Page 23 of Where the Snakes Sleep

Duret turns, his irritation sharpening when he sees me. “Ce n’est pas votre affaire, Moreau.” It is none of your business, Moreau.

“It is when you quote three times the proper amount,” I say in English, casting a glance toward Ryan.

Ryan looks between us. “Oh, um… Is there a problem?”

“No,” Duret says, far too quickly. “No problem.”

“There is a problem,” I correct. “He believes you will pay whatever he asks because you are American and because your grandfather was Alberte Legrand.”

Duret mutters something beneath his breath that I do not catch but can tell is nothing Ryan deserves to hear.

I take one step closer. “Répète ça,” I say coldly. Repeat that.

He doesn’t, and within the next three minutes, the quote has been reduced to a reasonable amount and the work scheduled for the following week. Duret leaves without offering either of us a farewell.

Ryan watches his van disappear around the bend, then turns to me. “Thank you.”

At last.

“You are welcome.”

“How bad was the first price?”

“Insulting.”

“I figured,” he sighs.

“You intended to pay it.”

His brows draw together. “I mean, yeah. I don’t know what roof repairs are supposed to cost here anyway.”

“Which is why you should have asked me.” There is perhaps more frustration in my tone than necessary.

Ryan crosses his arms. “I didn’t know you were the local roofing-price expert.”

“I am not. I am, however, French.”

“Congratulations.”

The word catches me so off guard that I can’t fully suppress the quirk of my lips.

“You insist upon making simple matters difficult,” I tell him.

“And you insist on acting like I’m incapable of doing anything without you,” he snaps back like an annoyed kitten.

“You were about to give that man enough money to repair two roofs.”

“I was still negotiating.” His lips press together.

Ryan studies me, his gaze moving from my eyes to my mouth, lingering there for a fraction too long, then dropping to the open collar of my shirt before skirting away.

Hm.

It is not the first time I have noticed his attention, though until now I had dismissed the earlier incidents as solely suspicion. He watches me often, but watching does not necessarily indicate attraction. Fear, curiosity, and distrust can all hold the gaze with equal intensity.

This is different.

His eyes return to my chest before he catches himself, and the colour at the tops of his cheeks deepens.