“Speaking of adult conversations, I don’t think I’m telling anything out of school, but there are a lot of adults in town who would be happy to converse with you anytime,” Rosalyn said, taking a seat at the counter. “You seem to have developed a reputation as a solo act.”
“It’s complicated. I left the town when I was barely eighteen, with very different plans for my life. It was hard to come back after...” He trailed off and let out a long breath. “After that. It’s not that I dislike the town or anyoneintown—just that we don’t have much in common. There’s a reason I left in the first place; I wanted something else from my life. Not necessarily better, just... something different.”
Rosalyn nodded. “I understand. What’s that old saying—‘Life is what happens while you’re making other plans’?”
“Quite right. Plus, I despise gossip—and since, as I imagine you have heard, I have already provided the townsfolk with plenty to gossip about, however inadvertently, I’m determined not to give them any more.”
“That sounds like something of a short-term plan.”
“I’m not certain how long I’ll be around.”
“You’re leaving?”
Jérôme shrugged but did not elaborate, so she continued. “I take it the gated area next door is the infamous Comtois collection?”
He nodded distractedly, rummaging through a shopping bag. “Damn. I forgot shallots. Ah well...”
“You know, in America we have these places called convenience stores....”
“We have those here, too. Like Dominique’s.”
“Yes, but our convenience stores are actually open when it’s convenient. Including saints’ days, and nights.”
“That might be convenient for the customer, but not for the people forced to work on holidays.”
“That’s a plus of being a nation of immigrants. A Hindu works on Christmas no problem, I work on Tet no problem, and so on and so on.”
He gazed at her with a small smile playing on his lips. “Is that how it works?”
“Theoretically.” She shrugged. “Although I suppose a lot of people do wind up working on holidays they’d rather be celebrating.”
Laurent showed up clutching three books and a game of tic-tac-toe.
“What have we here, eh?” Rosalyn asked. “I’ll have you know, my dear sir Laurent, that I am the Napa Valley tic-tac-toe champion.”
“Really?” Laurent asked.
She nodded. “Care to try me?”
Rosalyn was able to lose the first game, but Laurent was a smart child, and after that, the best she could manage was to tie several games in a row.
“Papa! Did you see? I won! I am the champion!”
“Well played, Laurent,” Jérôme said, with a wink at Rosalyn. “Why don’t you be a good host and offermadamemore champagne, and perhaps she will play another game with you?”
“It’s a deal,” Rosalyn said.
“It’s a deal,” Laurent echoed.
Rosalyn then dealt out a deck of cards and taught him how to play war, a simple card game that she explained wasla guerre.Each player took half a deck of cards, then placed their top card, facing upward, on the table at the same time. Whoever had the higher card won that round, and whoever had the most cards at the end of the game won the war.
“J’ai gagné la guerre.”Laurent ran around the kitchen crowing upon taking Rosalyn’s last card.“J’ai gagné la guerre!”
“In English, Laurent!” Jérôme called out.
“I have won ze war! I have won ze war!”
“I admit it. I am defeated, young sir,” said Rosalyn. “Now, how about you wash your hands before dinner?”
