In Plain Sight — I
“Je ne crois pas ce que je vois.” Cécile said to me.
Apparently, Daniel and I looked like a real couple in their eyes (I don’t even know what defines real or not). That’s what my friends said to me when I sat before them for breakfast. Daniel and I had a little walk together in the morning before I joined my friends, who were having breakfast at Daniel’s outdoor spaces, and they saw how we walked inside the villa together.
“Ça veut dire quoi?” I arched my eyebrows at how absurd that sounded as I poured the fresh juices into my glasses. Which part of us looked like we were newlyweds? We only had a morning walk together, that’s all.
“Je me rends à l’évidence.”
“It means you two look perfect for each other.” Oceane clarified what Cecile had said.
“We just had a walk together.” I accidentally saw him when I opened the front door; he had already walked into the driveway.
“That’s what newlyweds do.” They both agreed in unison.
“Too bad we aren’t newlywed.”
“Yeah, too bad.” I heard Daniel’s voice from inside the villa.
Looks like our voices were loud enough for him to listen to what my friends had been saying.
“Hi,” I said as he sat beside me. He put his coffee down and delicately placed the cheese atop the golden crust of the baguette already on his plate.
“Hi to you too.” He greeted me back.
“Et que vous arrive-t-il à vous?” Ocèane pointed to the two of us that just greeted each other. Does saying “hi” look weird to them now?
“What?!”
“Hi? Really?”
“What’s wrong with saying hi?!” I said back.
“You two just had a morning walk together, and it was less than an hour ago.”
“We aren’t allowed to say hi to each other?” Daniel asked.
“No…” Cécile said. “But you two should be holding hands or kissing each other. We aren’t in our fifteen.” She explained.
“I would do something more if you two weren’t here.” He pointed to the two of them, and I almost spit out my food in response to his answers.
Ouch! Daniel shouted slightly when I pinched him on his arm.
“So, tell me, when it all started?” My friends now put down their phones and stared at Daniel too intensely — like he had been doing something wrong. But I wanted to know too how he ended up liking me. I also put down the fork I used to eat the omellete — anticipating his answers even when I feared what he was about to say. I had hints — to be exact- when his feelings for me started. I’m sure it was before our trip to St. Tropez. I remembered that he once texted me he had my candid pictures (that I didn’t know of) saved on his phone, and who does that to anyone? No one would save anyone’s candid shots without telling the person if they didn’t like them (or maybe they just thought it was a really good shot).
“I’m not going to tell you two.” He refused to give them the answers. “I haven’t told her yet, so you two need to wait.”
A gentle smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling a sense of relief settle over me. I hadn’t prepared for his answers, so hearing them in front of my friend would make my whole face look like I was under the sun in the mid-summer — looking all bright red.
“I might be able to guess it right.” I glared at them, giving them hints that I did not want to hear about it now — I needed to prepare myself because I was sure that the answer would be longer than I had predicted, even when I was dying to know.
A mischievous sparkle gleamed in their eyes as they exchanged a knowing look. “Got it,” they finally said.
As the weather got warmer and with our empty plates and glasses, we talked about when we would head to the local market. Daniel told us he would come with us to the market, but that was before his constantly ringing phone calls in the morning when we had a walk.
“Is everything alright?” I asked Daniel when we were about to go back to our room after breakfast.
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“We can go by ourselves,” I reassured him that he didn’t need to drive and accompanied the three of us — it was not like we were in a foreign land. We practically know every corner of the city.
“There was an emergency, but it’s solved now.” He told me.
“I’ll see you in thirty, then?” He said at the front of my room.
I nodded and went inside the room he had prepared for me last night.
After a few constant calls to my friends who still chose their clothes for the day, we arrived at the markets later than we agreed. The sun was already shining, and there were fewer people too. Only the locals and some tourists passed by the needs and decided to check them out.
Cecile and Oceane first went to the jewelry section while Daniel and I looked at the painted vintage plates — we called it China Platter — the stalls were near our parked car. The collection was incredibly beautiful, with various colors for it. There were blues, greens, the pastel ones.
“Your mom would love this.”
I was looking at the small green collection over the table — Daniel’s mom was known for collecting and having many. I remembered how massive her collection was, especially when I went to her butler pantry — from a simple round with many different sizes to the types — dinner to the saucer — some were heirlooms, some were her collection that she got from time to time — started from J.L Coquet, Maison Margaux, Christian Dior, Nymphenburg, Augaten to Hermès — from the classics to the simple basic one that she used from time to time. She knows more about dinnerware than anyone I’ve learned.
“She would love to.” He agreed with me.
“I think I’m going to get one for her,” I told him. Since Daniel and I know each other and have been hanging out occasionally, his mother has always been lovely to me. She took great care of the friend groups when we went to his house and let us stay there sometime.
There is one collection of dinnerware that caught my eye from the first time I landed my eyes on it. It said that the plates were hand-painted by some artists in Morrocco, and this one isn’t as colorful as the others. It was perfect for his mother.
“C’est combien?”
“Cent euros.”
I nodded as I pulled out my wallet from my bag to pay for the plates, but Daniel took my hand instead and handed over his money to the salesperson.
“Que fais-tu?” I turned to him.
“Let’s just say that it was from the both of us.” We walked back to the car to put down the plates we got for his mother.
“Why? I wondered. I was the one who wanted to give her gifts.
“She will make it a big deal if she knows it was from you.”
“I mean, she would consider you as my girlfriend.”
“And why is that bad?” I joked out of it.
“Really?”
The air crackled with laughter as I drank at the sight of his bewildered expression.
“The last time she found out I was looking for you, I was coming unannounced at your welcoming party. That doesn’t sound bad to you?”
“Well, my parents invited you.” I patted him on the back a couple of times, reassuring him that it was normal when parents do that — my parents did a couple of times too.
“Your parents invited my parents.” He corrected me.
“Why is that bad? I thought you were going to be thrilled?”
“Ooh… I’m way more than thrilled.” His shoulder consciously nudged my shoulders — like it was his attempt to say that he doesn’t mind — more than happy, to be exact.
“But don’t make it like I have the chance.”
“Who says you don’t?”
Bewildered at my answers, he closed his mouth the minute I joked about how he had the chance. I never had any expectations on how our dates would go, but he knew what he was doing. Maybe because we were friends once, but he put an effort into it. His effort was enough evidence to me that he wanted to make it work.
