Chapter 3: The Morning After

The Provencal sun shone brightly through the curtains, stirring Abigail from her troubled sleep. She awoke, the events of the previous day flooding back into her consciousness. The realization that she was truly stranded in the 19th century left her feeling disoriented. Taking a deep breath, she decided to face the day, uncertain of what it held for her.

Venturing out of the quaint guest room, she was drawn towards the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering stew. The scent was warm, welcoming and far different from her usual city breakfast of instant coffee and toast.

In the kitchen, she found Vincent, the man from a time far removed from hers, cooking over a hearth. He had exchanged his artist's smock for a simple shirt and trousers. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms, and his hair was disheveled, a few dark strands falling into his clear blue eyes.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Abigail," he greeted her, turning with a soft smile. The sight of his easy demeanor momentarily displaced her worries. She returned his greeting and complimented him on the wonderful smell of breakfast.

Vincent, it seemed, was not just an artist, but also a fair hand at cooking. He served her a simple but flavorful meal, and they shared it in companionable silence. The wholesomeness of the meal, combined with Vincent's quiet company, soothed Abigail.

Throughout the meal, they exchanged small talk. Vincent asked her about her journey and seemed genuinely concerned when she vaguely explained she had lost her way. Meanwhile, she learnt more about him - a bachelor who lived on his farm, painting the Provencal countryside and playing his lute for company.

In the following hours, Abigail ventured around the farm with Vincent. He showed her the sprawling lavender fields that belonged to him and where he drew much of his artistic inspiration. The field, in full bloom, was a sea of purple waves under the clear blue sky. It was a sight that would take anyone's breath away, even more so for Abigail, who had only known the concrete jungle of New York.

Throughout the day, they barely scratched the surface of the true peculiarities of their situation. Yet, every interaction added a new layer to their budding friendship. From shared smiles to lingering glances, they were like two strangers getting acquainted, oblivious to the extraordinary circumstances.

As the day ended and Abigail retreated to her room, she reflected on this strange twist in her life. Her host was a kind and gentle man, his lifestyle a far cry from the rush of the city she was accustomed to.

Their worlds were poles apart, yet there was a comfort in his presence, a sense of calm she hadn't felt in years. She felt a strange pull towards him, not of romantic nature, but of kinship formed under unusual circumstances. As she fell asleep under the wooden beams of Vincent's farmhouse, she realized that while her situation was far from ideal, perhaps, just perhaps, it was not as disastrous as it seemed.