Page 29 of Falling for Provence

For a heartbeat, all Ellie wanted was to sink into that feeling. To let herself start falling, even, knowing that the process would be anything but painful. The triggering of an internal alarm might have been entirely silent, but it was palpable enough to make the hairs on the back of Ellie’s neck prickle.

Safety was only an illusion, wasn’t it? It could get snatched away in the blink of an eye and, the more you believed in it, the more shattering it was when that happened. Falling in love might be deliciously painless, but losing it could tear your heart into a million bleeding pieces.

Ellie couldn’t allow it to happen again. She was nowhere near ready to even think about it happening. She felt as though she wouldn’t survive another loss of someone she loved, so she couldn’t afford to trust any impression of safety. With an enormous effort, she pushed back. Julien released her instantly, but Ellie made the mistake of looking up as she stepped out of his embrace.

Dark, dark eyes. So full of compassion that she was caught all over again. He did understand. Of course he did – he’d lost someone he loved that much, too. And, while that connection of shared loss was a layer of attraction quite apart from anything physical, the combination – in the aftermath of an emotional rollercoaster of fear and relief – was proving to be an irresistible force. Was Julien also aware of it?

He seemed to be. His expression was changing as he held eye contact, and then his gaze dropped to her lips, and Ellie knew he was thinking about kissing her.

And, heaven help her, shewantedhim to.

Somuch.

Toomuch.

She’d avoided feeling anything this strong in a very long time. She’d known that panic would be close behind, and she could feel it now, snapping at the heels of any thoughts of letting herself give in to a longing this powerful.

She had to escape.

‘I have to go,’ she said. Inspiration sprang from sudden anxiety as she turned swiftly away from Julien. ‘Oh, my God… I left Pascal tied up to that bench.’ She was already halfway to the door. ‘I hope he’s still there.’

10

The relief of finding the little white dog curled up and asleep in the shade beneath the bench had been oddly overwhelming. Ellie hid her face against his scruffy curls for a moment or two while she regained her composure, but she still needed to swipe a tear away as they headed back to where she’d left her bicycle.

The relief of getting back to what was her safe space in this temporary new life was also huge. Walking into this small, solid, golden-stoned house felt like walking into a mother’s hug.

It felt like home.

But it was a home that was very different to anything Ellie had ever known before. This was nothing like the cluttered bustle of growing up with her sisters, with the sound of laughter interwoven with the sharp tones of yet another dispute between the girls or the authoritative tone of Mam, or Laura, taking control. It was nothing like the frequent silences of living above that rented studio with Liam, either. Not the creative kind of silences when they were both immersed in the art that had been a huge part of the attraction between them, but the ones where it was dangerous to say or do anything because eggshells would getbroken, and it would always, always be Ellie who got hurt by the shards of those shells.

This room, with the golden glow of stonework, the rich red of the floor and the tantalising streaks of sunshine finding their way through the bars of the shutters, offered a silence that was imbued with a sense of… peace, that’s what it was. Ellie crouched to detach Pascal’s lead and then found herself sitting on the cool tiles, wrapping her arms around her knees and closing her eyes as she breathed in exactly what she needed in this moment: an opportunity to step back from the emotional rollercoaster, with the drama of that choking child and that desperate desire to stay in Julien’s arms, and to find a calm place in her head – and her heart. To sink into the stillness that hung in the air in here and seemed to offer the promise that everything would be okay. Thatshewas going to be okay. That life would feel like it was really worth living again. All she needed to do was to breathe in the sense of peace that was the result of a unique alchemy of components that she was only just beginning to identify, and to take one step at a time.

She’d felt it before, without being able to identify it, when she’d known that she needed to stay here, because she’d felt the possibility of finding the person that was still buried in the aftermath of soul-destroying events. She’d felt the magic of a particular combination of elements, and it was a magic that could shift its shape. It could be a glow of inspiration. This sense of peace. Hope for the future.

The polite scratch of a small paw against the doors to the terrace got Ellie to her feet, but she could still feel that stillness, even as she began moving again.

‘I think it’s going to be okay,’ she told Pascal as she let him outside. ‘What do you think?’

He was heading towards the nearest lemon tree in the orchard but paused at her questioning tone and looked back.Ellie knew it was hot and that Pascal was panting, but it looked, for all the world, as if he was smiling at her. As if he agreed.

She was aware of another wash of that relief she’d felt seeing him still tied to the bench, curled up safely asleep beneath the seat. How awful would she have felt if he’d somehow become untied and run away in fear? That anxiety had been disturbing because it suggested that she might still be capable of feeling the warmth and protectiveness and relief that only came when you cared deeply about someone or something. When you loved them. And that would mean that Pascal had somehow found a chink in the armour she was relying on to protect her heart.

That didn’t ring the same alarm bells that the thought of falling in love with Julien had, however, because this was just a small dog, not a person. And it was only temporary. She would be leaving France and Pascal would have a new home with Julien’s grandmother. Surely it was safe enough to enjoy something that would only be a memory soon? Like so many things that were making it feel that this tiny patch of the earth was custom-made to heal her soul – the soft light and colours, the musical drift of the language and the taste and heat of socca straight from the oven. Pascal was a part of that mix in his own right, and she would never forget sitting in the square with him today or being in this tiny orchard with this deliciously fresh scent of lemons. The more memories like this that she could hold close to her heart in the future, the better.

Ellie followed Pascal further into the orchard, stooping to pick up some of the fruit. Maybe she was also searching for enough distraction, for more distance, to prevent her thoughts returning to the drama of the market.

‘I’m going to make some lemonade,’ she decided. ‘And lemon honey. And… what else can you do with lemons?’

The Internet provided an answer to that question when she and Pascal curled up on the sofa to escape the intense mid-afternoon heat.

‘Limoncello,’ she read aloud. ‘A sweet, smooth drink that can be sipped straight from the bottle you keep in the freezer will bestow the tang of lemons to sparkling water and can be shaken into cocktails that will be a favourite party tipple. Wow… that sounds quite a bit more exciting than lemonade, doesn’t it?’

Pascal’s tail thumped against the worn leather of the sofa.

‘It says that the lemon skin is the most important ingredient, and they have to be the right sort of lemons, like the ones that grow on the Amalfi Coast in Italy. I’m guessing we have the right sort of lemons here – we’re not that far from the Italian border, are we?’ Ellie lapsed into silence, making a mental list of other ingredients she’d need to buy, like vodka and sugar.

She needed to write this recipe down so she didn’t have to go online to find it again, and the only paper she knew she had was that sketchbook she’d left in the suitcase Laura had sent over. It was only natural to pick up the case of pencils that had been packed with it, to save her hunting for another writing implement. As a teenager Ellie had had a bit of a passion for calligraphy, and it was a skill she’d used ever since if she had something like a card to write. It was too hot to do anything too energetic in the way of house or garden improvements at the moment, anyway, and taking her time to add the curls and flourishes to these words should be an enjoyable distraction.

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