just a bit of water — victoire & _______ ;
Sunday is always thought to be the relaxing day of the week. Business in the parlour was always booming on Saturdays and then errands were run as soon as she left. Sundays were her solstice. Whenever she thought of the last day of the week it was with a light, dreamy sigh. She would either be curled up in front of the telly, the heat of a hot mug of tea tickling her palms and finger tips or stretching out on the couch only to doze off into an extremely satisfying nap.
She hadn't exactly hoped to be soaked to the bone as the dark heavens above opened up to release their fury. What use was a rain coat ( what a total waste of money ) when it only ended up clinging to you like a second skin? All she had wanted was a change of scenery. Instead of a relaxing stroll, the young woman now raced through the small, cobblestone streets only to veer to the left and push into a café — a safe house.
The place was booming. It was hard to hear yourself think. Everyone in London seemed to have sought refuge in the cute little coffee shop. There seemed to be only one free chair in the entire room. So, even as a knot of discomfort fashioned into a pretzel in her chest, Victoire shuffled forward and mumbled, almost in audibly —