Page 7 of Love in Bloom

CHAPTER THREE

Nice

Camille held on to her sun hat as she raised her head to look at the colors of the charming buildings of Old Nice. The toe of her sandal caught on a cobblestone, and she tripped.

Tristan caught her by the elbow, stopping her fall.

“Thank you.” Embarrassment coursed through her. She was usually graceful.

He tucked her hand in his elbow. “Perhaps it would be best to hold on to me when you’re craning your neck, so you don’t break it.” He patted her hand, and that funny warmth returned to her skin.

“Yes, good idea.” She looked around. “It’s like walking through a living picture book. All the colors, the sights, the smells. I feel a bit like tiny Alice in Wonderland.” She didn’t know what cologne Tristan wore but thought she caught traces of clove and bergamot, perhaps with a hint of lime? Whatever it was, it intoxicated her.

“Does that make me the Cheshire Cat or the Mad Hatter?” he asked.

“Why not the white rabbit or the caterpillar?”

“I never thought of myself as the nervous or the condescending type.”

“No, you never were, and I think you’re too sensible to be the Mad Hatter. I suppose that makes you the Cheshire Cat. You certainly have the smile for it. Wide even white teeth, and your smile reaches all the way up to your light brown eyes. I’m so happy you don’t have yellow ones, like the cat. That would be creepy, and I’d never feel comfortable around you. I’d always wonder if you were a version of the Cheshire Cat that was going to eat me or lead me astray. Thankfully, though, you don’t talk in nonsensical riddles. You know, I never really liked the cat, he’s rude and unhelpful, completely the opposite of you. You can’t be the cat. That simply won’t do. You must be one of the other characters, but which one?”

“Perhaps I am a new character?”

“A new character! Can we do that? I don’t know that Mr. Carroll would approve.”

“Camille, I think Mr. Carroll’s approval flew out the window many years ago. Can you imagine what he would make of the movies about Alice and Wonderland?”

“No, I suppose not. But he lived in a time when they didn’t have cinema, so maybe he’d be enchanted with the idea of bringing his writings to life for all the world to enjoy. Isn’t that the goal of every writer?”

“As I’m not a writer, I wouldn’t know.”

“I suppose not.” Camille had been so engrossed in conversation she’d forgotten to pay attention to where they were. “Tristan, where are we?”

“The market at Cours Selaya.” He swept his arm out.

“It really is like a picture book.” She took in the sight of the brightly colored wagons and stalls overflowing with goods.

“It seems the market is open most days. Shall we?”

“Absolutely.” She steered them toward a wagon of flowers, conscious of her hand on Tristan’s arm. The short sleeves of his green polo shirt allowed her to feel the contraction and relaxing of the muscles in his forearm. He had a slender build, and Camille tried hard not to think of how well he would look in his swimsuit on the beach. “Look at the color on these irises. They are stunning. I’ve never seen them quite that vibrant before.” She fingered a soft petal of the three erupting from the stem. “I’ve never seen this hue. Part purple, part blue. It would make a stunning eye shadow, especially for the indecisive woman. She could have the best of both worlds. I’ll send a picture of it to the office. They can start work on adding it to the next line.” She aimed her phone camera lens at the flower, but a hand blocked the image. She looked up at Tristan. “What are you doing?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be working during your month of rest and relaxation.”

“It’s only a picture, harmless. I’m sure no one would mind.”

He lowered her phone with his hand. “I can see the wheels turning in that magnificent brain of yours. I saw that look often enough in the chemistry lab when we were partners. You’re thinking.” He tapped one index finger on her forehead. “How about this? I’ll take the pictures, and when your vacation is up, I’ll send them to you. Then you can go crazy in the lab back home.”

Camille huffed out a breath. “This is so maddening and ridiculous. I had to give up all my favorite foods. I’m banished from work. And now I can’t even cultivate ideas for when I return?” She frowned at him. “You’re not the boss of me.”

He chuckled.

Something about that sound made it hard for Camille to truly be irritated with him.

“No one could ever be the boss of you, Camille. I applaud the man who would be brave enough to try. You always knew your own mind. That’s one of the things I liked about you.”

“There were more?” Camille clamped a hand over her mouth. Why did she care what Tristan liked about her at university? Or what he liked about her now? They were old school chums on an enjoyable walk in the south of France, nothing more. She needed to remember that and not read extra meaning into anything Tristan said or did. If this is what a little attention from a man could do to her head and heart, she really needed to follow Connor’s advice and get out. She resolved to do so when she returned to London.

“Do we have a deal? I’ll take the pictures and send them to you after your sabbatical is up.”

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