One Kiss in... Paris. Robyn Grady

A moment later, children poured out through opened double doors that near reached the sky. Eager women, alternatively clapping hands to order the scattered children and patting down their dresses, followed. One lady, with chestnut hair that bounced on the shoulders of her yellow blouse, hurried to line the children up in the yard. Madame Nichole Garnier, Mateo’s contact and current director of the orphanage.

      Many girls held bouquets, flowers plucked from the home’s gardens or nearby meadow. Every boy had their shoulders pinned back. When the assembly was reasonably quiet, beaming, Madame Garnier swept up to greet her guests.

      “Monsieur Celeca, it is wonderful to see you again,” she said in French. Light green eyes sparkled as she came forward and kissed him, first on one cheek then the other. She turned to Bailey. “And you’ve brought a friend.”

      “Madame Nichole Garnier.” Mateo spoke in English, knowing Madame would follow suit. “This is Bailey Ross.”

      “Mademoiselle Ross.”

      “Call me Bailey.”

      Madame held one of Bailey’s hands between the palms of her own. “And you must call me Nichole. I’m very happy you are here.” Smiling, Madame held Bailey’s gaze a moment longer before releasing her hand and speaking again with Mateo. “The children have been eager for your arrival.” She pivoted around and beckoned a boy standing at the middle front of the group: six or seven years of age, dark hair and chocolate brown eyes fringed with thick lashes.

      Mateo’s chest swelled as he smiled.

      Remy.

      After Remy strode forward then pulled up before them, Nichole placed her hand on the boy’s crown. “You remember Remy, Monsieur.”

      Mateo hunkered down. He’d hoped that, since last time, someone might have seen the same special qualities and warmth he saw in this child. He’d hoped that Remy would have found two people who would love and adopt him. Still, in another sense, he’d looked forward to seeing him again. From the boy’s ear to ear grin, Remy hadn’t forgotten him either.

      “Bonjour, Remy,” Mateo said.

      The boy’s mop of hair flopped over his eyes as he smiled and nodded several times. Then, without invitation, Remy reached and took Mateo’s hand and Mateo’s heart melted more as he was dragged off. He hated whenever he left, but he really ought to come more often.

      Bailey looked on, feeling the connection, subtle yet at the same time unerringly strong. These two—Mateo and Remy—had a history. An ongoing solid relationship. When Natalie had suggested Mateo might bring home a child, was she speaking of anyone in particular? Did the Ramirezes know about this boy?

      His little hand folded in a much larger one, Remy drew Mateo nearer the other children, still lined up and standing straight as pins. Bailey fogged up watching the girls hand over their flowers and the boys beam as they shook their benefactor’s hand.

      Exhaling happily, Nichole folded her arms.

      “We so look forward to his visits.”

      “How long has Mateo been coming back?”

      “This will make eight years. Two years ago he helped with dormitory renovations. Last year he sponsored the installation of a computer network and fifty stations. This year I’d hoped to discuss excursions. Perhaps, even an extended stay in Paris for the older ones.”

      Bailey was certain he’d like that idea.

      Her gaze ran over the remarkable building that looked something like a smaller version of Notre Dame, without the gargoyles. How many stories those walls must hold.

      “Has this place changed much since Mateo’s time?” Bailey asked.

      “The structure has been renovated many times over the centuries. Some of the furniture and facilities will have been upgraded since Mateo’s time, much of it via his own pocket.”

      Bailey studied the children again, well dressed, obviously well fed, not a one looking discontent. The word orphanage brought up such Dickensian images … never enough food, never enough care or love. But Bailey didn’t feel that here. She only felt hope and commitment.

      When Mateo had greeted each child, Remy still stood beside him, a mini-me shadow.

      “Remy seems quite attached to Mateo,” Bailey pointed out.

      “I think Mateo is quite attached to him.” But then Nichole rubbed her arms as if she were suddenly cold. “Remy lost his mother when he was three,” she confided in a lowered voice. “His father dropped him here saying he would return when he could. Four years on …” She shrugged.

       No sign of him.

      Bailey’s chest tightened. At least she’d had her mother until she was fourteen. Had a father too, although he’d been emotionally absent these later years. But looking at that little boy.

      Bailey angled her head. “Remy seems happy enough. Lively.”

      Was it because he was too young to fully understand there was another way to live … with a family, a mother and father?

      “He’s a joy.” Then Nichole hesitated. “Although he doesn’t speak often. There’s nothing wrong with his hearing. Seems he simply doesn’t care to talk most of the time.” Her expression softened. “But he and Mateo have a relationship that extends beyond words.”

      A thought struck and Bailey’s smile wavered. “Do you think Remy’s father will ever come back for him?”

      “I can only say Remy will always have a home here if he doesn’t.”

      Nichole Garnier meant it as a comfort but Bailey heard a dirge rather than a choir. From the little she’d seen, this establishment was well run, with genuine carers who were dedicated to their work. Still, any comprehending child would rather be with his parents in a real home if there were any way, even if that father had once abandoned him … wouldn’t he?

      Hand cupped to his mouth, Mateo called out.

      “Bailey, the girls want to meet you. The boys too.”

      Laughing, Mateo ruffled Remy’s hair and Bailey and Nichole moved forward.

      “Have you known Mateo long?” Nichole asked as they walked together and bands of birds warbled nearby.

      “Not very.”

      “He’s a good man.”

      Bailey grinned. “I keep hearing that.” She’d even said it herself.

      “He gives others so much joy. He deserves every happiness.”

      Bailey heard the tone in Nichole’s voice … the suggestion theirs might be a relationship that could bloom into love and marriage. Perhaps she ought to set the older woman straight. She and Mateo might be lovers, but that didn’t translate into anything permanent. He didn’t want anything permanent.

      As they met again and Mateo took her hand and introduced her, Bailey reaffirmed to herself—right now, she didn’t want permanent either.

      After the children dispersed, Nichole Garnier showed them around the buildings and grounds.

      Although the kitchen facilities, plumbing and sleeping quarters were all twenty-first century, the exterior was undoubtedly restored medieval; and the interior, including the lower chapel, retained much of its original decoration, including intricate paintings. Having grown up in a young country like Australia, Bailey was in awe of the sense of history these children were surrounded by every day. The hallowed atmosphere made her feel insignificant, humbled, and at the same time part of the very heart of this sacred place, as if she, herself, might have strolled these soaring halls in a former time.

      They enjoyed a lunch of soupe a l’oignon and quiche aux legumes after which the children sang for their adult audience. Although she understood little, Bailey couldn’t remember a performance she’d enjoyed more. At