Provence: As the waiter sets a tiny dish of olives next to your wineglass, you smile "Merci" and shade your eyes against the afternoon sun while looking up the road winding its way through a warm field of lavender stretching away over the hill. Tickled by the breeze, the hem of your frock flutters and dust whispers across the toes peeping out of the new tangerine shoes. "Where is he?" you wonder, glancing at your watch. A buzz in the lazy air shivers a bit louder, then louder still as it becomes the growl of a somewhat elderly motorcycle. "Un autre verre de vin, s'il vous plait", you say to the waiter. "Daniel! I wondered if you'd ever get here!"
The next email from The Redhead. Attached is another wonderful pair of shoes from Anthropologie (pink Mary Jane flats, with little eyelet-cut holes-- whee!):
From: yer "soeur"
Provence, deux: A slanting sliver of sunlight beneath the bathroom door. A hiss of water, clank of pipes, whisper of a razor on his cheek. Linen skirt smooth against your legs as you slip into the pink shoes. "Oui?" you call to the quiet tap at the door. "Madame, un mimosa ou deux?" "Deux, merci," you say, and pull the windows open to a brilliant day.
I'm guessing the fellow shaving in the bath is again:
Le Roux et moi mangeons de l'un de l'autre, vous voyez ?