Page 32 of Falling for Provence

He’d very nearly kissed her, that’s what he’d done.

Merde… It was no wonder that Ellie had been so eager to get away from him. Why she seemed to have been avoiding him since then. Or was he avoiding her? The end result was the same, in any case, and was probably for the best for both of them, but it was frustratingly difficult not to be thinking about her. He’d caught glimpses of movement at the small house, and it wasn’t just Ellie who was busy working there. He’d heard the sounds of hammering when he’d come home for lunch and the shouts of masculine voices. He’d seen the vans of tradesmen parked further down the road and, on one occasion, heard the drift of laughter that he could swear included the sound of Ellie’s voice.

She was getting on with what she was here to do – bringing that old house back to life. And then it would go on the market to be sold and she would go back to Scotland and vanish from his life. Julien could forget about her. Perhaps he could also forget the shame that came with the knowledge that he’d come so close to taking advantage of a distressed woman. Nearly kissing her in a way that would have had nothing at all to do with comfort and everything to do with sheer physical attraction. Perhaps even more than mere physical attraction?

That was a disturbing thought.

He’d been blown away by understanding how courageous Ellie was and the glimpse he’d had of just how much she was capable of caring. She had a generosity of spirit that made her seem completely trustworthy, but, thanks to bitter experience, Julien knew better than to rely on his impressions when it came to trusting women.

He could, however, trust his instinct in feeling the need to apologise in some way. For his own pride, he wanted Ellie toknow that he hadn’t been trying to use a tense situation to try and seduce her into something she had no wish to happen.

Except…

There’d been a moment there. A long moment that was not only imprinted on his memory but, when he recalled it, also felt in his body as an odd tingling sensation that started in his gut and reached the very tips of his fingers and toes. It was not a sensation that he recognised, but it was not unpleasant. Far from it. It was like a mix of anticipation – excitement even – and… hope. For what, he had no idea.

Hope for the future, perhaps. For life in general and for the ability to trust again?

Just a moment. No more than the space of a few heartbeats, but it had been enough to see, or possibly just feel, something he hadn’t expected to see.

Ellie hadwantedhim to kiss her.

And, if they’d both wanted it to happenthatmuch, maybe it was inevitable that itwasgoing to happen.

Maybe just once would be all that was needed.

To find out if there was a reason why it seemed so very important.

11

It was Bert the builder who suggested breaking the padlock securing the stable door of the shed in the front garden of La Maisonette.

He’d turned up with Mike the plumber to tackle the list of handyman jobs that needed to be done, and both men were in the kitchen as Ellie made a pot of tea to go with the lunch she was providing. Their attention was initially caught by the huge bowl of lemons on the table.

‘I’m thinking of making some limoncello,’ she explained. ‘I just need to find out where I can buy a bottle of 95 per cent alcohol.’

‘You’ll have to go across the border for that,’ Mike told her. ‘But it’s easy to buy in any pharmacy or supermarket in Italy.’

Ellie’s breath came out in an amused huff at the idea of finding the time for a day trip to Italy. She led the way out to the terrace. ‘It’s just an idea.’

‘I’ve got a mate who lives down south. I’ll see if he’s coming up this way and he could bring you some.’

They talked about selling the house as they ate cheese and ham baguettes.

‘It’ll sell fast,’ Bert said. ‘It’s got a garage, which is a big plus on narrow roads like this one. Like hen’s teeth around here, garages are.’

‘It’s just a shed,’ Ellie said. ‘The door is on the side, in the garden.’

Mike shook his head. ‘I reckon that ivy on the road end is covering one of those metal tilt doors. Or maybe an old wooden one. It’d be worth uncovering that.’

Ellie laughed. ‘Thanks. I’ll add it to the list.’

‘We could take a look inside while we’re here,’ Bert suggested. ‘I’ve got bolt cutters. Big ones. They’d cut through that padlock like it was butter.’

‘Only if you’ve got the muscle to use them,’ Mike laughed. He flexed an undeniably impressive bicep. ‘Reckon I’d better do the cutting.’

Ellie topped up the mug of tea on the wrought-iron table in front of Bert, who was half Mike’s size and probably a couple of decades older. He was also a craftsman builder, and he’d just finished expertly repairing the broken shutter and stopping the basement door from catching when it was only half open. Ellie was more than happy with his work, and she smiled at him now.

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ she said. ‘I could get a new padlock with a key from thebricolage. It would be nice to have somewhere safe to store my bike outside, although I’m still not sure it’s big enough to be a garage.’

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