Page 73 of I Love You in French

He opens his eyes, and his mouth falls open.

Here, across every space in the barn, are people from Birch Borough. There are tables with cider, hot chocolate, and apple-cider donuts. There are stations to paint pumpkins next to more pies from Angie’s than we could ever eat. When I headed to Nashville to find Rafe, I used the time while traveling (and avoiding my nerves from my first time being on a plane) to send out the signal to everyone I know that we have someone who needs to feel like they belong. A man who needs to be reminded that he is worth the celebration.

“You did this?” he whispers, his eyes taking in all the details. I see them catch on the flowers in the corner, the bales of hay for seating, the lanterns on every surface, and the makeshift stage in the corner where Liam plays softly. I hug Rafe’s arm and lean my head against his shoulder.

“I’d do anything for you. Honest.”

Gladys is one of the first to step up to us, her excitement unrestrained. “I’ll tell you what, when I found out . . . Oh, when I found out!” She turns to face the others in attendance before lifting a fist in the air. “She got herself a Frenchman! Woo-hoo!”

I’m both horrified and cracking up with most of the others as Lily whistles with her fingers between her teeth.

“It’s time to wish D’Artagnan a happy birthday!” The whole town starts singing, and I look at Rafe, whose eyes are calm and peaceful. He swallows, and I know how much this must mean to him. I’ve been with him all day, and never once did he bring up his parents. And here we are, a tiny town in a spot he never planned to stay, showing him just how much he has a place here.

After having our fill of coffee, birthday cake, and maple croissants (of course I made more for him), we end up on the makeshift dance floor. Couples dance about. Grey with her friend Boston, and Lily with a concerned-looking Ted, while Graham watches her from the corner with a clenched jaw.

My thoughts are interrupted from wandering toward what that could be about when Rafe leans to whisper in my ear, “I love you. Thank you.”

I wrap my arms more tightly around his neck, my fingers playing with the bottom of his hair and the pieces that flip out when he wears a baseball cap. The love of my life is back in this beautiful misfit of a town, and my heart is full. “Are you happy?”

He studies my face with what can only be described as awe. “Never been happier.”

“Good. That’s good,” I confess, tipping my head to give him a smile.

He pulls me closer to him, his strong hands wrapping around my waist. “From the first moment we met, I knew.” I study his face, no trace of playfulness about it now. He leans in closer and hugs me tight. It’s the kind of hug that heals. “Thank you for letting me hold you,” he whispers against my ear. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted when it comes to you.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rafe

I’m waiting for a call for a potential opportunity, which is why I’m pacing across Sparrow’s living room floor. The rogue remaining leaves on the trees outside are swirling and lightly hitting the windows in all their fall glory.

My demands were fairly simple and straightforward, but I’m still nervous. I’ve been burned before. So burned. But a woman has changed how I see the scars, and I’m ready to hope again. I’ve also learned not to be so trusting when it comes to protecting my creative work, so I asked for fair royalties and credits on each of the songs. I know artists sometimes get caught up in asking for less because they want to break into the scene, but I need this win. After losing everything, you realize how much you can still lose in the future.

Sparrow went to work at the bakery, and I’ve just been waiting. So much waiting. Apparently, a man named Ben was in the audience at my show in Nashville, and he is a fan of Histoire. Knowing I’m in the States, his company wants to meet with me to see what may be possible for a future collaboration and is interested in seeing what can be created with some of the American artists who are also fluent in French. All I know is that I’m so close to seeing my dream realized. To have one or more of my songs out in the world. I never wanted to be in the front or on the stage, and this gives me the chance to live out the dream and still earn my own way.

The ring of the phone cuts through the air, and I nearly jump. “Yes, hello?”

“This is Ben Carmine. Is this Rafe Durand?”

I take in a breath. “Yes, sir, it is.”

“Great. We’ve reviewed your requests for a collaboration, and everything looks good. We would like you to meet with some of our premier artists, get a feel for them in person, and collaborate with their teams on some of the directions they’d like to go in. We’ll start with one of our artists who is fluent in French. She’s looking to expand into the French market and has an affinity for some of the songs you’ve written. Do you have a manager?”

I freeze. This isn’t great. Of course I’d need one for this type of deal. But then I remember I have a friend who said he’d do anything for me. And I realize in an instant that he’d be great at it. Time to take another chance. “Yes, sir. I do.”

“Excellent. Send us over their information, and we’ll send over a contract within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Great. Thank you, sir. I’m grateful.” And I am. I feel the emotion filling my lungs and hold my eyes to avoid any tears leaking out. It’s been such a long road, and if I hadn’t met Sparrow, this would definitely seem too good to be true. But she makes me believe that good things can happen. So I’m going to accept this for what it is—a gift.

“We’re glad to have you. I know I’m a businessman, but I have a good feeling about this.”

“So do I, sir. Thanks again.”

“We’ll be in touch soon. Oh, and I understand another congratulations is in order for you getting your girl.”

A full smile breaks out on my face. “Yes, she’s my dream.”

“Well, good. That’s how it should be—or so I hear. Feel free to bring her with you when you come back to LA.”

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