In the Night

11 • Purple Flourishes

S U N N I

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Trigger warning

The street lights were flickering in the setting sun, the city slowly coming alive as the light faded and the large white moon rose over the ocean. Music flaunted around the air, soft and romantic. The cobblestone road was smooth and slippery due to years of tourists lugging their families along the lanes, the sandy stone looking dusty and dry.

I looked over at Emerson, his skin glowing in the street lights that lined the path. He was smiling softly, a happiness in his eyes and his cheeks tinted slightly rosy. His hair blew in the breeze, the scent of the salty ocean meeting our nostrils.

"Look." Emerson nudged me and pulled me towards a tiny little restaurant on the corner of the street, a typical hole in the wall. There were tiny little fairy lights donning the door frame, and one small table and two chairs on the street in front of it made from a thin wire that appeared hand made. The set looked incredibly delicate, as if I could sit down and it would collapse around me.

He tugged me through the tiny door and into the restaurant, which was hardly big enough to call a restaurant. There was another table inside that sat only two people, squished into a corner of the room. There were large potted plants swaying down from the ceiling, the leafy tendrils reaching down and grazing the tops of our heads. Intertwined with the stems were more tiny fairy lights, which lit up the room romantically.

We walked two feet to be met with a counter and a man wearing a stripy apron and bandana, his long dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He smiled at us, friendly and welcoming. Above the counter were two chalkboards holding the menu, chalk drawn delicately around the edge of the boards.

"Bonjour mademoiselle." The man said, reaching over the counter and grabbing my hand to kiss it softly. I chuckled and felt heat rush to my cheeks, embarrassed my the attention.

"Table for two?" He offered. His English was quite good, but he held his French accent very strongly.

"Oui, merci." Emerson spoke for me. The man reached behind the counter and pulled out two small menus, which Emerson grabbed from him. We followed him outside to the small rickety table that sat awkwardly on the path and took a seat.

"My name is Marius and I'll be your server tonight." He spoke, pouring complementary water into glasses for us. "Can I offer you something with a little more kick?" He laughed.

I looked at Emerson, who was smiling softly. "I'll have a glass of Cabernet Franc." I said, smiling kindly up at Marius.

Emerson cleared his throat. "I'll have the same, thank you." Marius nodded and walked back inside, a happy little hop to his step.

Not a moment too soon did he return, a bottle of deep red wine in a silver bucket of ice and two wine glasses in his arms. Marius balanced the glasses on the wire table cleverly and poured us each a glass, leaving the bucket in the ground due to lack of space.

"Merci." I murmured, picking up my glass and swirling the liquid in my mouth. Blueberry and violet erupted in my mouth, with the slightest hint of freshly roasted coffee balancing out the sweetness of the juice.

"Not to worry. Would you like to order?" Marius said eagerly, holding a notepad and pen in his hand. I blinked, taken slightly aback my his persistence, and quickly ran my eyes over the menu. It was entirely French, and consisted of some classic delicacies and others that I couldn't even pronounce.

"Um, I'll take the chicken cordon bleu." I said, handing back my menu. Emerson ordered the same and Marius smiled down at us.

"Excellent. I will let the chef know."