with happiness. It almost made me want to cry.

With blush spreading across my cheeks, I took a couple of steps toward Harry and the row boat. “Do you even know how to work one of these ‘thingys’?”

“Can’t be that hard, can it?” He shrugged and played it off like it was nothing, but I could tell he was secretly pleased with how this turned out. He offered his hand to help me inside. “Ready?”

In that moment, I wanted so badly to hug him and just feel his arms securely around me, just to remind me that this wasn’t all a dream. That this wasn’t some sort of hallucination I was having. Harry and I were really in Saint Malo. We were really at the lake. We were really having a moment.

I swallowed and nodded, taking his hand and stepping inside the boat.

As Harry stepped in behind me and pushed off the edge of the rock, I carefully sat down on the wooden bench and looked down into the water. It was so crystal clear that you could see the bottom, ten feet below. Tiny tadpoles and colorful fish glided through it easily, swimming fast as they spotted the boat’s movement on the surface.

Harry faced me as he used two long paddles to row us further into the lake. Harry was smiling the whole time, which made me feel like a thousand suns exploded within me.

“I can’t believe we’re here right now.” I practically chucked the words out as I looked around me. The sadness I once felt earlier had completely vanished. Now, I couldn’t stop grinning. Everything about this was magic. “This is crazy.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I thought it would be a long-shot finding this place, but Claudine and Elodie knew exactly where to send us when I asked them about it.”

When we reached the middle of the lake, Harry stopped rowing and let the water guide the boat naturally. We then started picking out the flowers and snapped the stems off before carefully gliding the flower heads on top of the water. It was so calming to watch the flowers drifting along the water, twirling at their own leisure.

I leaned against my folded arms on the edge of the boat, smiling as all the daffodils grouped together. I reached out with one finger, dipping into the water and pushing the tinniest of ripples towards them.

“You’re favorite flower.” Harry pointed out as he sat next to me. From the corner of my eye, I could see him watching me.

“Yeah.” I leaned my cheek against my hand so I could smile up at Harry. “You have a good memory.”

“I just remember the important things.”

Right then and there, I was full of everything I felt for Harry. It was so intense and beautiful and wonderful, that I almost couldn’t breathe. And the way he was looking at me, right in this very moment, made my skin burn something fierce. It felt like he had somehow reached right into my chest and was squeezing my heart. I wanted to burst.

“I bet Grandpa Gene is pleased that we found this place.” Harry said softly as he pulled out a stack of daisies. I watched him pluck the stems off of each one before he moved closer to me and leaned over the edge of the boat, ever slightly, to place the daisies in the water.

“I miss him.” I whispered, watching the daisies follow the floating daffodils through the soft stream.

“I know.” He copied my position, leaning his head against the edge of the boat. We were so close now, I wanted to pass out just thinking it would only take me a second to lean in and kiss him.

I pushed those dangerous thoughts as far away as possible, knowing nothing good could come from them.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Coming here will help me remember him the right way. The way he should be remembered.”

Instead of articulating a response, he smiled and reached over, slowly running his hands through my curls. I closed my eyes, my scalp feeling prickly from his warm touch. I wanted him to kiss me so badly, I could barely stand it. We were by ourselves, in a boat on this secluded lake. The sun was shining, the Weeping Willow branches were swaying in the wind, the birds were chirping in the distance. We were in Saint Malo, alone, together. Just me and him.

Tell him you love him, Vita I told myself, Tell him. Tell him and kiss him.

The words were pushing themselves against my tongue, my confession so clearly lost in the moment.

But I couldn’t do it.

He quietly placed a curl behind my ear and traced a fingertip behind my ear and slowly down my jawline. My heart stopped beating when he reached my chin. He paused and grazed his thumb right beneath my lips before finally dragging his hand away from me.

He didn’t kiss me.