“You speak French,” I observed.
He nodded. “I do.”
“But you’re not French?”
He shook his head. “My parents kept moving. Zimbabwe, Canada, France, England… But I’ve never seen a kitchen like this.”
I moved to the sink, which was big enough to rinse several grouse in — something I’d witnessed Madame Picard do when I was a kid. A stone fireplace with space to roast an entire ox took up most of the far wall, where a chain still hung, part of a mechanism to turn the spit. Wooden counters ran the length of each wall, while pots and ladles hung over the center island.
“I’m hoping to rent the space out for filming,” I said. “Movies, commercials, whatever.”
Madame Picard looked scandalized, but Bene nodded readily.
“Good idea. This is amazing.” Then he shot me a wry look. “If only it came with a half-decent coffee machine.”
I ignored that, using his previous comment to segue into a different topic.
“Where are the other guys from? Roux is French, right?”
He nodded. “Marius is Swiss-German, but he’s lived all over.”
Now that was a surprise, but maybe not such a surprise. I loved the tidy perfection of Switzerland, but I knew it grated on some people — especially people who didn’t like to play by the rules.
“And Henrik… He said, the Duchy of…?” I asked.
Bene shrugged. “Part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth that no longer exists,” he said, inching toward the macarons cooling on a counter.
Madame Picard smacked his hand. “Those, young man, are for after dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He hung his head and retreated to the dining room.
I sighed. I could do bossy, but Madame Picard could be downright menacing.
“It comes with age,” she chuckled, reading my mind. “Now, run along and leave me in peace.”
That was one of many qualities that made Madame Picard a godsend — she was happy to rule the kitchen single-handedly, and I was happy to leave her to it.
I took off for a round of errands in my battered old Citroën afterward, stocking up on more groceries, more napkins…moreeverything, including enough red meat to feed an entire coven of vampires. I even wandered through the appliance section of the huge Hypermarché in Auxerre, the nearest town of notable size. But one look at the price tag of the espresso machines had me scurrying back to the discount aisles.
I made a last stop for more bread at the bakery in Auberre, then halted on my way back to the car.
“Shit,” I muttered, spotting Clement beside it. He pulled out a little notebook and checked the license plate. Oops. Had I parked illegally?
“It’s mine.” I hurried over, adding a meeker, “Sorry!”
Clement looked up and broke into a smile. And I mean, asmile. One so radiant, it made my heart flutter.
Apparently, he was just as single as I was and just as lonely.
“Mina.” Just two syllables, but they rolled off his tongue like poetry.
“Bonjour.” I waved, suddenly self-conscious. “I guess I was in a hurry. No parking here, huh?”
He put away his notebook. “Now you know.”
“You’re not going to ticket me?”
“Now, what kind of welcome home would that be?” His sparkling eyes implied he would be happy to welcome me into his home just as warmly.
