Chapter 1 Jean-Paul
Chapter 1
Jean-Paul
He tells himself it’s going to be an extraordinary week. The trumpet mushrooms he chose at the farmers’ market are bulbous and brown; their nutty flavor fills his nose. Leafy greens glisten under the faucet. He whispers it aloud. An extraordinary week. Because if he says it, it must be true.
Shutting the water off, he reminds himself the inn is an extraordinary place, and the guests about to converge are spices on his shelves, a medley of flavors. A thrill courses through him as he towels his hands, his eyes lingering on the fresh cheese they picked up for the croque monsieur bites. For the roasted leg of lamb, he swapped out the cauliflower cream for classic French jus, his wife’s favorite. These little gestures please Renée, earn him a nod.
The guests will arrive soon, traveling up the lengthy drive that winds through the wispy grass lined with spruce and hemlocks, toting their individual tales. As he prepares meals in the gourmet kitchen, Renée coaxes those stories out. Jean-Paul and Renée are a formidable team. They’ve turned their brainchild from all those years ago into a charming bed-and-breakfast nestled in the rolling hills of Vilas, North Carolina, where each week eight guests check into the stately farmhouse. They named her Vis Ta Vie , French for “live your life,” because they were living theirs. Could this really mark the end of an era?
Renée finds him in the kitchen, the evidence of their sleepless night marking her hazel eyes. Delicate strands of silver thread through her brown curls, but she’s as beautiful as when they first met. She catches him staring, and they exchange thin smiles.
When she slipped the blanket off their tangled bodies this morning, she was careful not to disturb him, but he was awake, replaying their difficult conversation into early dawn. The decision weighed heavily, more so on him, the guilt another ingredient in a famed dish. Subtle. A pinch. But you could taste it. Renée has always been the beating heart of their collaboration. He hates disappointing her.
He watches as she stuffs recipe cards into envelopes and seals them with gold foil stickers. They choose the dinner menus carefully, each dish satisfying a discerning palate with eclectic, seasonal flavors. In his opinion, the world has grown overly complicated with the gluten-free, vegan, Paleo craze, but these are trends and demands the proprietors of a popular inn must adopt if they want guests to return.
They work quietly, the disappointing conversation hovering close. She wipes the line of sweat forming along her neck, cramming her thick curls into a hair tie, confirming what they already know about the air-conditioning system—it needs to be replaced. The worry climbs inside his chest, and he swears the cookbooks that line the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves mock him.
Jean-Paul belongs here. And the antiques staring out from the glass cabinets, the ones they collected on their trips to Italy and France, remind him so. Vis Ta Vie is home, and he has poured everything into her upkeep and refurbishing. Entering the glass doors is like slipping inside a cloud swaddled in sunlight. He wants their guests to feel the same buoyancy, a sanctuary in which they can escape the pressures of life. Recharge. Reboot. But now he feels it all slipping away. Building a life around a passion for food, wine, and breathtaking scenery once seemed romantic. Creating a place to unplug and restore diminished reserves now feels terribly foolish.
Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” plays on the sound system, which sends an ominous shiver down his spine. His niece, Simone, pops her head through the open door. “ Bonjour, tante et oncle . Our guests have arrived.”
He catches Renée’s expression. The excitement mired in disillusion. She unties her apron, dons her best smile, and together they greet the cars lined up on the gravel driveway.
He breathes in, repeating the phrase so it will be true. This will be an extraordinary week.