Page 25 of Love on the Vine
Lost in thought, I passed the pétanque grounds where the old men were gathering and heard someone call my name. I turned around to see Michel waving at me and wandered over to where he and his friends were lounging against the stone wall.
“We haven’t seen you much this summer,” he said, rubbing his hand across his large belly. “Though I can understand why you’ve been hiding away. Late nights?”
The other man chuckled and elbowed his neighbor in the ribs. “Ah, young love.”
“Chantal was beginning to despair for you. She couldn’t understand why you were still by yourself after all these years.” Cold disbelief spread over me. All these comments were beginning to make sense in a horrifying way.
“She’s adorable! And a very gifted player. If only my own daughter enjoyed pétanque as much!” said Christophe, who ran thetabac. The others nodded in turn and congratulated me.
“No, it’s not like that,” I said. “Olivia is working for me this summer. That’s all.”
Michel scoffed like he didn’t believe me. “That’s not what she said.”
“What exactly did she say?” I set my things down and rubbed a thumb over my throbbing temple. In small villages like these, gossip spread quicker than butter on hot toast, and I’d always been careful to keep my private life private.
“We asked her if you were going to make an honest woman of her and she said ‘oui,’” Christophe offered.
“Chantal has been teaching her all your favorite recipes so she can keep you as happy at the table as you are in bed,” added Michel.
“What?” I had asked Chantal to show Olivia some local recipes to assuage my guilt for ignoring her while she reorganized my wine inventory. Chantal was an excellent cook and a fount of knowledge for traditional cuisine. I’d told her not to tell Olivia that I’d suggested it. Apparently, I should have made it clear that I had no ulterior motives for these lessons.
“She said you were getting married in the fall,” added Christophe.
“Whoa, whoa.” There was no way that Olivia would have been able to communicate all this information in French. And then I remembered how she told me she had decided to just say yes to every question she was asked. “Did she tell you we were getting married, or did she just nod her head and agree with you?”
“What does it matter? She agreed, she agreed.” Michel chuckled.
I rubbed my hand over my eyes. For as long as I’d been in town, over ten years now, Chantal had been trying to set me up with nieces, cousins, nieces of cousins, and dropping not so subtle hints that I needed a wife to take care of me. Of courseshe would have assumed that Olivia was my girlfriend. And, stupidly, I hadn’t filled her in on the details. Then Olivia, with her limited French and desire to be agreeable, had managed to say yes to all the wrong things.
“We understand if you want to keep things quiet for now,” said Michel and the others murmured their agreement. “But we want to be invited to the wedding.” He slapped me on the back. “Will you join us? Have a Ricard.”
“No, I have work to do,” I lied.
“Always working this one. What, still not rich enough?” Michel raised his glass to me. I inclined my head to them and left, heading back up the hill toward the house. There was no point in setting them straight. I’d just have to let them have their fun and hope they’d move on to something else soon.
As I climbed back up the hill, I couldn’t help but wonder why they were so delighted with the idea of me being with Olivia. Wasn’t it perfectly obvious that we weren’t suited at all?
* * *
When I got back to the house, Olivia was sitting at the table under the olive tree with her laptop open and a notebook next to her, completely oblivious to the confusion she’d created in the village. I couldn’t even be irritated with her since she hadn’t done it on purpose.
When she flashed one of her brilliant smiles at me as I approached, I understood why the whole town was so enamored of her. “You’re back. I thought you’d taken the day off.”
“No such luck.”
Concern flickered across her features, and I wondered how much Jin had told her about our problems with the Shangri-La Group. “I won’t bother you then.”
“You’re not.” I handed her the croissants in the paper bag. “Here, I brought you breakfast.”
“Thank you. You’re always so considerate.” That wasn’t true, but she said it with such conviction and obvious pleasure that a small thrill ran through me. “Would you like some coffee? I can make more.”
“No, thanks, I’ve already had two espressos. I’ll be bouncing off the walls if I have any more.” I sat down at the table with her. The scent of her perfume drifted over me as a gentle breeze stirred the pages of her notebook. As she smoothed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her elegant neck encircled by a delicate gold necklace, I once again found myself wanting to run my fingers through the dark strands to see if they were as soft as I’d imagined.
Forcing myself to look away from her, I studied the curling script of the notes she’d been taking. “What are you writing?”
“I’m going over my tasting notes. Jin made me promise not to embarrass him while we’re in Burgundy. So I’m doing some research,” she said sheepishly.
Right, Burgundy. I’d nearly forgotten about that. A full week in her company.Fuck.
