Page 61 of Sinful Escape

I continued talking until Roman pulled the bus alongside the park that ran parallel to the Rhone River. “Roman will make sure the bus is locked so you can leave your things here if you wish. Let’s go.”

Grabbing my bag, I stepped from the bus onto the plush grass. The passengers joined me, and once everyone was off, Roman jumped down and locked the door. He rubbed his stomach. “Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“Yeah. Famished.”

“I’m not surprised after your workout this morning.” His grin was ridiculous.

With a groan, the smile dropped from my face, and I spun on my heel. “Okay, everyone, follow me.” Trying to soothe the heatwave curling up my neck, I strode up one of the mountainous streets typical of Old Lyon Town.

Pastel-colored buildings lined the cobblestone lane. I paused at a narrow green arched doorway and waited for my group to gather around.

“During the Middle Ages, Lyon had a thriving silk trade. The silk was transported into Lyon via barges on the river, and they’d carry it by hand up these hills. Trouble was, if it rained, the silk would be ruined. So they built hundreds of secret passageways known as traboules that crisscross all over the city. Most of them are now private. Lucky for us, this one isn’t. But please keep your voices to a minimum, people live here. Roman, please close the door behind us.”

I pushed on the heavy green door, and it creaked open. The passage was dimly lit, but I headed for a light streaming from the ceiling in the distance. Not that I needed the light. This was my thirtieth time crossing through this tunnel, so I could navigate it with my eyes closed.

I paused at a central courtyard and waited for the group to close in around me. Roman was taller than most of them, and our eyes met across the sea of heads. For some reason, having him there made me nervous. A weird shiver wobbled across my stomach.

Stop it, Daisy. This is what you do. You’re good at it.

“Some traboules date back to the fourth century. See this well?” I pointed at the semi-circular bowl built into the wall. “The residents in the ancient homes above us had to rely on this well to be filled from the river. Fortunately for them, these tunnels made it easier to cart water. Instead of going around the large city blocks, they could travel through them. Clever, huh?”

Sunny and Beth leaned forward to look into the well.

“Of course, the wells are no longer in use. Except as an occasional ice bucket, maybe. During the second world war, these tunnels helped the resistance. They were integral in preventing the Nazis from occupying all of Lyon.” I met Gina’s gaze. “If only these walls could talk, huh?”

The young Korean woman nodded. It wasn’t very often I had a guest from Korea. But unlike the American boys, Gina had obviously done her homework. She was my ideal tour member. She was interested in what I had to say and got involved. And I hadn’t had a Korean yet who’d created even a hint of trouble.

“Okay, let’s keep moving.”

As I led the group toward the exit, a sense of melancholy hit me. I’d always planned to explore more of these tunnels one day.

Now, I was running out of ‘one days’.

We exited into yet another cobblestone street, and squinting against the glare, I held the door open. My rumbling stomach helped switch my focus away from my limited time left. But as I continued up the street and we passed a bakery, I smelled seductive scents of buttery croissants and freshly made bread. French bakeries were like no other in the world.

They were another thing I was going to miss.

Halfway up the hill, I pushed through a glass door and the tinkling bell announced my arrival. “Bonjour, Sophia. C’est moi, Daisy,” I called out to Sophia, who would be in the kitchen applying the finishing touches to our meals.

I held the door open and instructed my group to find a seat in the tiny restaurant.

Sophia sashayed her hips as she strode toward me. The middle-aged woman looked like she was in the prime of her life. Her skin glowed, her hair was glossy, her makeup and painted nails had been applied with skill, and her grin confirmed she was glad to see me again. We kissed each other’s cheeks, and she pulled me for a squishy hug.

“As-tu fait un bon voyage.” She led me to my table near the kitchen where I could still see all of my group.

“Oui, tout pour planifier jusqu'ici.” As I relayed how this month’s tour was going, the guests settled into the two long tables that’d been beautifully set. White tablecloths with jade napkins that flowed over the table edges were anchored in position by black plates. Rustic bronze cutlery flanked the plates, and little jam jars filled with colorful flowers that Sophia would’ve picked from her garden were dotted through the middle.

As was typical at the beginning of a tour, other than the couples who sat together, the men sat at one table and the ladies at the other. I don’t know how this happened, but it nearly always did. By the end of the tour, they’d be mixing it up.

I expected Roman to sit with the men or the women; I did not expect him to sit with me. I blinked at him.

“What?” He portrayed the picture of innocence.

“I . . . ummm . . . I thought you’d sit with the guys.”

He scrunched up his face and leaned in. “I told you. . . the women are always more interesting.”

I glanced over his shoulder at a whole table of women.

---