Last t chapters for Season II
"PARIS!" I shouted, feeling the vibrancy of Paris as I roam around it's aesthetic beauty, Jazz was a man of his word, then I shut my mouth again when I realize I was a wanted fugitive.
He rented the whole area near Eiffel tower to have my wish granted. There wasn't a speck of life signs around other than cats.
The sunbathed Paris in hues of gold and rose as it began to dip below the horizon. Jazz....really rented the entire city, rendering its usual bustle into an eerily peaceful quiet.
But despite the luxury, I couldn't shake the need to blend in. My hat was pulled low, my coat cinched tightly around my waist. Jazz had laughed earlier when he saw my outfit.
"You know you don't need to do that," he says with a teasing smirk, brushing his knuckles against my chin. "But I like the effort." And lifts my brimmed straw hat, I immediately search for any life signs around but there was none, and I patted his hands off mine, drawing my hat back down.
"We're in Paris! Anyone can take photos compared to Russian people who don't give a fuck!" I scolded him.
Now, as we strolled through the cobblestone streets near the Eiffel Tower, I could feel the grandeur of the city's stillness sinking into me. Elijah and Tabayoyong trailed far behind, Elijah clearly playing something on his phone while Tabayoyong played the role of a hitman observing the surroundings.
Eto na yun? Eto na yung Eiffel tower? Parang poste lang ng kuryente na nakikita ko sa mga bundok.
"Okay....Let's go." I say after staring at the Eiffel Tower for 5 minutes, Jazz gracefully slides his arms on my waist as we walked through the pastel houses and apartments.
Elijah and Tabayoyong's camaraderie were faint, a comfortable distance that gave Jazz and me some much-needed space.
We came upon a quaint café tucked into a corner, its patio adorned with delicate lights that twinkled against the sunset. Wrought iron chairs with soft cushions sat in neat arrangements around small, round tables. The smell of freshly baked pastries mingled with the faint aroma of brewing coffee, and a soft tune played in the background, adding to the ambiance.
It was perfect.
Jazz held out a chair for me, and I sat, glancing around as he took the seat across from mine. For a moment, I just stared at the Eiffel Tower in the distance, its silhouette majestic against the sunset sky. The warmth of the scene felt oddly familiar, stirring something deep inside me.
The waiter approached, and Jazz ordered effortlessly in French, his voice smooth and confident. I found myself momentarily distracted by him, the way he moved, the way the light caught his sharp features. When the waiter left, Jazz leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.
"Ngayon, French language alam mo din.."
"Every country we visit, I'll bet you I know their dialect." He says confidently, and I nod, looking around my surroundings.
The waiter approached again, this time carrying a tray that balanced with effortless grace. On it were two elegantly plated bowls of pasta, a basket of golden, flaky croissants, and a bottle of red wine with two glasses. The aroma of rich tomato sauce and freshly baked bread mingled with the faint sweetness of the wine, enveloping the table in a cozy warmth.
"Le plat principal," the waiter announced softly, his accent smooth as he set the bowls before us. The pasta glistened with a delicate sheen of olive oil, the ribbons of linguine perfectly tossed with a hearty tomato basil sauce and topped with shavings of Parmesan. He placed the croissant basket in the center of the table and expertly uncorked the wine, pouring it into our glasses with an artful tilt of the wrist.
