Chapter 29
Mia
S oft lips press onto my forehead, pulling me out of sleep and spreading a smile across my face. Then comes another kiss on my nose, which always makes me giggle uncontrollably. “Good morning, princess.” His lips meet mine again. As he moves to hover above me, I open my eyes to stare into those green eyes that I love, and his smile that seems to thaw the chill of the morning air.
I reach up, my fingers combing through his tousled hair, tracing the familiar lines of his face down to the soft stubble on his chin. “Good morning.” I close my eyes as his kiss deepens, and the warmth of his touch completes me.
But when my eyes flutter open again, they’re greeted not by his gaze, but by the gentle morning light filtering through the cottage window.
It was just a dream.
I'm afraid I will never stop missing him even though he's not mine to miss. Even though we're oceans apart, he's always here.
With a deep sigh, I push the blanket aside and muster the strength to start the day. I slide out of bed and pad across the cool stone floor to the double doors leading to the patio.
The vineyard stretches beautifully before me, rows upon rows of green vines undulating in the morning breeze. In the distance, rolling hills fade into the horizon, kissed by the golden morning sun. Stone pathways lead to my cottage covered in ivy.
I still can’t believe that I’m here in France, in Les Collines d’étoiles. A small vineyard town, an hour away from Paris. My grandmother owned the vineyard which is half of the town.
It’s been eight months now, but the beauty of it all still takes my breath away. When I first arrived here, I was lost, and a little confused. Although I knew what we agreed on, I stupidly hoped he would change his mind. At the airport, I waited for him to burst through the doors and confess his feelings for me like in the romantic movies. But that didn’t happen. Maybe it was for the best.
I’m glad I came here, and I fell in love with the place. My grandmother was eager for me to stay at the Vineyard Real Estate, but I craved solitude to sort through my thoughts, to heal. So, I asked if I could stay in one of her cottages instead.
She agreed and even gave me a job managing the vineyard’s blog page. It’s been perfect, really. I get to share the magic of this place with others, connecting our visitors to the everyday beauty and charm of the vineyard. Plus, I get to write, which is something I have been doing more of lately. I've published a couple of novellas under a pen name, and the reviews have been good so far.
Most of my days are spent wandering through the vineyards. At night I love to cozy up with one of my mom's old journals and old drafts that my grandmother gave me. Some of them were a little cringey.
I have been learning so much about her. Growing up, her father didn’t support her dream as a writer either. He wanted her to major in business so she could take over the family business. She still didn’t give up on her passion and has touched so many readers with her stories.
I realize I can’t compare my writing to hers. She spent years writing, and perfecting her craft, and one day I will be a best time seller too, and people will love my books because of the stories I can tell.
I take a deep breath, letting the crisp morning spring air fill my lungs now that the weather is getting warm again. After a few minutes, I walk back inside. The room has stone walls and a wooden ceiling, giving it a rustic charm that I love.
It’s a two-story cottage with two bedrooms on the top floor, and an open space that includes the kitchen, dining room, and living room on the first floor.
I stay in the main bedroom, which is spacious, yet cozy. It has a queen size wooden bed frame that faces the fireplace, perfect for colder nights. Next to my bed is my little reading nook, an armchair with a cozy blanket and a pillow. My bookshelf has a mix of books, both in English and French.
My favorite place to unwind before bed.
My desk is by the window, where I like to sit with a view of the vineyard as I do an hour-long writing sprint before starting my day.
So far, I’ve completed book one of my dark romance fantasy series with a splash of dystopian elements—the one about the underwater Gods. I’ve started querying, but nothing yet. Sometimes, the waiting is a heavy weight in my chest, but I’m not ready to give up. Even though most days it's hard to keep writing, I remind myself of my dream. I take deep breaths and picture a reader out there who is waiting to escape into my story, someone who will appreciate that I didn't give up.
I’ve started book two, and I’m 20,000 words in, and ended my sprint today with 25,000 words total. I lean back in my chair, stretching my arms overhead, feeling a mix of relief and accomplishment. Today is going to be a good day , I say, smiling.
Pulling away from the chair, I make my way into the bathroom for a quick shower before I meet my grandmother for petit déjeuner. A white vintage tub, placed by the window, with the perfect view of nature outside. Although I love a good bath, most morning showers are quicker and practical.
I step out of the shower. The tile is cool under my feet. Back in the room, I dress in denim pants, short sleeve striped button-up shirt, and black loafers.
Ready to start the day.
Leaving the cottage, I take the familiar path through the field towards the main villa. I cherish the 10-minute walk, especially the mini garden waterfall. My grandfather, whom I never had the chance to meet, created this garden for my mother. He wanted her to understand that falling is a natural part of life.
He believed that falls, whether it’s falling in love or facing setbacks, doesn't always have to hurt; sometimes it leads to new beginnings.
Standing there for a few moments, I watch the water tumble softly over rocks, letting the sound and sight wash over me. Now, I understand why my mom loved waterfalls so much.
With a deep breath, I resume my walk, the soft murmur of the waterfall fading behind me as the estate comes into view.
Stepping inside, the beauty still takes my breath away. The grand entryway opens into a spacious hall adorned with fine art and elegant furnishings that speak of history and grace.
I make my way to the familiar patio where my grandmother Elena is waiting. Now that the weather is nice and warm, she prefers to eat breakfast outside.
“Bonjour Elena,” I lean down to kiss both of her cheeks before taking the seat next to her. She prefers to be called Elena rather than Grandma.
“Bonjour ma Chérie,” her eyes light up. On the table, café au lait waits for me, and tea for Elena.
My eyes take in the sight in front of me. Tall trees offer the perfect shade and the expansive vineyard fields. It’s truly the best view here.
Before I came here, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but her warmth and openness quickly made me feel at home. She reminds me a lot of my mom, except for her silver curly hair. Even in her late 60s, her energy is still infectious. Her brown skin glows in the morning light. I want to be like her when I’m older.
I think about the family history she’s shared with me, especially about my mom. She was just 20 and on vacation when she met my dad. My grandfather, perhaps too rigid, gave her a harsh ultimatum: choose the man she loved and lose her family, or return home. Neither my mom nor my grandfather ever took the steps to heal their rift. Even after my grandfather passed away, they were too stubborn to fix their relationship.
“Luc is joining us for breakfast,” she switches to English, breaking through my thoughts.
“Oh, that’s nice,” I tell her with a knowing smile. My grandmother introduced us. We’ve been friends, he’s basically the only friend I have here.
Based on what my grandmother told me, their family goes way back. He’s like the grandson she never had.
“Luc.” A warm smile spreads across her lips.
My back is to the entrance, so I haven’t seen him yet, but his voice, smooth and reassuring, fills the room as he greets her. “Bonjour, Elena,” he says, planting a kiss on each of her cheeks.
Then he turns to me, his smile reaching his eyes. “Bonjour, ma belle,” he leans down to kiss both of my cheeks, and lingers just a moment too long.
His eyes catch mine as he takes the seat between my grandmother and me.
He’s in his late twenties and handsome. His dark black hair, pulled into a low ponytail, emphasizes the firm line of his jaw, softened by the carefully groomed beard that frames it. His brown skin contrasts against the crispness of his white shirt, and as he looks at me, there’s a tenderness in his hazel eyes that seems to search for something.
I’m acutely aware of his appeal, and any girl would be easily smitten by him. My grandmother has been less than subtle in her matchmaking, but I’ve made it clear to him that I’m not looking for anything right now.
I’m content with the company, the conversation, and the stunning view that the morning has offered.
“So, I was thinking Luc could accompany you to scout the café location,” my grandmother suggests casually, taking a sip of her tea. I had shared with her my vision of opening a bookstore café, capitalizing on the area’s tourist foot traffic, and I truly believe it could thrive here.
“I don’t want to impose.” I give Elena a pointed look, not wanting her to push Luc into something out of obligation.
“I’m happy to assist,” he looks up at me. His offer seems genuine, but I can’t help feeling a bit of a burden.
“Are you sure? You probably have other things to take care of.” I break a piece off of my croissant.
“I’m never too busy for you.”
“Thanks.” I smile shyly, unsure how to handle the weight of his gaze.
“Isn’t he amazing?” My grandmother’s face lights up, her eyes darting between Luc and me, clearly pleased with herself.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, not wanting to be rude to her not-so-subtle matchmaking.
We continue our petit déjeuner talking about business and how my blog has been drawing new visitors to the vineyard. Once breakfast is over, Luc and I get ready to leave to see the potential location for the bookstore cafe.
Leaving for the cafe, the anticipation builds with every street we pass until we pull up to the location. It’s just as charming as I had pictured—tranquil and brimming with potential.
The building’s facade, with its striking black accents set against the soft white of Parisian architecture, is a sight that steals my breath away.
Stepping inside, I take a moment to look around. I picture the shelves lined with books, cozy nooks filled with readers, the smell of coffee enveloping it all.
“It’s perfect.” My smile spreads uncontrollably.
“Great,” the realtor says, a hint of a smile touching the corner of her lips as she senses my enthusiasm. “I’ll get the paperwork ready for you.”
“It’s going to be amazing.” Luc’s excitement mirrors mine. In a spontaneous burst of joy, I reach out, wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands instinctively find my waist, holding me in a warm, solid embrace.
Pulling back, our eyes lock. There’s a charged moment where the air seems to buzz with unspoken words and questions. “Sorry.” I step back to put some space between us.
But Luc isn’t ready to let the moment pass. He pulls me back gently, a question in his eyes. “Luc, what are you doing?”
“I just thought maybe you changed your mind about us…” His sentence hangs in the air between us.
“I’m sorry.” My heart sinks a bit, even as I struggle to maintain a boundary. “You’re amazing, Luc. It’s just… I can’t. And I don’t know when—or if—I’ll ever be ready for something.”
He watches me for a few seconds. “He did a number on you, didn’t he?” Luc’s smile is bittersweet as he looks at me with a softness that makes my chest tighten.
“Does this guy even know you’re still hung up on him?” he asks more into the nothingness than directly to me.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.” His gaze is tender. “Because he’s in the way of any chance I might have with you.”
“I’m sure you can have any woman you want,” I chuckle. A feeble attempt to keep the mood light.
“Yes, but they aren’t you,” he admits with an intensity that causes my breath to hitch, laying bare the truth of his feelings.
“I’m sorry, Luc. If this is too uncomfortable for you, I’ll give you space. I can talk to my grandmother.” I look down, unable to meet his eyes.
“It’s okay, Mia. I’d rather have you as a friend than not at all.” His shoulders slump a little. “But hey, let’s grab a bite to celebrate, it’s almost lunchtime,” he says, his smile returning, but I can see the effort behind it.
I nod, my smile forced as I follow him out of the building.
Every step is heavy as I think about Jake. Did I imagine the depth of what we had?
I’ve spent months caught in a half-dream, waiting for some grand gesture, some sign that he feels the same undeniable pull that I do. But if he did, if he truly felt it, why hasn’t he come for me? Why hasn’t he crossed oceans or at least sent more than just a casual message on holidays?
He’s out there, probably living his life without a second thought of me, while I’ve been here, suspended in the half-light of what could have been, interpreting every word, every smile, as something more than it was.
I swallow hard, pushing back against the sting of tears, refusing to let them fall.
I have no time for wallowing.
There’s a café to open and a book to get published. And maybe, with all that keeping me busy, I’ll eventually stop thinking about him.