Sabine in Paris
One glance around the room confirms that this is not a tourist crowd.
Sabine runs her hands slowly over the small round table, gliding her fingernails into its wooden grooves. “I’m adopting this place.”
While waiting for service, Sabine sits there, just as red sits on top of a rainbow—glowing, expectant, and intense—causing Justan’s pulse to speed up. He starts humming Ruby Tuesday, an old Stones classic. “When you change with every new day.”
A moment later, the server—who introduces herself as Madame Catherine—twitches when Sabine asks her whether she can have her Croque Monsieur with pain de campagne.
“Bien sûr.” The twitch turns into a full-on smile, setting her dimples and wrinkles aglow. “And, for the Monsieur?” Her question sounds like a song.
“Oh, he’ll have the Croque Madame,” Sabine replies, “for the irony of it. And we’ll both have le café long."
And on that note,
Happy Tuesday!
Dina
Sabine runs her hands slowly over the small round table, gliding her fingernails into its wooden grooves. “I’m adopting this place.”
While waiting for service, Sabine sits there, just as red sits on top of a rainbow—glowing, expectant, and intense—causing Justan’s pulse to speed up. He starts humming Ruby Tuesday, an old Stones classic. “When you change with every new day.”
A moment later, the server—who introduces herself as Madame Catherine—twitches when Sabine asks her whether she can have her Croque Monsieur with pain de campagne.
“Bien sûr.” The twitch turns into a full-on smile, setting her dimples and wrinkles aglow. “And, for the Monsieur?” Her question sounds like a song.
“Oh, he’ll have the Croque Madame,” Sabine replies, “for the irony of it. And we’ll both have le café long."
And on that note,
Happy Tuesday!
Dina