The next few weeks were painful, almost like it happened all over again, but this time was different and now that a few of them knew you were alive, they had little reason to be upset.
You kept busy, your art getting some attention, and you would spend most of your days painting or drawing for people who called in requests. You didn't need the money, but you didn't want to raise any red flags by refusing and these were wealthy clients, so they weren't going to miss it. In your free time, you painted a picture of the bakery, giving it to Pierre and he had his father hang it up inside. The three of you got closer and you started going in there almost every day just to see some familiar, warm faces that always welcomed you.
About a month after Steve left, you got a request for an in-person appointment. This wasn't super rare, you've done a few before, but they kept it vague over the phone and when they don't say much, it usually means it's sensitive. Sometimes you're repainting a portrait of a lost loved one because it got damaged and there was even one where you drew how a toddler would look if they were still alive today. That one was hard to handle emotionally and took the most time since you had some background in facial manipulation but had to do quite a bit of research.
So, you hauled your supplies down Paris' roads before hopping on a bus to take you a bit out of the city. It wasn't a far ride, maybe twenty minutes with all the stops and would've probably taken you about an hour and change to walk, but with everything you were carrying, that wasn't really an option. It was too bad though because the scenery was magnificent, and you were already noting to take your next walk or run this way.
The bus stopped and according to the map on your phone, you still had a short walk until you made it to their home. The houses were definitely older, historic, and to put it bluntly, expensive on this side of the city. Their windows were huge and the style Victorian in many ways. It made you feel like you were in some Jane Austin novel or something similar and you were suddenly aware of your attire not matching the aesthetic at all.
You chuckled to yourself, peering down at your paint-stained overalls and the black and white striped shirt you wore underneath. Your vans barely peeked out from the bottoms of your pants and even they had specks of paint on them from past projects.
The house had a 'For Sale' sign in the yard with a 'Sold' slapped over it, so they had clearly just moved here recently. You pushed the gate open and walked up carefully, the stairs older and not as sturdy as they probably should be.
You opened the screen door and knocked on the heavy wood one, waiting eagerly to see who had called and exactly what you were painting or drawing.
They had only mentioned on the phone that they wanted a picture enlarged in your style to hang up and when they mentioned your style, you assumed drawing because that's what was displayed at the gallery, but word of mouth is a powerful selling tool, so you brought some paint just in case. The primaries were always what you travelled with because you could always create whatever color you needed from them alone.
"Bonjour," A middle aged man greeted with a smile that was almost a smirk and you smiled brightly back, "Do you speak English? Meant to ask on the phone."
"I do," You nodded happily, somewhat relieved because now it'd be easier to create what they wanted since you could understand them better, "It's nice to meet you in person, William."
"Please, it's Will." He grinned, ushering you inside.
You took in the grand home with the winding staircase and generous foyer, but it didn't surprise you that the paint was peeling, or the entire place wasn't well lit yet because you knew he had just moved in.
"So, Will," You started, subtly gesturing to the supplies under your arms and in your hands, "Where should I set up?"
"The photo is upstairs and there's a nice room with great lighting up there, so I thought that would be perfect?"
