Page 31 of The Magic of Provence

‘Why is that?’

‘I can’t quite remember. It’s a very long time since that particular lecture at university and it was about all sorts of hooves – cows and goats and sheep as well as donkeys and horses.’

‘Did you go to university to learn to become a farrier?’

‘No. That was by working as an apprentice. University was for vet school.’

Christophe unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck but didn’t put the earpieces in place. He was staring at Fi’s back as she bent over the hoof she was holding in her hand, using her knife to clean it.

His tone was astonished. ‘You went to university to become a vet?’

He saw the way she froze. He heard how strangled her dismissive words were.

‘For a while. It didn’t work out.’

He could also hear the regret that she had shared the information in the first place and he could almost hear distant doors being slammed shut. He was not welcome in this space. He suspected no one was. Was it because she didn’t want anyone to think less of her because she had failed in some way?

Christophe, of all people, could understand that.

He made a sound of what he hoped was acknowledgement with no hint of judgement and they worked in silence again after that. They both seemed to have stepped a little too close to boundaries that were there for a reason.

Perhaps the picnic lunch, which he’d made with such care last night, would make things right again between them?

* * *

She’d let her guard down, hadn’t she?

Enough to open a window into a part of her life that she had no intention of sharing with Christophe.

It was a relief to focus on finishing the work they’d come to do. By the time the last physical check, dosage of worm paste and foot trim had been completed the peacefulness of both the forest and the small herd of donkeys had worked its magic.

With Heidi lying under the hunter’s table as Christophe unpacked the picnic, any residual fragments of discomfort had evaporated. He was smiling as he offered her a drink and a slice of the pizza he’d made for their lunch.

Maybe the fact that the food was cold somehow enhanced the flavours. Or perhaps it was just astonishingly delicious at any temperature. Fi closed her eyes as she chewed the first mouthful. Very slowly, so she didn’t miss anything. Rosemary, that was the herb that Christophe hadn’t known in English. She’d recognised the baked leaves scattered over a cheese layer above the spinach and goat’s cheese that had created a golden-brown bed for the mushrooms. She savoured everything, swallowed and made an appreciative murmur. And then she licked her lips in anticipation of the next bite.

She could feel that Christophe was watching her. He was sitting at the head of the table, at right angles to Fi, and he was close enough for her to feel how still he was. She knew he was waiting. That her opinion of his food was important to him. She opened her eyes, lifted her gaze, a smile already beginning to emerge, as she tried to think of an appropriate superlative for his amazingly good cooking, but then it died on her lips.

Oh,my…

The way he was looking at her mouth in the heartbeat of time when she’d just finished licking her lips.

The look in his eyes the moment they met hers as he liftedhisgaze.

Was it her imagination or was he thinking aboutkissingher?

Did shewanthim to think about kissing her?

No.

Absolutelynot! She hit the notion on the head with a mental sledgehammer but it also killed what she’d intended to say about the food.

In the nanosecond before it could all become incredibly awkward, salvation came in the form of a ringtone and Christophe pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped the screen to answer a call.

‘Ciao, Mamma.Ça va?’

Fi could see the screen of his phone. A woman with dark, shoulder-length wavy hair was staring back – ather.

‘Christophe?’ A stream of what sounded like rapid-fire questions followed in Italian and Fi heard her name more than once as they were answered.

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