𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄 Bisset had lived in France for all her life. The endearing city was all she'd known for many years, before she met the dear girl she'd never meet again.
--
"Une tarte au citron, s'il vous plaît!"
Vivienne owned a sweet shoppe. It was tiny, on the corner of a street, which was usually— if not always —calm and empty.
On August 5, a girl with short, ginger hair walked into the shoppe.
Vivienne was stood at the counter, which was in-between two enclosed cases full of pastries and sweets.
She didn't look at the female, as she had her elbows rested on the counter's white surface, staring off into space.
"Excuse me?"
Vivienne looked up, startled. "B-Bonjour!"
Amelia Williams giggled, "Bonjour!"
"Qu'est ce que je peux vous servir?" She asks, to which Amelia tilts her head.
"Sorry, I don't speak-"
"Oh!" Vivienne nods, "What can I get you?"
The shorter girl flushes, "Uh, i've never really, you know. . ."
She nods again, before starting to grab a box, and uses tongs to grab pastries. Amelia watches as the black haired female places the sweets in the white box. Vivienne closes the box, puts it in a bag securely, and rings it up.
"I put some of the best ones," She smiles and hands the box over, "I hope you enjoy."
Amelia smiles back, "Thank you!"
As the sound of the door chimes, Vivienne goes back into her thoughts.
She puts her elbows up on the counter, sighing.
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