tender offerings [will]

april 2003

Chatoeil was always a beautiful village, but it was especially picturesque during any of the festivals it put on throughout the year. Spring found it bursting with colour; fresh flowers lining the paved streets, pastel bunting hanging from building to building, and the many pop-up stalls selling painted eggs, fantastical spring-themed cakes and pastries.

Bérénice was sat at the harbour, on a bench looking out to the sea, where she had told Will to meet her. He wasn’t late (yet), but she had been able to get away earlier than expected. It was a warm day in the sun, though the sea breeze was fresh and it was cooler in the shade. She had dressed in a forest green skirt, white blouse, and light tan coat. And heels, of course.

She hadn’t seen Will in weeks and was acutely aware that this was where they had met -- not the harbour, specifically, but Chatoeil -- about a year ago. It simultaneously felt like she’d known him much longer and not nearly well enough for it to have been a year. She supposed that was the problem with something long-distance; even with magic and the ease of travel, her work prevented her from being able to jet off to England as often as she might want.

She could go back to medicine, but she loved what she did -- so could she see herself giving that up? Her thoughts were interrupted by Will’s arrival. The witch got to her feet and reached up to greet him with a soft kiss on the lips. She drew back, smiling. “Hello,” she murmured warmly. “Are you ready?”


@William Dasher

For Bérénice, he'd do anything. He'd even celebrate Easter, despite not really understanding what it was. There were flowers and chocolates and bunnies and eggs. Everything was light and airy. A pre-summer festival, maybe? Will had received new clothes, chocolate eggs and money as a child but he was thirty one now. He wasn't sure what the protocol was.

That being said, it didn't stop him practically sprinting down the now-familiar cobbled streets to dive right into this Spring based festival...thing. They didn't have things like this in London and he was both flattered by and keen for experiencing it. He'd pay the favour back, of course, but all he could think of was the Notting Hill Carnival. It wasn't very romantic but it was a bloody good party.

The pastel coloured bunting caught on the fresh sea breeze and he found himself, ironically, full of the joys of spring. With his hands in the pockets of his pressed chinos, he saw  Bérénice sitting on a bench and he slowed his pace, purely to gaze at her for a moment. This long distance thing was hard. They coped, absolutely, but it wasn't the same as coming home to someone. Will liked the mundane - cooking dinner together, taking a Sunday morning stroll, staying in rather than going out - but it wasn't feasible.

Bérénice loved her job and she was damned good at it. He loved his job, too. He had the reigns now and big plans. He had no qualms popping over to the French town whenever he could and absence did make the heart grow fonder. He just wanted to spend more time with her.

It had been almost a year since they met and his mind was boggled. He wasn't expecting to meet anyone in the middle of his find-yourself-overdue-gap-year-of-self-discovery mission. But there she was, dressed in pink and way out of his league - she still was. He couldn't speak for her but he'd fallen hard and fast. She'd even managed to overlook the fact that he'd panicked and asked her out for juice instead of coffee (the memory still haunted him at night). A whole year, though. Twelve months since he'd thought of Honey, since he'd thought of anyone but the goddess sitting on that bench.

She was on her feet and his hands went to her waist, an arm looping around it as he bent to pick her up, just a few inches off the ground. He kissed her back with a smile before delicately setting her back down on the cobbles. "Oooh hello," he answered, still in a bit of a daze as he reached for her hand and squeezed. "The place looks great," he said but then again, it always did. It was a bit of an oasis, with old world charm and a crystal clear sea as a backdrop.

"Lead the way," Will said gamely as they walked, his big brown eyes looking down at her. "So, what is it we do?" He asked Bérénice as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, deftly side-stepping as a gaggle of small children dashed past, giggling. He stopped suddenly. "Are those bunny shaped marshmallows?" His eyes widened in wonder. "Come on. We need to get some."

“Oh--” The Frenchwoman let out a soft noise of surprise as he lifted her, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Back on solid ground, Bérénice smiled up at him. “I got up early to make sure it was all ready for you,” she joked, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

Hand-in-hand, she led him up the cobbles back towards the town proper -- the festival was centred around the square, but almost every street and lane seemed to have opted to take part in as much as being pastel-hued and spring-themed; window boxes burst with colour and some doors had nest-like wreaths hanging upon them. Bérénice looked up at William, mildly bemused. “Well, you don’t have to do anything,” she countered, not unkindly. “Whatever you want,” she offered, “eat, drink, just look at everything.” Or all three.

She stopped with him, wondering what the reason for their abrupt halt was. The brunette looked from the children, over her shoulder, back to Will and grinned. “If you’re impressed by those I can’t wait to see your face when you see the croquembouche.”

They continued on, up a slight incline to the square. “How have you been?” she asked him, wrapping her opposite arm across her front to be able to touch her fingertips on the crook of his elbow, leaning into him slightly as they walked. She wanted to gaze up at him near-constantly, but she also needed to watch where she was walking on the uneven streets. It still felt foreign to have to ask questions like this -- how have you been, what have you been doing -- covering weeks at a time after so long, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever get used to it.

"Not doing anything sounds great," Will countered with an easy smile because it really did. It was a nice change of pace and he'd always liked the French seaside town. While he still had a soft spot for Hogsmeade with it being so ingrained in his childhood, he could still see why Beauxbatons' kids flocked here. He wanted to take Bérénice to Hogsmeade, she might like it. There was the off chance she'd run into Honey but they were sort of friends, so it should all be fine...ish.

"Croquem-what?" Will asked stupidly before he grinned again, absently wondering if that was an unusual swear word she was calling him. "I'd love to see it. My head might explode," he mused as they walked along the very pretty street. Absently, he reached one of his large hands up to touch a hanging basket of flowers before he delicately plucked one off the stem and very gently tucked it behind the ear Bérénice had closest to him without a word.

"Good," the taller man answered without skipping a beat. He felt the same as she did about asking mundane questions. It had been months but it was still a bit weird. Strange. Stilted. It was like meeting up with an old school friend. He got the same zing of excitement when he saw her but then things became a little off. It wasn't her fault, he just wasn't a particularly interesting man.

"Work's busy," he added, softening his position as Bérénice leaned into him. He smiled gently because despite the faint lingering air of awkwardness, she was very real. Maybe they'd just had trouble transitioning from letters to dating. "Dave misses you," Will told Nice gently with another smile. He missed her too, obviously, but this wasn't a codeword - his dog was genuinely unsettled without her. He was, too. Their meetings were too short and too sporadic. He lay awake as the logistics ran through his mind. He could run the company from Paris but Berenice couldn't leave the school. But Paris was quite far away from Chatoeil. He'd still only see her on weekends. Plus, he loved London too much to leave it. Quaint country living just was not in his blood.

"School's good?" Will asked Bérénice lightly, assuming it was all hunky dory. He felt her fingers on his elbow and she was accidentally too close to something in his jacket pocket.

"Oh, I got you something," he explained to her quickly as he opened his coat and extracted a small parcel wrapped in pale pink tissue paper before he hastily placed her hand back on his arm, feeling bereft without it there. It was a cream coloured silk scarf, dotted with beautiful pale pastel watercolour flowers. Vintage, apparently. "It just caught my eye and reminded me of you," he shrugged casually as he feigned disinterest in her reaction while simultaneously sneaking her glances.

"I did miss you, though," he told her softly in a whisper as he leaned down to her level quickly, as though afraid someone would overhear or the wind snatched the sentiment away. Afterall, he didn't want to embarrass her in front of her students. It was strange enough seeing them outside of school was it was, nevermind canoodling with someone.

"And I meant to invite you out." In typically forgetful Will style, the invite was still on the sofa at home. "The firm is hosting a charity auction," he ploughed on, "the firm" being the business and not his family but they were interchangeable. "Black tie, champagne, stupidly small food, lots of dark corners," he offered her a crooked smile. "We do it every couple of years and I'd love it if you could come," he said as he squeezed her fingers. "We try to get items from everywhere to sell. Art, concert tickets, sports memorabilia. I think dad spoke to someone at the Griffins. I think they're donating something."

Bérénice laughed lightly. “Croquembouche. I thought you were a baker?” she teased with a quirked eyebrow; not to mention his French lineage that he’d mentioned once or twice. She paused, watching with big eyes as he retrieved a flower for her and tucked it into her hair. She cleared her throat softly and flashed him a small smile, her cheeks flushing a warmer shade.

Work was busy; she nodded. “Does he?” she smiled again, more widely this time. “I thought he might rather like having his side of the bed back,” she smirked. It was easier to joke about it than to address it -- she hadn’t visited him in England in weeks, and it had been longer still since she had stayed the night. They weren’t ready for domestic bliss, but she wouldn’t mind being a little closer geographically -- just enough that she could apparate, rather than have to take a portkey every time she wanted to see him.

It was Bérénice’s turn to update him on her life, and she tried to think of anything remotely interesting that had happened that she hadn’t already mentioned in her owls. That was the other problem: they put everything into their letters, and then they struggled to find topics of real conversation when they actually saw one another. “Yes, it’s—”

Will interrupted her -- not that she had been about to reveal anything important -- and Bérénice unlooped her arm from his and her heart plummeted; “Oh? It’s not my birthday yet,” she smiled, a hint of unease in the expression that she hoped he couldn’t see before she forced herself to seem more excited. The parcel was -- thankfully -- shaped wide and flat, and flexible. A slender, curious brow rose as she took it from him. The French witch opened the package carefully to reveal fabric within and she kept her eyes on what she was doing as she withdrew it from the pink paper. It was a silk scarf in pastel hues. “Thank you,” she murmured, squeezing his forearm gently and leaning up to press her lips to his cheek softly. “It’s lovely,” she said with a strained smile, trying to think what about a scarf would remind someone of her.

They had stopped short of making it to the square, and Bérénice was eager to continue on, but Will kept her transfixed to the spot a little longer as he confessed to missing her -- as though they hadn’t just covered this. “I missed you too,” she replied automatically.

He wanted to invite her out. The brunette almost pointed out that they were already out, but kept her lips sealed as she gazed at him expectantly. Her brows rose in interest when he elaborated. “Is that last bit on the order of events?” she teased, entwining her fingers with his. “When?” she asked, a deal more interested in this than in the faint music and chatter she could hear around the corner; she always liked a man in a suit. “The Griffins quidditch team? I know the Captain -- well, he’s a family friend. If your dad has any issues let me know and I’ll put in a word,” she grinned. “I’ll have to see if we can contribute something,” she said, ‘we’ being her family of course.

"Not a very good one," Will smiled at her and it dimmed swiftly as she spoke. Bérénice's words were meant to be playful, a joke, but it made him think. He managed to fix his face before he gave the game away and he laughed quickly. "Well, he does like to snuggle," he joked. She'd been over to his home a handful of times and while he absolutely did not mind visiting her in France and he understood she had prior commitments here...would it have killed her to come to London once in a while?

This had a bad case of history repeating itself and the thoughts bumped around his head as they walked. Honey and Bérénice were not the same but this was familiar. Honey's break up had been short and sharp and caught him completely off guard and there was nothing to say that the Frenchwoman was going down the same path but there was a hint of awkwardness that should not be there. It was his gut feeling and her lackluster reaction to his gift made him think he might not be so crazy. Trying to keep hold of  Bérénice- of this - was like trying to hold water between cupped hands.

The soft kiss on his cheek made him blink himself back into focus. "Oh, you're welcome," Will added distractedly, her touch reminding him that she was close by. Will caught her expression out of the corner of his eye and his heart dropped. She was going through the motions, they both were. He sort of wished she'd cancelled on him if she felt this uncomfortable around him. The seabreeze ruffled his dark hair as he squeezed her fingers in response as he exhaled deeply in an accidental sigh; maybe he was reading too much into this.

"Usually around July or August," Will added vaguely because it really depended on whenever the work load let up. She knew the Captain? She knew Harlan. He set his jaw as he turned his head away in the pretence of watching a little sailboat bob across the waves. Was this dickhead everywhere like a rash? Or was he William's own personal little rain cloud?

He forced himself to relax as he smiled down at her. "I'm sure he's just lovely." The word lovely hung in the air, heavy and weighted, as though Will thought the Griffins' captain was anything but. "My dad would love any excuse to see you," Will volunteered truthfully. Bérénice seemed to be back to her normal self after the mention of the auction but it didn't settle his nerves. It was almost like being on a boat and he couldn't find his footing - they weren't on solid ground.

"Oh that's very kind," he went on as they walked. He hadn't thought about inviting her family but now he felt like he had to, especially if they and Harlan were family friends. A ball of dark jealousy was in the pit of his stomach, slithering up to his chest like a serpent, gnawing at him. "What kind of thing would you want to send in?" He asked lightly, wondering if it might possibly be Harlan Bellamy's nuts on a platter, as they continued to walk up the gentle incline and into the rest of the Easter parade to spend the afternoon together.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she smiled more warmly, “that dessert you made last time was magnificent.” The sentiment was sincere but for some reason her voice wasn’t carrying it. She lowered her gaze and tucked her hair back, careful not to dislodge his flower. “And he’s very good at it,” she said, offering him another small smile.

It wasn’t the scarf, or the flower, or Will -- it was her. She had thrown herself at Will to distract herself from the end of her engagement, and he had been a wonderful distraction, and they had enough in common to have made it this far -- but how much further? “I’ll have to get you something,” Bérénice said quickly, leaning into him again in an attempt to rouse some of her former fervour for him. He was handsome and kind, generous -- what was wrong with her?

“Oh, in the holidays,” she nodded. “Fantastic.” At least she could commit to going -- should commit. There was a niggling feeling behind her ear that was preventing her from locking it into her diary. It was only April, could she see them making it to August?

And she didn’t miss the tension in his jaw when she mentioned being familiar with Harlan Bellamy. Bérénice supposed she could understand -- she wasn’t immune to jealousy -- but Harlan was just an old family friend. And a famous quidditch player. “He is lovely,” she confirmed, looking up at Will with something closer to a frown on her features -- perhaps a little thankful that he wasn’t looking back at her. “A little grumpy,” she added, thinking that that applied to Will right now too.

“It’s nothing,” she said softly, already regretting offering at all. She gripped his forearm a little more tightly to steer him towards the market. “There’ll be something we’ve been hoarding that never sees the light of day. A painting, a book, some memorabilia.” She didn’t think that talking any more about things or people her family had or knew was going to help improve their afternoon. “Shall we find those marshmallows?” she ventured with (another) forced smile, turning the corner into the square.


END