Parisian cafés have a certain rhythm in the spring, when the trees are blossoming again after months of hibernation and filling the city with pastels.
My colleague Ebba was visiting Paris for the first time too and was delighted to be pastry shopping with me along the rues of France.
She wasn’t sure how many photos she’d take to send to her family but wore her new dress anyway.
We admired windows of shops decorated in assortments of éclairs and croissants and macarons, and glass shelves piled high with fluffy goods.
By the time I had nibbled through my third pastry, and Kiwi on his fifth, she was still only in photography mode.
“Are you going to get something because we have to get back to the conference?” I mentioned between bites.
She eventually selects a cardamom bun from a tiny corner shop on a quiet street that reminds her of home.
For portfolio purposes only. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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