Page 51 of Falling for Provence

Her eyes were, yet again, filling with tears that were also about to overflow. But she was smiling at the same time.

And maybe… just maybe… the balance had shifted a little. Because this was the first time that Ellie could see even a shred of truth in what people had been telling her for months. That time would heal the pain. That one day there would be joy to be found in her memories. The joy had always been there, but somehow it had been able to feed rather than override that unbearable sense of loss.

Until now…?

17

Julien never knew quite what to expect when he took the private route to La Maisonetteand walked through his garden to climb over the fence and into the olive grove. Ellie knew he was coming back from Roquebillière this evening, and he rather hoped she might be sitting out on her terrace waiting for him. He had a bottle of wine in his hands, and they couldprend un verrebefore he took her out to dinner.

There was a Michelin-starred restaurant in Vence that he hadn’t taken her to yet, and he knew she would love the intimate feeling of the small tables in the garden courtyard. He wanted to see her reaction to the stunning food they served, as well. Would she close her eyes and tilt her head back a little to focus on how delicious something was? The way he’d first seen her do when she was eating her favourite cheese?

The way she did when he kissed her? Or ran his fingers over her body with a gentle, teasing touch as a prelude to so much more?

Oh,mon Dieu… he’d been looking forward to getting home all day, and the anticipation of making love to Ellie had justreached an almost unbearable pitch. Perhaps a late dinner would be a good idea.

There was always the possibility that she would be oblivious to the time of day and in the middle of a task she was too passionate about to want to be interrupted. Something artistic perhaps, like her sketches. Or messy, like chipping plaster from stone walls. His mouth curved into a lopsided smile as he remembered the first time he’d taken this route to find her and he’d been concerned she was deathly ill, with the pallor the plaster dust on her skin had created. She might be out driving in her little red car, of course. Or riding her bicycle. Or…

Oh, la vache… what on earth was Elliedoing?

Julien could see her on the other side of the olive grove as soon as he climbed over the fence. Pascal was keeping a safe distance away from her. One of the donkeys – Marguerite, it looked like – was standing right behind her, looking over her shoulder. Coquelicot was… almost unrecognisable because she was covered with a white, foamy substance. Ellie had a bucket at her feet and a large sponge in her hands and she, too, was covered in…

Soap suds, that’s what the substance was.

Ellie was also very damp. She had shorts on, with suds dripping down those gorgeous legs of hers, and a tee shirt that was covered in paint stains and…oh… it was wet enough to be very obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She was also laughing.

‘I’m sorry, Coquelicot. I put too much shampoo in the water. I’ll have to go and get another bucket to rinse you off with. Probably lots of buckets. Don’t go anywhere.’

Ellie picked up the bucket, turned to see Julien coming towards her and promptly put it down again. Her face lit up with joy. She pushed curls back from her face, which left soap suds in her hair, and came towards him.

Julien, having had the idea of taking Ellie somewhere very elegant for dinner, was wearing a favourite pair of chinos and a freshly ironed linen shirt, but it didn’t occur to him not to put down the bottle he was carrying and take Ellie into his arms.

And kiss her.

Thoroughly.

So thoroughly they could well have ended up making love in the olive grove, except that Ellie pulled away with a sound of frustration.

‘I can’t leave Coquelicot all soapy. And I still need to shampoo Marguerite.’

‘Why?’

‘It seemed like a good idea. My sister Laura is arriving tomorrow to take photos of the house to use for the marketing campaign, and I thought the donkeys should look their best so they can be in the photos, too. I’ve left it a bit late in the day, though, and I’ll need to get them as dry as I can with the old towels. I can brush them in the morning.’

Several thoughts were competing for prominence in Julien’s head as he tried to listen. The reminder that this property would soon be sold, so the end point of his time with her was getting closer, was a bit of a shock. He couldn’t intrude on the time she would have with her sister, which meant that being with her was off the agenda for the duration of the visit, and his body was letting him know in no uncertain terms just how much he wanted to be with Ellie. Right now. And for as long as possible.

The awareness of how much he was going to miss this was trying to push its way in; right on its heels was the desire to make the most of every single moment that was left.

But he loved that she wanted to wash the donkeys so they would look good in photographs. He loved that she loved the donkeys and was no longer afraid of them, the way she had been when she’d thought she was rescuing Theo from certain death.

It would be so easy to loveher, it was as simple as that – or as simple as it would have been in another time and place, before his world had changed beyond recognition. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make the most of these moments of escape with Ellie. If anything, it made it more important to gather memories he would be able to treasure.

‘I have a…’ The word in English escaped him, perhaps because his brain was still trying to grapple with an underlying sense of urgency that came with the reminder that their time together was limited. ‘Untuyau d’arrosage. You know?’

‘No…’ Ellie was laughing. ‘I have no idea what that is.’

‘It might help get the soap off. It’s for putting water on the garden.’

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