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Besides, women like her didn’t dare to be the first to offer a kiss. She simply didn’t have the courage. She tightened her fingers around the handle of the brush, nodded her thanks, and bent forward to dip the brush in the paint again, glad for the excuse to take her hand out of his.
Something flickered across his face, but she didn’t dare identify it as disappointment. That would be thinking too highly of herself, wouldn’t it?
“Mooom!” It was Rhys, racing inside holding aloft a small box. “Look what I got!”
She turned, both happy to see him as always, and glad for his interception. It was just the pinprick she needed to pop the balloon of tension. “What is it?”
He held the package out excitedly, and Melanie could see it was a small but complicated and very expensive digital camera. Zanifa followed, waving a folded tripod.
“Another present?” Corbin asked unnecessarily but with great enthusiasm. “Excellent!”
The Minions, though absorbed in the drama of the heist and the ensuing avalanche of naked males, had not forgotten Rhys. Some had ignored the meat of the matter—zero pun intended—and instead had begun to heap presents upon him. He’d become the darling of their social media feed, and many people tuned in every day to follow his progress in the garden, as well as the adventures he and Zanifa had embarked upon during their nature walks and visits to museums and art galleries. The hashtag #BonniePrinceRhys did pretty well in the rankings.
Gifts for him had begun showing up on their doorstep. So far, he had received a chemistry set, a pair of binoculars, a microscope, a small desiccator to dry and preserve his flower and leaf samples, a rock polishing tumbler for the curious pebbles and stones he had begun to collect, and a fossilized trilobite encased in resin that came with a certificate of authenticity.
It delighted Melanie that Rhys was so happy, receiving so much encouragement from people who didn’t know him but cared, but there was still that nagging feeling that in a few weeks, when this idyll was over, they would have to return to their old lives. How would he deal with that? The pendulum had swung from concern that he would adjust to living in a strange new world, to worrying about how he would handle it when his magical moment in the sun was all over.
She took the camera from his hands and examined it, commenting with exaggerated enthusiasm as many parents do, “This is awesome. I’m so happy for you. What are you going to take pictures of first?”
Zanifa answered for him. “We shall go to the marine park in Antibes. It is not a too long drive, and there we can spend the day. We shall take many photos, and tomorrow we will begin a new scrapbook.” She turned to Rhys for confirmation. “Oui?”
Her son was literally hopping with excitement. “Oui, oui, oui! Mom, please!”
Melanie hesitated, but only briefly. The two wanderers had gone off on jaunts before, but Antibes sounded a little farther away than usual. But both the faces turned in her direction were so eager, that she didn’t see how she could deny them. A glance at Corbin, and his encouraging nod, were all she needed. She smiled. “Depends. Will there be penguins?”
“Many, many penguins,” Zanifa said quickly.
Who wouldn’t want to go see penguins? “Then sure. Enjoy yourselves, but be safe.” She added, addressing herself specifically to Zanifa, “I want you guys’ home before dark.”
“Bien sûr,Madame Melanie,” Zanifa said agreeably, not even bothering to disguise her glee. Melanie wondered if she was even more excited about the zoo than Rhys was, once again grateful to Queenie for bringing this gem into her family.
Zanifa turned to Rhys, pointing at her watch. “Thirty minutes, and we go. You, you are covered in mud, like a little baby rhino. Shower and change, clean clothes, please, or you clean my car tonight.”
Rhys laughed and the two exited, not trying to disguise their eagerness. Melanie watched them leave with a combination of delight and unease.
“He will be fine.” Corbin placed a hand upon her shoulder and squeezed gently. “They will have a good day.”
“I know.” She was being silly. Her son would soon be nine, not too old for her protection, but old enough for her to dial it back on the helicoptering. So she returned to her painting. Corbin picked up a roller, and the walls were done in record time.
She dusted off her hands, cocking her head to one side and admiring their handiwork. “Nice job, Durant,” she complimented him.
He inclined his head in thanks.
“And now, maybe the guest bathroom? We have time to finish it today.”
He shook his head. “No, and now, the woods.”
She stared at him blankly. “The what?”
“Your son, he has taken the day off from his garden. Why shouldn’t we? Today, we finish early. We take a walk in the woods, and then go to my house and have a late lunch.”
Perplexed, she answered, “But the cottage—”
“Will be there when we get back. The workers are here; they know what to do.” Before she could protest any further, he took the brushes from her hands and proceeded to the laundry room sink to wash them.
He was right, she decided, surprising herself by how easy she had talked herself into it. A day off wouldn’t kill her—especially if that day also entailed several hours in Corbin’s company.
Once he had put the brushes away, he said, “I will go home and collect the dogs. They will be happy to see you, and to join us on our walk. I will be back in fifteen minutes.”
