“Is it Halloween already?” I watch the truck full of hay bales rolls through the normally tiny sleepy French town.
Belle, my French friend, laughs. “Don’t be silly, it’s only September. This is for the annual Fall festival. I’m guessing they are trying to move the hay to the fairground as discreetly as possible.”
“Well,” I say loudly, “they’re not being very discreet, are they?”
She laughs again, I love that laugh. It sounds like a bell. Perhaps it’s the reason she’s named Belle. “I guess not.” Her voice catapults me back to the present. I think I’m in love.