Chapter 2: Strangers in Time

The Provencal sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, casting a rosy glow over the sprawling lavender fields. As Abigail watched the man draw closer, she fought the rising tide of panic. She was a woman out of time, literally. She looked down at her modern attire and bit her lip.

The stranger came into view, and Abigail got her first clear look at him. He was a handsome man, dressed in clothing clearly belonging to the 19th century. His sun-tanned face was rugged yet had a touch of gentleness. His hair was dark, and his eyes were a mesmerizing shade of blue that mirrored the skies above. The artist's tools slung over his shoulder hinted at a life immersed in art and creativity. This man was the living embodiment of all the romantic stories that she had read about this era, but never dreamt of encountering.

As he neared, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Abigail. He halted, a few steps away from her, looking puzzled. He removed his beret, revealing tousled locks of hair, and offered her a polite, "Bonjour, Mademoiselle."

Abigail, despite her escalating worry, couldn't help but be charmed by his polite demeanor and the warm timbre of his voice. She returned his greeting and introduced herself. The man introduced himself as Vincent, an artist from a nearby village. The innocence in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice soothed her anxiety, and she decided to trust him.

She followed Vincent to his modest farmhouse, nestled at the edge of the lavender fields. It was a humble abode with a charm that was starkly different from the skyscrapers of New York but equally captivating.

Vincent, noticing her foreign attire and subtle disorientation, assumed she was a traveller who had lost her way. As a perfect gentleman, he offered her his hospitality. His home was simple, the walls adorned with beautiful paintings, and the atmosphere filled with the scent of dried lavender and paint. His world was so vastly different from hers, yet there was an inexplicable comfort that Abigail found in the tranquillity of his home and his kind demeanor.

That night, as Abigail lay in the guest room, staring at the wooden beams of the rustic roof, her mind whirled with thoughts. She thought about her life in New York, her family, her art restoration project, everything that defined her existence. And then she thought about Vincent and his world - a world she had inadvertently stepped into.

She didn't know what the future held, or if she could ever go back to her own time. She was a stranger in this world, just as Vincent was a stranger to her. Yet, they were now inexplicably linked by the threads of time, and this was only the beginning of their journey together.