Julien didn’t plan to leave the market so soon. Not when several locals had already recommended visiting the village church, the most iconic building in the area and a must-see if one was going to be in Saint-Genix for only a short time.

However, having purchased more than he initially intended, he had no choice but to return to the hotel earlier than planned to drop off his packages. He resolved to leave the items there and then head back to the plaza, this time determined to visit the parish the villagers seemed so proud of.

Yet, he never made it to his room. In fact, he didn’t even set foot in the hotel lobby again. He stopped near a spot where Francis had been standing just a few minutes earlier.

“Enjoying the view?” Julien asked, unable to suppress a smile upon seeing the ever-dignified and proper Francis perched awkwardly on a tree branch.

“Yes, very much,” Francis replied, his voice tinged with sarcasm. His face was red, and he clung to the tree as though a gentle breeze might dislodge him. Still, he seemed determined to maintain his composure. “I could spend all day here.”

“Ah, so I was right about the fresh country air being good for you. I won’t disturb you then; I’ll leave you to become one with the forest.”

Julien had taken only a few steps when Francis’s resigned voice called out.

“Wait,” he said. “Since you’re here, could you give me a hand? It’s tricky to maneuver like this.”

Julien was on the verge of asking what Francis, perhaps the last person he would ever have expected to do so, was doing up in a tree. But as he moved closer to assist, he noticed the little animal meowing in Francis’s arms, and his question changed.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just let it go?” Julien suggested.

A cat wouldn’t suffer from being left on a branch, especially one so close to the ground. But, against all odds, Francis vehemently refused the suggestion.

“Absolutely not. It took me enough effort to catch it already; I’m not letting it go now,” he declared, with no intention of changing his mind. “Just guide me on where to step so I can climb down.”

Julien complied, setting aside the issue of the cat to focus on helping Francis. Francis seemed anything but adept at descending; he was overly cautious, hesitating before following every instruction. At one point, Julien had to grab Francis’s arm as he made the final leap to the ground to keep him from losing his balance.

Once safely on solid ground, Julien finally asked, “So, what’s with the cat? It’s quite cute. Are you planning to adopt it? Is that why you climbed up to fetch it?”

“Not a chance. Where would I even keep a creature like this?” Francis replied. Yet, despite his dismissive words, he hadn’t let go of the cat. On the contrary, he seemed to be holding it tighter, ensuring it couldn’t wriggle free. And to be fair, the cat appeared perfectly content in Francis’s arms, making no attempt to escape.

“You live in Paris; I’m sure you’re used to all sorts of animals,” Julien pointed out, seizing the opportunity to pet the purring cat, which seemed to enjoy the attention.

“I am, but most of them have two legs.”

“Even better; those are the worst.”

“I’m not adopting it,” Francis insisted, though Julien wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “The only reason I climbed up to get it was that a little girl asked me to, saying she wasn’t allowed to do it herself. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have even considered such a thing.”

“A child who listens to adults and doesn’t climb a tree when her pet is in danger?”

“There are well-behaved children, even at an age as challenging as hers.”

Perhaps Francis was right, and such children existed, but this hardly seemed to be one of those cases. Had Julien been less tactful, he might have pointed out that someone had likely tricked Francis into doing the dirty work for them.

After all, the girl had vanished as soon as she confirmed the animal wasn’t hers.

“So, what will you do with it now?” Julien asked.

Francis hesitated for a moment before replying, “Well, I can’t just leave it here, can I?”

“In theory, you could. Even if it’s a stray, it’s well cared for, and the locals ensure it doesn’t go hungry.”

“Besides,” Francis continued, ignoring Julien, “it doesn’t like the cold. So no, it’s better if I find its rightful owner myself rather than leaving it to fend for itself.”

“You know what? That sounds like an excellent idea,” Julien decided quickly, refraining from questioning how Francis had become so familiar with the preferences of an animal he’d just met. “Shall I help?”

Once again, Francis hesitated before agreeing, perhaps realizing it would be more convenient to have Julien around to help find the cat’s home. Julien had a knack for striking up conversations with strangers as though they were old friends—a skill that could prove useful for Francis’s goal and one Julien was happy to lend.

This wasn’t how Julien had envisioned spending the rest of his day. After dropping off his packages at the hotel, he thought that if he happened upon Francis, it would take some convincing to get him to continue exploring Saint-Genix. Now, however, it seemed almost as though Francis had taken the lead, deciding where to go and whom to talk to as they wandered the streets.

This change of pace unsettled Julien slightly at first, accustomed as he was to meandering on his own. But he soon adapted to this camaraderie, fragile as it was, built on the tenuous bond that could dissolve as soon as their new furry companion disappeared.

Not that it seemed likely to happen soon. From the tree to the hotel and then on to the plaza, Julien and Francis asked around without much luck, inquiring whether anyone had lost a cat.

The neighbors all agreed: no one was looking for a missing pet. In fact, some mentioned having seen this particular cat, a false Bijou, wandering the village alone in recent days. The consensus was clear: it had to be a stray.

“In the unlikely event we don’t find it a home,” Julien began after more than two hours of fruitless searching, “don’t worry too much. We could take it to Chambéry. My sister lives in a large house and cares for several animals. I’m sure if we suggested it, she’d be happy to adopt it.”

Or, alternatively, they could continue patrolling the town. This time, not to search for the owner of a lost animal but to find a good Samaritan who might want to give it a home for Christmas. Julien almost preferred the latter option. Through this self-imposed task, he was discovering a side of Francis he didn’t know.

To be precise, it was a more charitable side, one that seemed to care for others beyond the initial sense of moral duty. And though Francis maintained his usual grumpy demeanor, Julien couldn’t help but notice the detail: Francis could have released the cat at any time, abandoning what seemed like an impossible mission, or handed it off to Julien if it bothered him. But he never did.

Julien liked this facet of Francis. That’s why he didn’t mind completely abandoning his expectations for that morning and was instead enjoying this endeavor.

“You’ve never talked about your family before,” Francis remarked suddenly, pulling Julien’s thoughts momentarily away from their conversation’s primary topic.

“Haven’t I? I thought I had...” Julien pondered, trying to recall.

“You mentioned them when we were on the train, but that was it. For someone who talks so much, it’s incredible how little you share about your personal life.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Merely an observation.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Julien had been careful when sharing details about his family. Not because he distrusted Francis, but simply out of habit—a habit so ingrained that Julien hadn’t even realized it until Francis pointed it out.

“Well, now you know,” Julien declared. While he typically avoided the subject in conversations, he didn’t see a problem in revealing a few things now that Francis had shown curiosity for the first time during the trip. “Gabrielle—that’s my sister—and I grew up in that village. She eventually married a local farmer and decided to stay, while I preferred to seek my fortune in the nearest city.”

“Ambition, perhaps?”

“Could be. Although Chambéry has its local press, and I’m sure more than one business would have loved to have me on their team, I wouldn’t have had nearly as many opportunities to grow in my field if I’d stayed.”

“You can write from anywhere, but Le Progrès doesn’t hire people every day,” Francis concluded, his tone ironic but not necessarily mocking. Despite claiming he didn’t appreciate Julien’s columns, it was clear he valued any kind of journalism, even if the publications didn’t align with his ideals.

“Exactly what I thought! But honestly, when I arrived in Lyon in my early twenties, I planned to pursue poetry as a mere hobby. I didn’t mind working in any other field as long as I got a change of scenery.”

“Were you looking for new inspiration for your writing? Who would’ve thought! And here I was, assuming all poets longed for the opposite—to move to rural areas or, failing that, stay put.”

“For what? To gain inspiration from frolicking among flowers or bathing naked in rivers?” Julien laughed, amused by the mental image. “For someone who doesn’t like this kind of writing, you have a very romantic notion of what it involves.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Francis protested. But given how red his face turned, Julien clearly wasn’t far off the mark. “I was referring to the bustle of big cities. Often, whether one writes fiction or not, it’s impossible to concentrate.”

“Oh, that doesn’t bother me. I’m one of those who spends almost every afternoon at the Café des Négociants.”

Francis tried but failed to hide his look of disapproval.

“That explains a lot.”

Though the Café des Négociants was one of Lyon’s most famous establishments, it was obvious that someone like Francis wouldn’t appreciate it. Despite hosting all kinds of intellectuals, such establishments were often crowded and noisy.

So, was Francis one of those writers who preferred the quiet of his own home or a small office in the most remote corner of the newspaper? Julien was convinced he was.

“Maybe noise doesn’t affect me the same way,” Julien mused aloud. “Perhaps I’m used to it, even unconsciously, since I was born in the city.”

“What did you just say? I thought you were from here, through and through.”

“Uh... Not exactly. My family lived in Lyon when I was born, but I didn’t spend more than two or three years there before moving to Chambéry. So, practically speaking, yes, I could say I’m more rural than urban.”

“What brought about the change?”

“Um... Work, I suppose,” Julien said, trying in vain not to sound flustered. While he had led the conversation down this path, there were limits to what he preferred not to discuss. And, unfortunately, just as things seemed to head in that direction, he remembered. “But back to the cat,” he continued, hoping Francis wouldn’t resist such an abrupt topic change. “Do you realize that, regardless of whether my sister keeps it, you’ll have to name it?”

“I won’t,” Francis declared, with extreme ease.

Whether he was too indignant at the suggestion or genuinely wanted to give Julien an out, Julien couldn’t tell at that moment. Either way, he appreciated it, as it allowed him to return to the familiar territory of their friendly banter.

“Come on, you must!” Julien smiled, more to tease than out of genuine interest in naming the little animal. “It’d be a shame if, after rescuing it, the poor thing didn’t have a name.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s still plenty of daylight left, and someone might take this critter off our hands, saying they want to adopt it. Maybe we won’t even have to bother your sister.”

“As you wish.”

Julien was content. Francis’s remark about the many remaining hours of the day was a subtle sign of permission to continue their impromptu mission. And what better way to spend Christmas Eve than this?