[musée de carpantier] she sells sanctuary. [tag; marine]

Was this painting hung the right way around?

A tall and decidedly confused looking young man was stood in a quiet corridor of the gallery with his head cocked all the way to the left. He frowned. He didn't really get it. Art. In general. He was sure there was meant to be some sort of message but all he was getting was a load of pink squiggly lines. And he was dying to laugh.

All around him were arty types. They were all the same. Tall and slim, wearing black berets or other knitted headwear. All wearing scarves despite the summer heat and sunglasses, clutching coffee or some sort of book by some sort of obscure author. It was hilarious. Dave quite liked to people watch in places like this, people were often more interesting than the art itself. He did like art, he had pictures on his walls at home but his "art" was just whatever Sunny had drawn him and he'd had framed.

And he felt self-conscious.

He folded his long arms across his chest and he tried to look interested in the squiggles. This place was fantastic. Large and airy and beautiful, full of interesting little secret alcoves. David hadn't been here in years. Or to France, period. Since the war and the plague, leaving London wasn't really an option but he had a free day. It sounded silly to him but even the warmth felt more enjoyable. London was dark and sticky, soulless and oppressing but Chatoeil? Chatoeil was beautiful.

Dressed casually as always in a pair of jeans and a button down lilac shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he took a step back and winced when his sneakers squeaked across the highly polished floor. He daren't turn around but he could feel eyes boring holes into the back of his head.

It was a little after eleven in the morning and it was a beautiful day. A cloudless cobalt blue sky, the sun sitting high and shining away and there was a warm breeze that wafted in and out of the pillars of the gallery. He was here to see one person and one person only; Marine. The little French woman was absolutely gorgeous and easily the sweetest, kindest person he'd ever had the fortune of meeting. It had been well over two years since they last spoke. Letters had once been sent but the correspondence had soon dried up.

He'd been thinking a lot about her lately and he was so happy she still had this gallery to show off. It was rude to show up without gifts. David was terrible at picking out flowers. So much so that he'd gotten into such a blind panic, he'd given his mother a cactus for her birthday. Determined not to make the same mistake, he'd let Sunny pick out some and as a result, he had a large and rather eclectic bouquet to show for his efforts. All of the large blooms were tied together by a length of long, hot pink satin ribbon and tied with a bow. Such a girly gift looked terribly out of place in his big hands.

On the off-chance that Marine didn't really like flowers, he'd stopped off at Rebert's and picked up a few chocolate truffles. Every girl liked truffles, right? Oh this was a terrible, terrible idea. Suddenly, he felt like a bit of a loser, laden down with flowers. What if she had hay fever? What if he accidentally made her sick? What if? Urgh.

There was also the possibility that she wasn't even working today. She might be on holiday or out, maybe in the gardens or picking up some new artwork. As disappointing as that might have been, he could always leave a note. Pushing up his glasses, he shifted the flowers and chocolates to his left arm as his right hand rummaged into his pocket for a slip of paper and a pen. Muggle pens were amazing. They didn't need refilling! And unlike quills, they didn't hurt when you accidentally stabbed yourself with one.

"Crap," he muttered as he tried to juggle everything before heaving a sigh. There was a cushioned bench behind him so he backed up and deposited the flowers before resting the slip of paper against the wall for support and quickly began to jot down an apology to Marine but he didn't realise a security guard was walking briskly towards him, about to admonish him for accidentally nudging the squiggly line canvas.

The thing about old paintings- particularly old magical paintings was that many of them didn't really want to be seen. Many of them, as Marine was finding out, really just wanted to retire and collect dust. She'd recently been in London to collect paintings from an estate sale and since returning to her beloved France had spent every waking moment trying to bring the old masterpieces back into displayable condition. Preservation was a skill she had yet to master and one that frustrated her greatly. One piece in particular, a farm scene that dated back a few hundred years was doing its best to make her life a nightmare. She'd managed to remove layers of dust with a variety of charms, but the painting's occupants- a farmer and his family were none to happy with her. The painting's figures were currently out in front of their little cottage shaking their tiny fists at her. It was quite comical. If she hadn't been working on the painting for three days now the woman would have been inclined to laugh. As it were she just jabbed the fat little painted farmer in the stomach with the tip of her wand and smirked at the look of indignation on his pudgy face.

"Uhm, Madame, I hate to bother you but we seem to have a security breach...You'll need to come quick!"

Huh? Pushing a stray lock of dark hair from her eyes, the petite French witch looked up from her work and towards the door to the conservation room where one of her most recent hires- Dix, an easily excitable young man with a mop of straw colored hair, stood with flushed cheeks. He'd very obviously been running.  She couldn't imagine what sort of security problem the museum could possibly be having, but he looked alarmed so she figured it was probably in her best interest to follow him. Tucking her wand into the back pocket of her dark jeans, she tried to dust off her pale blue t-shirt before sighing and giving up. Sticking her tongue out at the little farmer in the painting as she flicked off the light, she followed her docent up the stairs and out of the basement.

"There's a man," Dix was saying as he bounded up the stairs, a bundle of teenage energy moving so quickly that Marine had to take the stairs two at a time to keep up. "He's just been staring," It's an art museum, that's what people do. She shook her head a bit but continued to follow. "I think he may be a thief." Not likely. More likely than anything her docents were bored. Again. She'd hired a bunch with a rather active imagination. Between the three docents she had on staff it seemed there was always some sort of catastrophe in progress. "If you'll just follow me, Madame... He's over this way. I left Ansel watching him but...Just, just look! He's writing on the walls."

Fighting back the urge to roll her eyes, she did look. And there was a man, a tall blond one, about to be apprehended by Ansel, her overly eager cafe server.. It was comical really, and something she was tempted to let play out (she was pretty sure Dix and Ansel had set up an interrogation room in one of the numerous storage closets for just such occasions) but something was nagging at the back of her mind as she looked the 'security breach' over. It was hard to see his face as he was scribbling on something on the wall- she could see the paper, her employees were wrong about him writing on the wall itself- but there was something very familiar about him. She knew him. And then it hit her and she let out a little squeak.

"David?!"

Before she knew what she was doing, the slender brunette had flung herself at her friend. Her employees looked on in horror. Not one for holding in her emotions or for respecting things like personal space she bowled right into him, wrapping her arms around him in an awkward side hug type thing. It wasn't until she heard a chorus of startled gasps from gawking museum patrons did she stop to think that maybe she'd misidentified him. It had been years since they'd seen each other. What if it wasn't him? What if she'd just tackled a stranger? She really couldn't afford a harassment complaint or bad press for the museum right now.. Not with an important show coming up. Crap.

Pulling back to look up at his face, but not quite letting go she sighed with relief. It was him. Glorious, friendly David. Standing up on her toes to plant a light kiss on each of his cheeks- one of the perks of being French was getting to kiss people as a greeting, afterall- and finally let go reluctantly when she felt her heart do a strange little flip-flop. Stepping back to give him room to breathe she couldn't help but beam up at him.  She could hear her staff whispering behind her and she waved them off with a dismissive waggling of her slender fingers.

"It's so great to see you," Truly. The greatest. "But- what are you doing here? Is something wrong? What's happened?" It had been so long since she'd seen him and their letters had trickled into nothing over the last few months... The war, though practically just a distant memory for many, had taken its toll on the French woman and she had gotten accustomed to assuming the worst. "Are you alright? Is Sunny-" No. She couldn't think about that. "I just, oh, it's so lovely you're here!" Please stay.

As he got older, his hand writing was getting worse. Wasn't that a little lie Muggles said about their doctors? That they all had terrible handwriting? He tried to think of what to write. David had never been a prolific letter writer. He wasn't good with the words. He didn't possess an artistic bone in his entire body. Perhaps that was why he was so inexplicably drawn to people who weren't like him at all.

Dear Marine, his note began, his writing slanted due to his angle on the wall, the parchment scrunched beneath his large fingers. I'm so sorry to have missed you. I should have let you know I was coming but no matter. Perhaps I can see you again another time -- Suddenly, he jerked, his pen veering violently off the parchment by the sudden shock to his system that the tip threatened to get ink on the canvas.

Totally not expecting the grapple, he was knocked sideways, losing his balance and cracking his head on the wall as his shoulder ploughed into it. Had that man actually tackled him? A little bit dazed, he swiftly looked down, expecting a pair of burly arms but in fact, there were a pair of lovely and soft milky white ones. And this person knew his name. His brain was playing catch up.

She had him pinned so he was unable to turn and face her. "Marine?" David asked with a frown, hastily crumpling his rubbish note and surreptitiously trying to shove the paper back into his jean pocket. He laughed, a wide smile lighting up his handsome face. "Well hi there," he said pleasantly, twisting a little, just in time to receive her kisses. Swiftly, he turned bright pink, lifting one hand to awkward scratch the back of his neck. He never really understood the whole two kiss in France thing.

His attention was then directed to the small crowd who was watching them with interest and it suddenly dawned on him. "Oh!" He gasped, his big ocean coloured eyes wide behind the lenses of his glasses as he looked from them to the wall and back again. "Oh no," he began hastily, starting to panic. "I wasn't going to steal it," David protested. "I wasn't going to deface it or anything," he stammered. "I was writing and I didn't have anything to lean on," he ploughed on, reaching into his pocket to extract his crappy note. "Besides if I was going to steal it, how would I get it home?" He joked, his grin faltering as he saw no one else looked remotely amused. "Tough crowd."

Thank goodness Marine was here. The taller man blushed again as the men shuffled off. "I am so sorry," he whispered to the brunette. "Did I cause an accidental security breach?" He asked, offering what he hoped was a charming smile. Swiftly, he ran his big hands down Marine's arms, from shoulder to wrist affectionately. "Hello," he said with another smile. "It's good to see you too," he said plainly and honestly. "As always, you look beautiful," he said breezily. It was always easy to compliment Marine, she was adorable.

"I came to see you, silly," Dave said softly with another crooked grin, taking a half step back and towards the bench to grab his abandoned flowers before holding them out to her. "And to give you these. I was thinking about you," he began. "I was wondering how you were so I wanted to stop by and see how everything was going."

He blinked quickly as he tried to play  catch up. "Nothing's wrong," he went on to say. "Nothing's happened. I'm fine," he laughed as he fended off her questions. "And Sunny is fine. I'm just here for you," he said with another smile, sliding his hand up her arm to the nape of her neck, his thumb on her collarbone as she squeezed here there softly. "Are you okay?" David asked as he peered down at her curiously. It really  had been too long and it was all his fault. He truly enjoyed getting her letters and it was his fault he stopped replying. Hopefully she didn't think he'd forgotten about her?

"Wow," he grinned, eyes sparkling. "If I get this reception every time I visit you, I'll have to come more often. Are you free for a little while? Can I buy you a coffee? Do you want to go for a walk?" He offered helpfully as he took a step back and away from her a little bit. He bent his head and lowered his voice so only Marine could hear him. "Just get me far away from that painting before your henchmen have my head."

Marine had been called a lot of things in her life, some nice and some less than, and all with varying degrees of truth to them. Of all of the adjectives (and occasionally expletives) that had been used to describe her only one had ever rung true to her core: overzealous. She had a habit of throwing herself into everything she did, which apparently had the unfortunate consequence of occasionally throwing others into walls. Oops. She winced at the sound of his head and shoulder hitting the wall, mentally scolding herself for not just saying hello like a normal person. If she wasn't careful, she'd soon find herself without friends. Or with friends who only visited wearing helmets.

She couldn't help but giggle at the panicked expression on his face as his explanation poured from his lips. "Shhhh." She murmured, reaching a hand up to straighten his glasses that had been knocked a bit asunder when she'd bulldozed him into the wall, her thumb lingering for a moment on his jawline. "If you wanted the painting so badly, you simply needed to ask," She teased with a quick wink, knowing full well he didn't have any interest in the artwork but finding his flustered expression endearing. "I'd be happy to wrap it for you? I'm quite good with bows?" Truth be told, the painting was on loan and not hers to give away but she felt sure she could safely assume her friend had no interest in hanging it up in his home anytime soon.

His touch sent a surprising jolt of electricity down her spine but she shrugged it and his complement off. "Beautiful? Monsieur, I am a mess today and you know it," She gestured vaguely at her dusty and wrinkled clothes but beamed up at him nonetheless. So sweet, always. "Perhaps you are concussed? Is your head ok? Perhaps you need a doctor?" Nevermind that he was one... Gingerly reaching her fingers up to feel for a bump underneath his hair she let out a sigh of relief when she couldn't locate one.

A gasp escaped her lips as he produced the flowers. "Oh, they're perfect!" She bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet before taking the bouquet from him and holding them at arms length to admire the colors. "You shouldn't have! ...but I'm so glad you did. They're absolutely beautiful." Bringing one of the flowers up to her nose she took a deep breath before letting out a happy sigh.

"Me? Oh, I'm fine. Perfect." Meeting his concerned expression with twinkling eyes, she couldn't help but grin up at him again, leaning ever so slightly into his hand on her neck. "I'm so so glad you're here." If he didn't stop soon, she was pretty sure she'd never get what had to be an awkwardly oversized smile from her face. It had been a long time since she'd had any pleasant surprises and today seemed to be bursting at the seams with them.

"I'm depriving them of all their fun you know, saving you like this? I'm going to have to let them interrogate whatever poor visitor gets to close to something next, or I'll have a mutiny on my hands," One of her staffers hadn't quite left them alone  and kept peeking around the corner, obviously hoping she'd have a change of heart and let them escort David from the premises. "But yes, yes please. Let's get out of here and quickly."

Slipping her free hand into one of his much larger ones, she gave it a quick squeeze before leading the way through the maze of corridors at a brisk pace. Did they really need to hurry? No, not really. Was it more fun this way? Absolutely. She stopped only for a moment when they reached the information desk near the entrance where she instructed the young woman working there to put the flowers in water immediately and put them somewhere safe. It wasn't long before she had them bursting into the open air and sunlight of the street.

"Made it!" Marine said with a grin. "No scary museum police to get you here." She dropped his hand so that she could use her fingers to try and tug the wrinkles out of her t-shirt before giving up with a slight pout. Squinting up at him, she shielded her eyes from the sunlight that played off of his light hair with one hand, placing the other lightly on his forearm. "Where to, Monsieur?"

Marine had always been a blur of colour and confusion and her movements were so quick that he had no option but to stand still and let her fuss over his glasses. He didn't have the heart to tell him that they'd already been smashed, dropped, kicked, chewed on by his patients that were still teething. They were old, much like he felt. The French air was so better than the colder, heavier air of a crowded London. He spoke bits of the language but not a lot to really have enough to make himself properly understood.

"Was I really that obvious?" Dave asked with a snort and a roll of his eyes playfully. He looked at the bizarre painting again. "Does it have a name?" He inquired, his big ocean coloured eyes sparkling as he tilted his head once more, totally convinced that he was using the wrong vantage point.

The comment about bows made him snort, suddenly filled with the mental image of Marine adding pretty bows to everything and anything. "I bet Christmas is a riot at your house," he joked with a smile that crinkled his eyes once more. "But no no," he was quick to say, holding both of his hands, palm outwards towards her. "That strange little painting can sit happily on the wall right there, thank you."

As Marine gestured to herself, Dave's eyes dropped to survey her clothes. They were old and baggy but did very little to disguise her figure. "You're incapable of looking anything less than absolutely gorgeous, covered in paint or not," he was quick to placate her. This was what he liked to see. Marine happy, totally immersed in her art, wearing old clothes that told a story. It felt good to see someone being exactly how they were supposed to be. No gimmicks.

Concussed? What now? "No?" David asked, eyes furrowed in confusion. "I know what day it is. It's Saturday and I don't feel dizzy," he offered, automatically stooping a little to let the shorter brunette feel along his hairline. He was at least a foot taller than his French friend. He was at least a foot taller than any friend. He was half considering getting himself a mobile step ladder. "Marine, Marine, stop. I'm fine," he insisted with a crooked grin.

Relief hit him like a tidal wave and his posture instantly relaxed as he learnt that she liked the flowers. Picking out flowers were a huge deal he'd noticed. It was those pesky Victorians with their secret language of flower books and stuff. The florist had been flinging questions at him left, right and centre; was Marine his girlfriend? What colour ribbon did he want? Did he want them gift wrapped? Did she prefer roses or gerbera daisies? Foliage or brassicas? He didn't even know what a brassica was.

"I'm really glad you like them," Dave added, sounding proud with his broad chest puffed up a little. It was a small victory. His thin lips stretched into a smile again. "Me too," he concluded truthfully. "And I'm so sorry I was gone for so long. A lot of things have happened," he added, purposefully vague and not wanting to tell Marine about his multitude of secrets. "But you're here now so that's really all that matters to me."

Marine was like…sunshine. Bright and vivid and sparkling and David had no idea just how much he'd longed for her company until she was standing in front of him again. How odd.

He laughed, loud and booming at her comment and the sound travelled down the quiet corridors, much to the annoyance of some of the other customers. "Well," he said briskly, stooping again a little. "You can be my knight in dusty overalls any time you like," he joked with a quick wink. He straightened back up and looked over his shoulder, seeing a person watching them closely and he felt like a naughty schoolboy. "A mutiny? Well, we can't have that! Quick, abandon ship!"

Letting Marine guide him, he hastily followed, his much larger fingers slipping easily between hers and giving them an affectionate squeeze. He didn't know Chatoeil very well, having only been here twice before so he had no idea what to do next.  He figured he'd let Marine choose, that would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

Dave offered a polite smile to the girl behind the desk before he was carted off and thrust into the sunlight that made him squint involuntarily. "You know that's not funny," he chided Marine gently. "They could have easily gotten me thrown out of the gallery and then how would I see you? Through one of the windows and abseil down?" The tall blonde joked, faintly upset to learn that she'd removed her hand. Oh.

As he was prompted, he looked around to see a few little rustic and charming cafes on the cobblestones, some with cute little tables and chairs sat under large umbrellas. Vino. Fromage. Cheese and wine? Sold!

"There," Dave announced a few seconds later, pointing to a small café with a red awning with tables out front to enjoy the sunshine. There was a menu board that sported a selection of wines and cheeses, breads and other delicious little things. "Allez, mon petit chou!" He said briskly, draping an arm around her slender shoulders and leading her off a little further before pulling out a chair for her to sit.

The small round table was covered with a chequered table cloth and there was a fresh basket of bread waiting which he swiftly dove right into. "I'm taking you for lunch," he said as he broke a small roll and popped a bit into his mouth before chewing and letting out a small sound of satisfaction. "I want to know how the gallery is. It looks really, really gorgeous, Marine," he gushed, meeting her eyes. "Honestly. You've done so well."

“A name? Of course it does…” She said, tilting her head to the side to stare at the painting her employees were so convince David was going to abscond with. “They all have names. This one….” Honestly, she couldn’t remember what it was called. She was too happy to think sharply and she’d looked at so many different paintings over the last few weeks while preparing the exhibits that they were all starting to blur together. “It’s, uhm, Untitled #412, or, in the French- Sans Titre….” She threw him a hearty grin, knowing he likely didn’t care about the painting’s name and mind her making it up entirely.

When he held out his hands to reject the painting she had to fight the urge to grab meet them with her own and entwine their fingers- capturing both hands so he couldn’t disappear again. People were still watching though- her museum patrons shooting the pair of them nasty glances in between pretending to be interested in the works hanging on the walls- so it wasn’t really the time or place for playing hand-clapping games. Perhaps later if he tried to make a run for it…

“It’s Saturday? Really?” Marine stepped back a little as he insisted he hadn’t sustained any injuries, but only a little. She kept one hand on the back of his head, idly running her thumb along his hairline from the middle of his neck to just behind his left ear. And then, quick as lighting, she used the other hand to gently poke the tip of his nose. “I could have sworn it was Thursday, so perhaps I’m the one with the head trauma…”

A lot of things have happened. There was something decidedly ominous about his statement, a tangible shift in mood that Marine was more than ready to dive into. He was her friend, he was ever so lovely and his apologies weren’t needed. She didn’t want him to feel bad, not now or ever and if there was anything she could do to help with the all of the things- well, she was in the middle of asking, her mouth forming the question when he cut her off with another moment of absolute sweetness. Bother. She’d have to circle back to the tiny storm cloud that seemed to have taken up residence behind his eyes later. For now, she was too busy grinning.

The way his laughter echoed along the gallery walls warmed the slender woman’s heart to the point where she wondered briefly if it might burst. She loved her museum, truly and deeply, but people rarely laughed within its walls. There were dismissive snickers and placating chuckles, of course, but a genuine laugh- loud and enduring was so rare. Marine couldn’t help but start making a mental list of all the events she could reasonably invite him to at the museum just to hear more laughter. Unfortunately, mundane events like unlocking the doors in the morning, or counting the café register at the end of the evening probably wouldn’t cut it.

Once outside, she too found herself laughing heartily at the image of her gentle giant of a friend coming in through a window. “They couldn’t really throw you out without my permission…” He could consider that a warning, though he wasn’t likely to ever need it. While there were a few choice men who had been banished from the museum’s premises, Marine didn’t anticipate David doing anything to join their ranks. “But do remind me to show you the best window to try later? If you owl ahead of time, I can make sure the rope ladder’s ready.” She was only half-way joking, and very good with knots.

Looking in the direction he was pointing, Marine broke out into what had to have been the hundred-millionth silly smile since he’d arrived- and it hadn’t even been that long. The little café he had chosen was one of her favorites. The owners were an elderly couple, sweet as can be and their wine selection was superb. Their breads? To die for. “Parfait,” she murmured, happy to find his arm around her shoulders as they set off, her own winding its way around his waist.

“It’s good, non?” She pointed to the basket of bread he’d already helped himself to, admiring the happy sound he made at the first bite. “You must meet Josette- she makes the bread and is just the sweetest.” Nimble fingers rooted around in the basket for a particularly crusty edge piece, a soft ‘a-ha!’ escaping Marine’s lips when she found one.

“You are very full of compliments today, David, you’re going to spoil me really.” Holding his gaze, she felt the unfamiliar sensation of a blush creeping across her cheeks until she had to break eye contact and busy herself with the wine menu. It was strange- she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt embarrassed or had butterflies tossing in her stomach. If she had to guess, her money would be on fourth year in school. It had been a long time, and yet-. She’d have to ask him later what sort of sorcery he was using to make her feel like such a giddy school girl.

“It’s going quite well- lots of new employees, and some of them- not the ones who were after you- are extraordinary. I'm getting a lot more time to do my own thing lately, now that I'm not the only one working... We’ve set up the roof to have gardens and seating and there will be some parties soon for the new exhibits.” She spoke rapidly, excitement clearly building as she spoke. She really was thrilled with how things were going, and poor David had the misfortune of being the first to ask her about it. He’d be experiencing the full force of her excitement, unreduced by telling and retellings. “I’ve recently acquired some great pieces- traditional and modern, and I’ve expanded the sculpture collection and—“

She was out of breath. Taking a bite of bread to recover, she wondered absently where the waiter had gotten off to. “But, how have you been? You’ve seen the gallery- there are only so many words.” Or, really soooo many. But she’d spare him for a moment. “How’s work been? And Sunny? And London? Tell me everything.”

"Untitled four hundred and twelve," Dave replied with a slim eyebrow arch and he folded his lips together to stop from him laughing again. What was it about places like this? He wasn't supposed to laugh. It was like being back at school. It was inappropriate to giggle but when placed in those situations, it was impossible not to. "How very…arty," he settled on. He snorted. "Seriously stop," he said in a loud stage whisper as an older woman with a harsh jaw and big glasses glared at him. "You're getting me into even more trouble."

"Really," the taller man said slowly, his bright blue eyes wide with concern as he frowned at Marine. Did she really not know what day it was? Oh dear. David didn't miss her touch. It was soft and warm and lingering. Goose bumps rose on the exposed flesh of his forearms, a blush suffusing his cheeks almost instantly. The touch was innocent and kind and absolutely lovely but it was making it hard to see her as anything other than his friend.

Maybe it was the sunshine. Maybe it was because she was in her environment, in her world but he was seeing her in a new light. She was tall, she'd always been beautiful. Had she done something new with her hair? It was very nice indeed. For some reason, he'd just realised that Marine had quite an extraordinary pair of legs. Long and shapely and her smock was doing bugger all to disguise her figure.

Dave forced himself to swallow quickly and smile before he chuckled as Marine poked his nose. "You shouldn't joke about that," he warned lowly. "You're working too hard and it'll make you ill." He was a friendly man but he was always going to be a doctor at heart.

The warm bright sunshine and the chatter of other people was a stark contrast to the quiet, sophisticated atmosphere back inside and he, for one, was glad for that. As Marine's arm slipped around his waist, he pulled her in close to his side and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "Oh I don't know," he offered gently. "He did seem preeeetty mad." That much was true. "And I don't want you to get into trouble with your staff. I imagine you find yourself doing that without any help." Marine was a gorgeous girl inside and out but trouble did seem to find her.


He laughed again and shook his head, using a long index finger sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose to sit more comfortably. "A copy of the blue prints might come in handy," Dave quipped.

"Josette?" David asked, ignoring his delicious bread for the time being to fix the brunette with a confused look. Oh! The owner. He smiled as he watched her pick apart the bread with such elegance. "Do you think if I try and charm Josette, she might give me the recipe?" He joked. Bread making wouldn't go well for him. His hands were too big and he was clumsy and ogre-ish in the kitchen. He only cooked because he had to. There was no pleasure in it for him at all.

"Well someone should be spoiling you." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and his pale cheeks turned pink in a blush to match her own. He cleared his throat and hastily looked down at the menu again, not really paying much attention to the printed words. He didn't have a clue. He was very much a bog standard beer kinda guy. He had no idea what Chateauneuf-du-Pape was. Was he meant to drink it or wear it?

He laughed softly as she spoke, his big hands making light work of shredding the melt in the mouth bread into more manageable pieces. "That sounds great," David said truthfully as he smiled at her again. Marine's enthusiasm was infectious and he found himself grinning like a loon. She was so utterly adorable. He wondered what it must be like to be so passionate about a job. He nodded to keep her talking, still listening.

"Roof gardens?" He asked, popping a chunk of bread into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "That sounds gorgeous," he offered. Dave could imagine there being some sort of greenery, fairy lights and cocktails, the place buzzing with well dressed and arty folk, laughing and chatting away. "Not that it's the same thing but I'm trying to grow tomatoes on my balcony," he offered with an embarrassed smile. The space in London was horrific. He really wanted to move away and into the countryside as soon as possible.

"No don't stop," he said gently, reaching across the table to rest his finger tips on Marine's forearm. "You can give me an education. What's your favourite piece?" He asked, finding himself genuinely interested in finding out.

"Busy," he said with a wry smile. "You'd be surprised at how many parents worry about their children. They think it's a doxy bite when really, it's just slight reaction to whatever detergent they'd used." He said with another soft smile, looking at the menu, still trying to decide. "Sunny's fine," he said gently. "A ball of energy, as usual;. She's just learned how to ride a bike, I'm very proud," he joked with a grin. "She's really into her painting lately. My fridge is covered with all sorts she's made. I'm sure she'd love to see you."

The London comment made him sigh briefly as she shredded his bread. "Cold, grey and unfriendly," David replied with a small smile as he met Marine's eyes again. "Still recovering." From the war. He didn't say anything but he trusted the artist knew what he meant. "I'm seriously considering moving further away," he confided. "It's dark and dirty and expensive and there's honestly no room to swing a cat in my place."

Aha! Waiter. His French was appalling so he didn't even bother. "Hello," he said brightly to a short gentleman in a black bow tie and had a white cloth over one of his arms. "I'd really like the baked camembert to start, please," he said. Because cheese equalled happiness. "And whatever the lady would like." When asked if they'd like some wine, David stalled. "Er," he began intelligently, looking directly at Marine with wide eyes before mouthing the words help me at her.