Chapter 30 - The Friday Market in Town
Friday morning broke with a bright, clearing sky and a brisk offshore wind. To stock up on fresh provisions for the weekend, Adrien and I drove down the winding coastal road into the small, historic seaside village nestled in the neighboring cove.
The town was a charming collection of weathered clapboard houses, small artisan bakeries, and bustling local markets where fishermen unloaded their morning catch directly onto wooden docks. In the old days, our arrival in any public place would have triggered immediate tactical assessments, perimeter checks, and guarded paranoia. Today, it was just a quiet trip for fresh bread, local cheese, and wildflowers.
As we walked down Main Street, the local baker—a hearty man with flour-dusted apron and a booming laugh—waved cheerfully from his shop doorway.
“Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Vance! Got those fresh sourdough loaves you like waiting inside,” the baker called out.
“Thanks, Tom, be right in,” Adrien replied smoothly, offering a warm, genuine smile that would have shocked anyone who knew his former reputation.
We walked through the open-air market, picking out crisp green apples, jars of local wildflower honey, and a vibrant bunch of yellow daffodils that I immediately tucked into my canvas tote bag.
“You know,” I murmured as we strolled toward the harbor wall, “if someone had told us five years ago that we’d be buying artisanal cheese in a sleepy New England fishing village on a Friday morning, we would have shot them.”
Adrien laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained against the sound of gulls crying overhead. “Five years ago, I didn't even know what artisanal cheese was. I only knew how to launder capital and manage hit squads.”
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“And look at you now,” I teased, gently bumping my shoulder against his. “A domestic gentleman.”
“For you, Evelyn,” Adrien said softly, his gray eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “I’d become anything you asked me to be.”
