“This is amazing,” I muttered, inhaling the scent of spicy salami, and noted the endless array of different types and lengths. Back home, salami was just salami. Unless you counted the odd fancy, over-priced charcuterie board that served to educate us that there might be more than one type. But even the most well-trained chef in Charleston would do his nut seeing the array of food in this market.

“Viens!” Dauphine whined as a cute guy in a white chef’s jacket offered a piece of fresh baked bread with soft cheese and dripping honey on it in my direction.

I reluctantly shook my head, with a mouthed merci, non.

But behind me, my boss’ voice cut in. “Try it,” he commanded, though his tone was soft.

I glanced back at him and wished I could see his expression behind the shield of his sunglasses.

“Go on, it’s worth it. Dauphine, attend,” he said past me.

I flicked my eyes back to the earnest young chef and reached out for the morsel he laid gently in my palm. I heard the chef offer a bite to Xavier, but I blacked out to everything around me the moment the flavors hit my tongue. Letting out an audible groan, I chewed, my mouth flooding with saliva. “Oh my sweet heaven,” I managed when I came to.

“Lavender honey.” Xavier’s voice was gruff. Then he bought three baguettes, two rounds of cheese, and two pots of honey before Dauphine managed to get us moving again.

I seriously hoped he was going to share his bounty with me. That was why he bought it right?

Around us people shouted out greetings and hummed with oohs and aahs, and others called out for separated friends and family members. There were colors everywhere you looked. Smells ran from melting cheese, to fish, to rotisserie chickens and fresh herbs and spices. Under foot, the uneven cobblestone streets were cast in multicolored shade from the sun beating through the awnings.

I’d never been a big social media user, but suddenly I wanted to take pictures and post everything I saw. But none of the pictures would capture the sounds and smells and the utter feast for the senses. I was in awe, and only when I looked over my shoulder and saw Xavier Pascale still following us, keeping pace, his hands stuffed stoically in his pockets, did I become self-conscious enough to realize how like a gawking tourist I must look and snapped my mouth shut.