I Dream of Disney (Volume II)

14 - Secret Santa [Gaston LeGume x Reader] Christmas Special 2021

PART ONE

Can we just pretend that I published this a month ago, as I planned? 

The village is, in a word, idyllic.

But that doesn't quite paint the picture. A story can't be told using just one word the same as a picture cannot be painted with just one brushstroke. Though I doubt that I could answer all of your questions (and I've kept all your letters and read most of them) with even a thousand words. It just wouldn't do the town of Églantine justice. But for the sake of your worry, I will do my best to describe it to you.

I had never seen a rose canopy until I moved to Églantine. They are everywhere in this part of the village. I couldn't describe the scent of them as anything other than a pleasant heaviness in the breeze. It seems that the little French town was famous for its beautiful, dark red roses. I tried to send one to you in my last letter some weeks ago, but I knew it would be crushed in the post long before it reached you. The colour of the rose is unlike anything I had ever seen. I had even sat with a list of paint swatches and tried to find the exact colour. It is rich like oxblood but darker still, almost black when it's in shadow. I buy a bouquet every week and set it in this enormous, handmade glass-blasted vase in the centre of my kitchen.

But I digress. I'm supposed to be telling you where I got into this mess, not about flowers.

They have a name for what the buildings look like here. It's called the French Provincial style and I'm sure you would think it darling. The colours are rich and vibrant. There are buildings here that are bumblebee yellow and robin egg blue. It would look ridiculous to see a bright blue building in some congested city somewhere, but you won't believe how natural it looks here. Amid the small topiary gardens and rose canopies, these asymmetrical buildings exist in these bright colours. I get to look at them every morning when I take my walk to work.

Of course, I wasn't walking to work when the incident happened. I had just finished up at the end-of-year office party and was thinking about whether or not to grab a Vin Chaud with one of my work friends. It's the most delicious spiced wine and (sorry to say) is so much better than eggnog. The apple cider and cardamom work so well together that it drains down my throat with a pleasant burn and it warms my cold hands and face in a few minutes.

Adélaïde managed to convince me at the last second and we cut through the square to get to the tavern. Maybe it was the twinkle in her intelligent grey eyes or the subtle quirk of her lips, but she had a talent of getting me to do things. So often she had dragged me out of my flat and taken me somewhere. I always had fun when I was with her, I have to admit. She liked to joke that she was the champagne in the toast that was Églantine - she was light and bubbly, bursting with festivity.

When I took into account the strapless, dark red Christmas dress that she found for the party, I had to agree. My simple grey a-line dress didn't put in the wow factor as hers did. But she was naturally beautiful. Her fair French complexion complemented the black hair that she kept in short, wavy bangs. The way she wore her hair, free and loose over her shoulders and neck, made her look like a wild mare.

Don't tell her I said that. She's terrified of horses.

Part of me had wanted to go home, flick on the kettle and curl up with a cup of coffee and a good book, but the more time I spent with her, the more I felt like having a little fun. The square was more full of people than I had ever seen. They were all laughing and smiling, standing around the biggest outdoor Christmas tree I had ever seen. The decorations were glittery and dazzling.

I halted. It was curious to see so many people at this time. I checked my watch. It wasn't too late (probably only eight o'clock). I tried to think back on what special thing was happening tonight. But the date for the twenty third was clear. I turned to Adélaïde, who was gazing admiringly at the angel tree-topper.