Fête d’Hiver
1108 Words
Amelia’s POV
By the time Amelia returned to the inn, the late afternoon sky had turned a soft lavender, snow drifting in lazy spirals past the windowpanes. Her fingers were still cold from hours in the manor, but her heart was warm—too warm.
The caretaker’s stories lingered in her chest. Claire. The art school. The paint-flecked tables. The way Élise had pressed her cheek against those old pillars… It all made sense, there was something inside her that told her she was right: Claire was Elise’s mother, Gabriel’s wife.
It was sad. But her mind shouldn’t be that much into him. She shouldn’t want to console him. But she did.
She pushed open the inn’s wooden door and stepped inside.
“Ah! There you are,” Solène beamed from behind the counter. “I was just thinking of you.”
Amelia unwrapped her scarf, still flushed from the cold. “Good timing then.”
“You are in luck.” Solène leaned in conspiratorially. “Tonight is our Fête d’Hiver—the village’s little welcome-to-Christmas celebration. Music, food, lights, vin chaud… You must come.”
Amelia’s heart fluttered. “That sounds wonderful.” Just what she needed to clear her head.
“It is tradition,” Solène insisted. “Everyone comes. You will not survive Beauvais if you skip it.”
Amelia laughed. “Well, I suppose I can’t let that happen.”
“You will love it,” Solène said warmly. “Starts just after sunset in the village square. Wear your prettiest coat.”
Amelia returned to her room, changed into a soft cream sweater and her best winter coat, then braided her hair loosely. She felt lighter than she had in months—years, maybe. Something about Beauvais made breathing easier.
She stepped outside into the crisp evening air, hands tucked in her pockets as she followed the glowing lanterns strung along the streets. Laughter floated from the square ahead. Bells chimed. Someone was tuning a violin.
It felt like walking straight into a Christmas card.
She took two more steps—then stopped. A thought, gentle but insistent, tugged at her.
Élise would love this. The music. The lights. The snow. Amelia turned on her heel without letting herself overthink it. Before she knew it, she was heading toward the little stone house at the edge of the lane.
She hesitated only a moment before knocking—soft, polite, unsure.
The door opened halfway, and Gabriel’s eyes widened slightly. He looked… surprised. And breathtakingly warm in lamplight.
“Amelia.” A beat. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she said quickly, shoving down the sudden wave of embarrassment. “I, well… I was heading to the village celebration and thought…” She swallowed. “I didn’t know if you were coming but thought Élise might like to come. If you think it’s appropriate.”
His surprise deepened. His eyebrows lifted, as if this possibility had never crossed his mind.
“She’s resting now,” he said softly. “It’s been a heavy week.”
“Of course,” Amelia said immediately. “I didn’t mean to—”
A tiny sound interrupted her: the pitter of small feet on wooden floors. Élise peeked around his leg, still in her socks, hair tousled from a nap. Her eyes found Amelia. They lit with unmistakable recognition. Then she held up her snow globe, newly fixed, like a jewel she wanted to show again.
Amelia’s heart melted instantly.
Gabriel looked down at her.
“She doesn’t have to stay long,” Amelia added quietly. “Just… a little something to lift her spirits. The music is lovely.”
Élise tugged his sleeve. “I want to go…”She said, barely a whisper.
Amelia smiled at her warmly. Good girl.
Gabriel closed his eyes for half a second, as if steadying himself. When he opened them, they were softer. “Give us ten minutes.”
Five minutes later, Élise reappeared in a little navy coat and white knit hat. Gabriel wrapped a scarf around her tiny frame.
“Ready?” Amelia asked gently.
Élise slipped her hand into Amelia’s.
Gabriel exhaled, quiet, resigned, protective and walked beside them as they made their way toward the glowing square. Lanterns flickered above. Children chased each other through the snow. The scent of cinnamon, oranges, and woodsmoke danced in the air.
Élise’s hand tightened in hers.
Amelia squeezed back.
Gabriel watched the exchange with a softness he didn’t try to hide.
Music began—violins and gentle tambourines.
Élise’s eyes widened, wonder blossoming like a fragile flower. The first hint of a smile curved her lips.
Amelia felt her chest swell. “You like it, hon?”
Élise nodded still smiling.
Gabriel noticed it too; Amelia saw it in the way his shoulders lowered, tension melting from him.
For the first time, he looked almost… peaceful.
“Thank you,” he murmured, barely audible over the music.
“For what?” Amelia asked.
“For this,” he said simply, nodding toward his daughter.
“For giving her something I couldn’t give her today.”
Amelia swallowed hard. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not,” he said quietly. “Not to her. Not to me.”
Amelia opened her mouth, but no words came. The sincerity in his voice—quiet, unguarded, almost aching—slid straight under her defenses. She looked at him, really looked, and something in his expression softened even further under the falling snow.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Gabriel watched Élise’s small fingers intertwined with Amelia’s, then shifted his gaze upward. “She hasn’t smiled like that since…” He paused, not finishing. He didn’t need to. The silence filled the rest.
Amelia nodded gently, offering him the grace of not asking for more.
“She’s strong,” she said softly instead. “Stronger than she knows.”
“That she is,” Gabriel murmured, glancing down at Élise with a tenderness Amelia felt in her bones. “I just… I worry I’m not enough for her right now.”
Amelia turned slightly toward him. “Gabriel,” she said quietly, “the way she looks at you… she feels safe. That’s more than enough.”
He exhaled, a slow, almost disbelieving breath. “You really think so?”
“I do.”
He held her gaze, something unspoken flickering there—gratitude, fatigue, hope, fear. “You’re kind,” he said. “Too kind.”
She smiled faintly. “Or maybe I just care more than I should.”
That made him swallow hard.
- Writer
