she stares, blinking. urgh, she sighs, ducking into a nearby café. it is almost ten at night, a good-enough time for them to be closing soon. she approaches the counter, a grateful smile. a latte, please. sure, mademoiselle. the man chuckles as he maneuvers to the coffee machine, deftly pouring milk into a jug. a little too late for caffeine isn’t it, mademoiselle? she laughs apologetically. a little too late to come in here to hide from the rain too, i guess. oh no, any time is perfect in maurice’s, he winks. i own the place, so i can close it anytime i want, and – oh, ho! look what we have here, another person. yes, monsieur, what can i – luigi! it is you! the usual, yes?
yes please. she turns around to look. he – luigi – smiles at her, his arms awkwardly clutching his leather-bound book, his hair damp from the drizzle. from the corner, a painting peeks out, a bright shade of sky blue, its paint running over his skin. oh, your painting, it is wet. she gasps, then blushes. sorry, sorry, i mean – oh don’t apologise, mademoiselle. when the rainy sky runs its due course, it’ll turn blue again.