✔️Romance || WomanxWoman || short novelette was written together with bibi_the_nomad
Sarcastic, sharp-tongued Ava Allard didn't get to college. Almost ten years have passed since then, but the young woman is still working at her mom's misfortunate (...
The vineyard was incredibly small and family-run, with its wine supplied exclusively to high-end stores and gracing the tables of the wealthy. My mother's cousin Fabienne, who greeted us warmly upon our arrival, had been managing everything mostly on her own for years. Much older than my mom, Fabienne had once had the energy to oversee the staff and daily operations, but now she longed for retirement, to spend her days walking her dogs and visiting friends rather than being tied down by the demands of the vineyard.
Fabienne had extended the offer to my mother multiple times over the years, suggesting we move to Provence and take over the vineyard. However, Mom always held onto the hope that I would find a good job and a wife in LA. But life had other plans, and here we were, ready to embrace our new roles. Despite our enthusiastic eagerness for help, Fabienne gave us time to settle in and rest.
Mom hadn't seen her cousin in nearly twenty years. Right before she and Dad divorced, Fabienne kept hinting that Mom should ditch that "lazy pushover" and head to Europe. I only knew her through phone calls at first, then through video chats once those became available. Meeting her in person was even more exhilarating than meeting the famous Bo, maybe better. She was the kind of woman who always followed her desires, never betrayed her beliefs, and even in times when discussing women's rights was taboo, she never backed down. Tall and lean, with short hair threaded with silver, she looked like an elegant Frenchwoman ready to fight for her independence.
The house we moved into was a charming, rustic farmhouse that exuded the quintessential Provencal charm. The walls were a warm, sun-kissed stone, and the shutters were painted a cheerful shade of blue. Inside, the rooms were cozy and inviting, with wooden beams running across the ceilings and terracotta tiles on the floors. My room was simple but lovely, with a wrought-iron bed, crisp white linens, and a view that overlooked the garden with rose bushes and old apple trees.
The house was filled with the comforting presence of animals. Fabienne's dogs, a pair of friendly golden retrievers, followed us around everywhere, their tails wagging enthusiastically. Three huge cats, Cognac, Coco, and Marie-Antoinette, roamed freely, lounging in the sunspots that streamed through the windows or curling up on the cozy armchairs scattered throughout the house.
Everywhere you looked, there were touches of Provencal life. Lavender bouquets were placed in rustic vases, and the kitchen shelves were lined with jars of homemade preserves and herbs. The air was filled with the fragrant scent of rosemary and thyme, and the gentle clucking of chickens could be heard from the yard.
As we unpacked and settled into our new home, I couldn't help but feel a sense of crawling peace. Maybe I didn't know how to live in peace, constantly stressed about finding myself and my place in life, and now that tranquility was upon me, I had no idea what to do with it. This was a world away from the chaos and superficiality of LA. Here, life was slower, more meaningful. I could see why Mom had finally decided to take Fabienne up on her offer. It wasn't just about escaping our past — it was about finding a new beginning, a chance to rebuild and rediscover what truly mattered. At least, that's what I kept telling myself longing for real love and romance — something I almost found with Bo.
"Am I mistaken, or do you have the look of someone suffering from lost love?" Fabienne asked as she and I sat in the garden on wrought-iron chairs, sipping our drinks. I had lemonade, while she enjoyed wine and a pricey cigarette.
"How did you know?" I replied.
"I had the same look when I first moved here. Many people think I inherited this place from a husband or a wealthy father, but that's not true, and you know it. This vineyard was always my dream and my hard work. I earned it on my own, not because of some man."
"I could use more of your determination," I admitted.
"You already have it, and so does your mother. You're here, you weren't afraid to make the move. As for your lost love, a new love will come, maybe even by tomorrow or next week. Nature abhors a vacuum," she added in Latin.
It was comforting to hear her speak real French, without that strange accent that people acquire when they leave the country or are children of immigrants.
I pressed my cheek against the cold, dewy glass and fell silent, admiring the sunset while gently stroking the retriever Monet between his ears.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ALL FINAL CHAPTERS YOU CAN FIND ON MY PATREON 🎉
SUPPORT MY WLW NOVELS 🗿
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
