What Happens In Paris… [ep.1 pt. 1] “You don’t sound French.”

So here is the first episode. I decided to not wait for 3 comments, but I really want comments on this one. I won’t post episode 2 until I get atleast 5 comments. Maybe 3, depending on how fast I get them. I would love to hear what you think of the series!!! And I’m not going to do the whole trailer before every episode. It’s too much work. Please subb and comment!!! Thx!!!
Taylors POV

I stepped off the plane and headed for baggage claim. Even in the airport, Paris had an air about it that made me feel calmer already. All the people around me just felt more relaxed, carefree. I knew I would be able to start over fresh here. Make my own memories that would drown out the bad ones.
Outside the Le Bourget Airport, I hailed a cab and gave the cabby directions to the boarding house I had made arrangements with. On the 30 minute drive I was able to take in my surroundings. We drove past bakeries, boutiques, flower shops and small little art galleries. There were very beautiful, rich looking restaurants dotted along the road. I hoped Id be able to eat at one eventually. Id have to find a job and save up some money first, right now I was low on funds.
The cabby kept traveling on the interstate for awhile, then he pointed ahead of us.
“Look there.” He told me in a strong French accent. It was the Eiffel Tower.
I knew as soon as I saw it, that it was going to be my first sketch in Paris. Even though that was very un-original and I never sketched ‘same old, same old’. But it was too perfect to pass up for any artist, no matter how many times it had been done.
The highway the taxi was speeding across stretched towards the Seine River. Then it twisted and wound its way beside it. I leaned forward and looked out of the windshield. Ahead, there was a bridge stretched across the river. The other end of the bridge led you almost to the base of the Eiffel Tower.
But the driver didnt take me across the bridge, towards the tower. I watched with disappointment as the entrance to the bridge got farther away. Only a few more minutes past and I was staring at a small house that looked a hundred years old.
I stepped out of the cab, grabbing my bags as I scanned the scenery. The river was right across the street from the little house and there were tall trees lining the bank. People were strolling along side their dogs and chattering away in French. A group of three girls strutted by. They were all very pretty. They smiled and one waved at me. I just smiled, nodded and turned my back. No girl wanted to be in a relationship with me. I was too messed up.
I paid the cabby and walked up the three creaky steps leading to the front door.
A stout, old lady opened the door with a gentle smile on her wrinkled face.
“You are Taylor, oui?” She asked in a wonderful French accent. I smiled back and nodded.
“Bonjour!” She exclaimed.
“Bonjour.” I replied.
“Come in, Monsieur. I am Madame Trouvel.” She held the door open wider while I tugged at my two very large suitcases. Once I was fully in the door she extended her hand.
“Comment allez-vous?” She asked. I had aced French class in Senior year, so I knew she was asking how I was.
“Bien.” Good. She nodded and gestured towards the stairs.
“The room at the top of the stairs on your right. That is your new home, ma chere.” I smiled at her calling me ‘my dear’.
“Thank you.”
“Dinner is at 8 every evening. Let me know if you are not going to attend that night so I know not to make too much. Tell me if you need anything, anytime.”
“I will, thank you.” I collected my bags and went for my room.
It wasnt a very big room. A tall window was on the wall opposite of the door. I stepped closer and discovered it was a tiny door to a balcony. It was only big enough to lean against the rail and look out, but none the less I had never had a room with a balcony. And I could see the Eiffel Tower.
The room held a small bed, smaller than a twin. A 3 drawer dresser with a cracked mirror hanging over it was beside the bed. I tossed my bags on the floor and dug around inside the largest one looking for my satchel. Inside was my sketch book and pencils.
I made sure I had my phone and wallet stuffed in my pockets and hurried down the steps. I waved at Madame Trouvel in the kitchen and shut the door behind me. I walked along the road beside the Seine, passing small quaint houses like the one I was staying in, until I hit the bridge. The bridge didnt look more than half a mile long, so I decided to walk it instead of take the ferry, like I’m sure most tourists did. After all, I wasn’t a tourist. This was my home now.
Part 2 is coming!!