The Fountain: Inspired by Poisoned in Provence
Oh là là! My first trip to Provence and I already feel like I’m walking through a fairytale. The quaint buildings, the cobblestone streets, the heavenly scents of fresh bread and lavender in the air.
And the fountain!
Like something out of a movie set. An angel sculpture quietly guards the secrets of the village square as water gently bubbles behind her.
I’m completely smitten as Jacques, the competition’s charming young French chef, gives me a personal tour.
He tells me stories of his great-grandmother, Dame Vivienne, who used to fetch water from this very fountain as a girl.
Known in the village as a healer, she tended to soldiers during the war using her knowledge of herbs and magical flowers.
“She practiced the ancient arts,” Jacques says, his voice dropping to a whisper. I get goosebumps!
We continue through the sleepy village as the sun sinks below the horizon in dazzling hues of gold and pink. More tales of Dame Vivienne and her mystical abilities.
My mind races imagining what her life must have been like marrying a Parisian nobleman yet staying so connected to her Provence roots.
He shows me her picture on his phone, an old black-and-white photo showing a proud, elegant woman with a hint of gypsy about her.
Her eyes hold centuries of secrets.
“She still guides me,” Jacques says, touching his heart. “And she’s telling me she likes you very much.”
We arrive back at the fountain, now bathed in moonlight. Jacques gently puts his hands on both sides of my face, and turns it towards him. He touches his lips on mine. The kiss is soft, but intense; a fusion of the midnight air and the sweet taste of lavender lingering around us. It sends a shiver down my spine, as if the ghost of Dame Vivienne herself approves of our connection.
As our lips part, I can see the reflection of the old angel sculpture guarding the fountain in Jacques’ eyes, and I wonder if she’s watching over us too.
In that moment, time almost comes to a standstill. The gentle hum of the fountain’s water becomes the only sound I can hear, as if the village itself is holding its breath.
Jasper, always the doting companion, yips softly, sensing the emotion in the air.
He must know that my life is about to change forever, as I am drawn into the fascinating world of Jacques and his family, and the mysterious roots of the land on which we now stand.
That quiet village square, where the world seems to disappear into the shadows, becomes the stage for stories that will be passed down through generations. Tales of love, magic, and the ripening bond between a young American foodie journalist and a young French chef.
