The café was called Café de Flare, she didn't quite grab it and didn't bother to ask the second time.It was small — four tables inside, two outside on the pavement under a green awning,a chalkboard hung behind the counter, listing the day's roasts in a warm, swirling cursive script adorned with tiny chalk doodles of steam clouds.The man behind the counter was maybe sixty and looked like he'd been making coffee in this exact spot since before Isla was born. He didn't greet them. He looked up, assessed, and went back to what he was doing, which felt less rude than honest.Theo ordered in French.He said something short and direct and the man behind the counter nodded and that was that.Isla ordered a coffee by pointing at the chalkboard and saying un café, s'il vous plaît and the man looked at her for a painfully long beat, blinking as if trying to decipher a completely foreign dialect, making her instantly regret opening her mouth.They took one of the outside tables.Paris at six-thi
最終更新日 : 2026-05-27 続きを読む