The Maiden in Winter // Harry Styles Series #4

FORTY TWO

~A~

February 14, 2024, dawned bright and crisp, and I was up with the sun. The most fluent French speaker of our small group, and the least likely to be recognized, I had offered to go out first thing and pick up fresh bread and pastries for breakfast.

It was market day in Ramatuelle, a nearby village in the hills above St Tropez, so even at that early hour the town was bustling. I took my time, wandering through the square, stopping at several stalls and carts. I found a Provençale tablecloth and napkins to take back to Lizzy, a packet of interesting vintage French stamps for Ed, bottles of local wine and pastis for Andy, and a set of handmade lavender bath and body products for Lisha. For Bean there was a Cogolin bubble pipe and a shirt made of patchwork Provençale fabric.

After stashing my gifts in the car, I went back into town for our breakfast supplies. Fresh baguettes, croissants and pains au chocolat, as well as locally made cassis jam, honey, and fresh butter would make the perfect start to an eagerly awaited day.

I had gotten crafty and made a heart-shaped ring dish out of beach rocks, to match his picture frame, for Harry's Valentine's gift, but left it in Janesport, afraid that it might be broken in our travels. I didn't expect much from him, since we were away from home and there were other, more important things to focus on.

But just as I was about to pull away from the curb I saw a new stall opening on in the market square. The placard read 'Parfums Cazalin' and 'fait sur commande.' A wizened old couple were setting bottles and vials on a table covered in crimson velvet. I put the car in park and went to investigate.

Half an hour later I left with several ounces of bespoke eau de cologne in an antique bottle with an ornate sterling silver cap, tied up in a pouch of red velvet. It smelled of orange and clove, with a hint of ginger. It smelled of sunny days and cozy nights, with a hint of the zing I felt when he touched me. It smelled like Harry.

***

I crossed paths with a florist's delivery truck at the gate on my way back to the house, which wasn't unexpected, but it did seem a little early in the day. Anne must have heard me drive in, because she was out the front door before I turned off the car.

"Let's get all this in then, shall we?" She took the breakfast supplies inside while I carried the rest of my purchases.

I was going to go straight up to our suite, but she waylaid me in the front hall.

"Darren and Harry haven't come down yet, and the others rang over the intercom a few minutes ago. Gemma's not quite up for breakfast at the moment, so they might be a little while. Let me see what you've got there?"

She oohed and aahed over the gifts, agreeing that the cologne was perfect for Harry, that the shirt would fit Bean just right in the summer ahead, and that, although she hated to admit it, French lavender really was preferable to English.

She was examining Bean's pipe and seemed about to launch into a story about Harry and a bubble wand gone wrong when he appeared in the kitchen, wearing red and pink striped pyjama pants and a fuzzy pink sweater, carrying a posey of red roses tied in vibrant pink ribbon in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mum," he handed her the gifts before kissing her forehead, then her nose, "I love you!"

"Thank you, my sweet boy," she beamed. "Now, why don't you help Alex carry her things upstairs, and we'll call you when the others get here for breakfast. Although at this point I think it's more likely to be brunch."

Our sitting room was dark. The heavy curtains had been drawn across the glass, but I could hear and feel the movement of air from the open door behind them.