Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Maggie breathed out a sigh of relief as she followed the cobblestone street toward the market the bed and breakfast owner had told her was the best in town. It was a special thing to revisit a home from her past with friends from her present, and also, she couldn’t help but note how the memories came back to her more fluidly each time she had a moment alone.

The air here brought with it stories. Cold ocean, high mountain sheep, and the ubiquitous rosemary that seems to permeate the hillsides of the entire European continent. All blended together in a swirl of nostalgic feelings. Glimpses of a younger self, wide eyed in her first foray living in a new country, flashed across her senses with each inhale.

The approaching market stall, apparently only open one day a week, pulled her out of nostalgic reverie. When Maggie had asked Elene, the owner of the guesthouse where she was staying, where she got the jams served each morning with breakfast, the proprietor had shown her around the fruit trees, herbs, tomatoes, and chickens in the guest house’s gardens, but told her she always splurges on cherries from Xavier at the market. Something so magnifique, she raved, is worth the expense.

Maggie agreed, and so now she found herself on a quest for these perfect cherries. It was late May, and Elene told her the first ones of the new season were just being picked. But if there weren’t any ready today, Xavier, whose farm and winery grew the cherries, would also sell jam from last year’s bounty.

The market stall was on the edge of town, at the end of the cobblestone street that wound from the end of the farmed flatlands to the base of the hill leading up to the stone church on the mountain that gave the town its name. Saint Pierre de Castelnau – decidedly more French than Basque, izmir otele gelen escort but such was the project of France to mandate its language everywhere it went. Local farmers and fishermen brought their wares here a couple days a week, on their own schedules, and the town butcher was only a few meters away.

Today, late in spring but still too early for the seasonal crowds to arrive, Maggie found the market largely empty but for a few birds chirping nearby. She quickly spotted the stall, noticing piles of fresh green beans, colorful peppers, and a handwritten list of some sort.

Walking closer, she realized the list was for available cheeses and was excited to see a couple varieties of her longtime local favorite, brebis. She was pondering the options when a voice cut through her studying.

“Est-ce qu’il y a quelque chose que vous cherchez, Madame?”

“Oh, pardon” Maggie responded, noticing for the first time the man standing in front of her, his face betraying just the glimmer of a smirk as he processed her surprise.

Thankfully her French had come back quickly on this trip. “Yes, actually. Elene told me that the cherries in her incredible jam come from you, so I came to see if you have any in season yet. You are Xavier, I assume?”

Xavier’s face warmed at the mention of Elene. “Yes, I am indeed Xavier. And if Elene sent you, it is a pleasure to meet you…..”

“Maggie! Or in France, Marguerite. As you like” Maggie offered, still taking in that the Xavier who Elene had made sound like an elder farmer was actually rather young… and hot.

The smirk popped up again on Xavier’s face at her offering and he laughed a bit as he pronounced her name with perfect English. “Maggie, a pleasure to meet you. Unfortunately izmir rus escort the cherries are just beginning to decide they are ready, so it will be another week before I bring them to the market with me. But I do have here some jam from last year that I made, perhaps you would like to try with a bite of cheese?”

Maggie agreed quickly, as Xavier pulled a block of cheese and a jar from a cooler behind him, chopped off a slice, and opened the jar to spoon out a dollop of dark red liquid, chunks of cherry still visible in it, onto the cheese. He handed it to Maggie and began to wrap the cheese to put it away.

Maggie, however, had moved into a transcendent plane. The combination of this jam and her favorite cheese, itself a vehicle for so many memories, was overwhelming. She moaned with delight, eyes closed, blissfully savoring the experience. The failure to find fresh cherries was completely forgotten at that moment.

Xavier turned back at the unexpected sound of moaning, delighted by what he was seeing. The American woman had some passion, it would seem. And good taste. He waited for her to return to reality.

As her eyes caught his again, he asked, a bit tauntingly, this time: “Ca vous plait?”

Maggie decided her dignity was worthy of abandoning for such flavors, and responded earnestly, “It is incredible. You make all of this?”

“Oui,” Xavier said. “My mother’s family is Basque, and I bought an old vineyard here a few years ago and have been revitalizing it. Luckily, the soil is good, and the orchards were long ago planted, they just needed a lot of love. So, I am loving, and I am relearning my own history through the vines and plants that grow here.”

Maggie got the sense that this was but a small bite of a larger story, and she izmit escort wanted to know more, but people were starting to arrive at the market for their morning shopping. “I have so many questions, but I should stop distracting you! Can I buy some of that jam, though, before I go?”

Xavier looked at Maggie again, in contemplation for a barely noticeable split second, and then smiled back, “In France, a beautiful woman is never a distraction. Unfortunately I do not have the jam for sale today, I brought this just for the cheese. But, if you want to try some of the first cherries of the season, I will invite you to dinner tonight. Elene can tell you where my house is. I promise to send you back safely with jam and a mouth that is very happy. Come over at 7.”

Maggie was still processing the offer when Xavier turned to an elderly man who had walked up while they were talking and began packaging for him an order that was clearly so regular as to be predicted at the mere sight of his face.

In a daze once again, she followed the cobblestone streets back to the guest house.

Elene was with Maggie’s friends in the garden, and the smell of coffee and sounds of laughter filled the space. As Maggie sat down for breakfast, Elene asked how the visit to the market had gone.

“Well,” Maggie said, “Xavier invited me to dinner, and I ate a piece of brebis and cherry jam that may have sent me to heaven already”

Elene laughed in surprise and delight. “Bien sur! Xavier takes his food quite seriously. But dinner! The women here fawn over that man but he only ever cares about food and farming. That is a surprise…a delightful one I think. You must go have dinner with him. Anytime Xavier offers to cook, the correct response is to eat. And besides, you are in France. Indulge!”

Maggie realized with some surprise that she had already decided to go. Dates at strangers’ houses were not generally her cup of tea, but there was something about Xavier’s laughing eyes and the reverence with which he spoke of the cherry trees that got to her. And fuck it, she was indeed in France.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32