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“Did you sleep well?” Sylvie came from a bedroom, holding the baby on her hip.
“Oui. The loft was very comfortable. Merci.”
“C’est romantique, non?”
Luc’s kiss came back in a rush of memory, and Julia drew in a breath. “Oui.”
Sylvie gave her a knowing smile and a wink.
Élise took Julia’s hand and led her to the table, indicating for her to sit. “You have not had breakfast.”
Julia ate a simple breakfast of bread and cheese and coffee. She changed back into the clothes she’d borrowed from Gabi, returned the scarf to her hair, and put on her timepieces. When it was time to leave, her eyes burned. She swallowed, feeling unexpectedly sad at having to say goodbye to her new friends.
Sylvie kissed both of her cheeks. “I hope to see you again, Julia, my friend. Perhaps we will one day visit Rivulet.”
“I hope you do,” Julia said before she realized that if they did, she wouldn’t be there. At this thought, her tears broke through.
She wiped them away, kissing Adrien’s fat cheeks and embracing Élise.
“Thank you for visiting,” Élise said. “And for bringing Honey and Guignol and Spot.” She went to the wagon to bid farewell to Luc and the goats.
Sylvie embraced Julia one last time, as did Pierre.
Luc helped her climb up to the wagon bench.
The family watched from their front garden as Luc drove the wagon away.
Julia turned in her seat, waving until they rounded a bend and could no longer see the farmhouse.
Luc handed her a handkerchief. “You are sorry to leave?”
She and Luc hadn’t spoken since the kiss, and she was grateful that he wasn’t acting strangely. Maybe it had been nothing to him. The thought saddened her further.
She nodded, wiping her eyes, and looked into the back of the wagon, checking that all the goats were still there. “I am very glad the wagon got stuck near this farmhouse instead of another. I’ve quite enjoyed becoming acquainted with the Deschamps. Sylvie is lovely.”
“Pierre as well,” he said. “A good man.”
“You probably enjoyed having someone to talk to besides Gabi and myself,” she said. “A chance to discuss—I don’t know—manly things.”
Luc smirked at her tease.
“I know Élise appreciated the particular attention you paid her.”
“She has determination for one so young. Talent, yes, but the willingness to work to improve; that will take her far.”
“You are very patient. And you make a good art teacher.”
Luc looked at her for a moment, and Julia got the impression he was evaluating whether or not she was still teasing. “Her parents are so supportive of her art,” he said. “I found it admirable, the way they praised her, and also, I admit to being... jealous.” He spoke carefully, as if unsure whether he should continue.
Julia thought if she said the wrong thing, he was likely to stop altogether. “Why?” She spoke in a gentle voice, hoping not to sound like she was prying but wanting him to know she was interested in his answer and that she would take his words seriously. “Were your parents... less supportive of you?”
“My father.” Luc sighed and looked back at the road. His gaze was unfocused. “He thought drawing was a waste of time. We had an olive orchard and a large vineyard. He paid five men to help manage the land, run the winery, and harvest the olives and grapes. He worked long hours every day with them. And yet his own son was always to be found off beneath a tree, scribbling silly pictures.”
“But he allowed you to attend l’École des Beaux-Arts,” she said.
Luc pulled on the reins, directing the horse back to the center of the road. “I pestered him. Begged him. Promised him I would earn back the money he spent on my schooling tenfold with my art. I was insufferable.” Luc’s lip curled. “Complaining, whining, yelling, accusing him of stealing my dream.” He shook his head, breathing out a heavy breath. “The things I said to him, Juliette. What kind of a son... ?” He swallowed.
“What of your mother?” she asked, wanting him to continue. Hearing him share something so personal made her heart hurt, but she wanted to hear more. Wanted to understand Luc. Wanted him to trust her with things he spoke of to nobody else.
