One Night In Provence. Barbara Wallace

receding. Food helped, too, just as Philippe suggested. Every so often she stole a look sideways to watch him. He didn’t eat the bread; he experienced it. His eyes would close and a contented smile would curl his lips upward as he savored each bite. The sight was almost as pleasurable as tasting the bread.

      A thought struck her. “Why were you certain we’d see each other again? When you were on the stairs, you said you knew we’d meet again.”

      He was in mid-savor when she asked her question, so he pried open one eye. “What can I say? I believe in fate. And...” A hint of pink crept into his cheeks. “I may have asked the front desk to call me when you signed up for the hotel excursion.”

      “What?” No wonder the girl at the desk kept smiling at her. She was in on the joke.

      “I did not want to take a chance on missing your visit. Tours come and go all day long.”

      “So you asked for advance information.”

      “I prefer to think of it as arranging for fate to be on my side.”

      Jenna narrowed her eyes. “You could have called my room and asked me.”

      “But that would have spoiled the surprise. And you were surprised, no?”

      “Hmm.” She continued to stare at him with narrowed eyes. Honest to God, she’d never heard of someone doing such a thing. Asking a clerk to tip him off. Certainly no one interested in her had ever gone to such lengths. “You’re incorrigible. You know that, right?”

       “Oui.”

      He leaned closer, the gap in his shirt treating her to a glimpse of the smooth skin beneath. “And you are flattered. I can see it in your eyes.”

      Jenna was flattered—immensely—but she wasn’t about to let him know. “How do you know it’s not amusement at your arrogance?”

      “Amusement doesn’t make a woman’s skin flush.”

      Flashing a smug smile, he sat back in his chair. “I am sorry about your headache. That was not part of my plan. Is it better?”

      “Getting there.”

      “Good. I’m glad. I forget how pungent the smell of lavender can be. When we were children, my brother Felix and I complained incessantly about the aroma.” While speaking, he reached for her glass. The ice clinked as he lifted it high for a drink.

      “You have a brother? Yesterday on the tour you said you were...” Jenna paused.

      “The last of the line? I am. My brother died of cancer several years ago.”

      He spoke with nonchalance, but Jenna caught a shadow in his eyes as he raised the glass to his lips for another drink.

      “I’m sorry.”

      “So am I. He was a good man.” He fell silent for a moment as a shadow darkened his features. Only for a moment, though. Jenna would have missed it altogether had she not been watching closely. “Let us talk about something more pleasant, shall we?”

      He’d made a similar request yesterday. It was obvious he didn’t like dwelling on his family. “What would you like to talk about?” she asked.

      “How about dinner? Clearly, since fate has reunited us, we are destined to enjoy a meal together.”

      “You mean fate and a front desk clerk.”

      “A technicality. I knew we were destined to share each other’s company as soon as I saw you on the terrace.”

      He was smooth. Charming, too. Much as she hated to admit it, Jenna enjoyed his company. He kept her on her toes. Dinner could be fun, as long as she kept her wits about her.

      “Well, a girl does have to eat,” she told him. “I might as well have some company.”

      He grinned like he’d won the lottery. “Ma chère, a woman needs to do more than eat. You need to experience French cuisine. Tonight, I shall make sure you have an experience you’ll never forget.”

      “We’ll see about that,” Jenna replied. “I don’t impress easily.”

      “Is that so? In that case...” He leaned in again, the purple in his eyes taking on a dangerously mischievous glint that made Jenna’s insides flutter in spite of herself. “I look forward to meeting your challenge.”

      * * *

      You know I was kidding about having a fling, right? All I meant was don’t be your usual picky self.

      I’m not having a fling; I’m having dinner.

      Despite what Philippe d’Usay might think, her “French experience” was beginning and ending with dinner.

      I don’t do flings, remember?

      You don’t do anything.

      That’s not true. I do plenty.

      Since when?

      Since...

      Jenna paused before hitting the backspace button. So it had been a while. Big deal. She was taking a dating hiatus. All the sweet talk and pretend interest in commitment that ended after a few weeks? Who needed it. She was trying to break her family pattern, not contribute to it.

      Excuse me for being selective.

      She leaned back against the headboard. Shirley’s thoughts didn’t need a phone for her to hear them. Her friend had given her the tough-love speech a half dozen times over the past couple years. You’re too picky. You never give anyone a chance. You rule guys out before you ever get a chance to know them.

      Maybe, Jenna thought, she was picky because she wanted more than a guy who claimed to want a relationship only to bail when he got bored. Of all people, Shirley should understand why.

      Her phone buzzed. Shirley had replied.

      This guy must be something if you are giving him the time of day.

      He’s okay.

      Actually, he was everything Jenna claimed to detest. A guy like Philippe wasn’t interested in depth. She wondered if he even knew what the word meant. And yet as bad an idea as the man was, he intrigued her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

      After their conversation in the kitchen, Philippe had walked her through his back garden to the gift shop.

      “Until tonight,” he’d said, kissing her hand. Affected as all get-out, it still managed to set her entire arm aflame. The entire bus ride home, she found herself reliving the moment. If a kiss to the hand could set off her inner fireworks, she’d wondered, what would a real kiss do? Or...?

      Her phone buzzed.

      Just okay?

      Maybe a little more than okay.

      If her friend could only see him.

      In that case, you know what they say. What happens in France...

      Ha-ha.

      All I’m saying is keep an open mind. A little fun never hurt anyone. Remember, Beatrice wanted you to have an adventure.

      Somehow she didn’t think Beatrice meant falling into bed with a sexy stranger.

      Since when are you so invested in my sex life, anyway?

      Since I’m home with shingles and no one wants to come near me. One of us ought to have a good time.

      Jenna shook her head.

      Sorry, babe. You’re simply going to have to use your imagination.

      Killjoy.

      Yep. I’ve got to go get ready. TTYL.

      She exited the application before Shirley could respond with Do what I’d do or some other nonsensical words of encouragement.

      Tossing