Chapter 15
Fifteen
Patronizing his teenage sweetheart’s café was not on John’s agenda today.
Neither was being followed, but here they were.
Gen bounded around the counter and wrapped him in a hug. “It’s been a lifetime!”
“You look great, Gen.” She still smelled of cinnamon.
“So do you.” She leaned back. “Unbelievable. You’re a man now. And you’ve got an adorable crinkle between your eyebrows, here.”
Gen tapped the delicate bridge of her nose.
Vivian cleared her throat. “Hi. I’m Jane, John’s fiancée.”
“This is wonderful!” Gen kissed Vivian’s cheeks. “How long will you be in Marseille?”
“Just today,” he said.
“Then I’m grateful you stopped by. Sit, sit, sit.” She directed them to an intimate table tucked beneath the stairs. “What can I get you?”
This was so strange. “Gen, you don’t—”
“How about your favorite savory crêpes and a latte?”
Warmth radiated through him. At Lisa’s museum, he’d complained about Vivian noticing things about him. But she was right—being noticed was the first step to being known.
“That would be great, yes.”
“And you, Jane?”
“An espresso and sweet crêpes, please?”
“Ah, the family specialty. My pleasure.” Gen disappeared into the kitchen.
“She doesn’t seem mad at you,” Vivian said.
He raked his hand through his hair. “This is awkward.”
“Sure is.” Vivian snapped a napkin onto her lap. “But we can’t go anywhere, so let’s ride the awkward wave together, shall we?”
He envied Vivian’s placid confidence.
Gen pushed through the kitchen doors, then worked the enormous copper espresso machine. After a minute of steam and froth, she brought two mugs and a demitasse to the table, along with a small dish of macarons.
Vivian popped one in her mouth.
Her moan was barely audible, but he caught it.
“The crêpes will be ready in a few minutes.” Gen sat at the table with them. “You’re in luck. My cousin is magic with crêpes. You remember Pierre, Johnny? You met him at my seventeenth birthday party.”
After which they had sex for the first time. His cheeks heated. Ride an awkward wave? More like be swallowed by an awkward tsunami. If he didn’t acknowledge the shitty breakup elephant in the room, he might pass out.
“Gen, I’m sorry,” he blurted.
She wrinkled her brow. “For what?”
Vivian hid her smile behind her cup. “This is delicious.”
He hoped she meant the macaron and espresso combo and not his apology attempt.
“When we broke up, I didn’t treat you well.”
Gen waved him off. “This is unnecessary. I was sad because you were my first love, eh? But the breakup allowed me to connect with my true love. Remember Timothée?”
John sat back in his chair. “My best friend?”
“My best friend.” She winked. “He was kind when we broke up. Asked me out to cheer me up. And, blah blah blah, we’ve been married for twelve years and have eight-year-old twins.”
A smile bubbled his cheeks. That sneaky little…
Timothée had been their third wheel more times than he could count.
In retrospect, he’d also been a little too quick to volunteer to be John’s messenger to Gen.
His French friend must’ve been waiting to ask her out for ages.
Good for them, because obviously things had worked out for the best.
The bad breakup burden he’d carried for years evaporated.
John lifted his mug. “à ta santé!”
The three of them clinked.
“What’re your kids’ names?” Vivian asked.
“Léa and Rose.” Gen twisted her phone toward them. Two smiling mini-Gens peered at him. “They are different as night and day, but best friends. They’ve recently declared they are on a teeth-brushing strike.”
“France’s national sport.”
Gen backhanded him gently. “You do not get to joke about France if you do not live here. I wish I could call Timothée and the girls over, but they are visiting his parents. Do you remember Louise and Félix? They retired to the Dordogne. And your parents? They are well?”
“Great,” he said.
At least, he assumed so. It had been a minute since they’d spoken.
“Give them my best. Thomas as well. Unless he still likes to pop out of nowhere to startle you, in which case, lecture him on my behalf.”
The bell over the door chimed.
“Pardon,” Gen said. “I’ll return shortly.”
Vivian assessed the newcomer, then shook her head. This wasn’t their tail.
“You doing okay?” She rested her hand on his.
“Yeah, actually.” He rubbed his thumb against Vivian’s. “Gen’s clearly happy. I guess good things can come from bad endings. Thanks for making me come here.”
“Personal growth is not the primary reason we ended up in your ex’s café, but okay.”
“Here we are.” Gen sat a ham-and-brie crêpe in front of him, and a fruit-and-chocolate crêpe in front of Vivian. “You will feel as though you’ve gone to heaven.”
Vivian dug her fork into the sweet folded triangle.
Through her signature moan, she murmured, “My God.”
“What did I tell you?” Gen sat with them. “Perfection.”
An hour later, they were still chatting. Gen had shared her side of their brief romance, including their first date, which was dinner at home with his parents. His mom and dad had spent the rest of the meal quizzing Gen about her family, her friends and her school.
“I thought they didn’t like me,” she said.
“They loved you.” John finished his second coffee. “They’ve always asked my friends tons of questions.”
Although they hadn’t asked much about Jane.
Vivian’s phone buzzed on the table. “That’s the hotel, John. Our packages have been delivered, so we should go. Perhaps, though, there’s a back exit we can use?”
She cast her gaze through the window to a man sitting in a bus shelter.
Was that their tail? Must be. Even he could tell that guy wasn’t from Marseille.
“Gen, Jane’s got a following in the art world.” John started his lie with a truth, like Vivian recommended. “We’d prefer to leave here quietly. Do you still have rooftop access?”
“Where I snogged my boyfriends?” Gen parked her chin on her fist. “Indeed. You are welcome to it. Timothée says he’ll board up the hatch when the girls are twelve.”
“You go first,” Vivian said. “I’ll follow soon.”
John’s shoulders tensed as he stood. He didn’t want to leave Vivian with that guy still out there.
The man outside looked mostly harmless, but who could be sure?
He was also wary of leaving these women in each other’s company.
They shared an impish streak that would, without a doubt, cost him relationship clout.
But he didn’t have much choice.
“Two minutes, and then I come back.” He turned to Gen. “What do we owe you?”
“A longer visit.” Gen sipped her coffee. “à bient?t, Johnny.”
“Yes, Johnny.” Vivian grinned. “à bient?t.”
Nope, he didn’t like this.
* * *
Vivian gripped her mug. Tactical procedure required staggering their exits. If she and John both left the table at the same time, their tail would know they’d fucked off into the alley. By the time he clocked that they were gone, they’d have a decent lead.
“How long have you been a couple?” Gen asked.
Vivian returned her attention to Gen’s curious blue gaze. “A year.”
“Your ring’s spectacular.”
“Thanks. I drooled over it in an antique shop, and John went back to get it.”
Whoops. This was not okay. Officers did not share intimate life details with strangers. She seriously needed to take time off after this operation to clear her head and get it back in the game.
“Johnny’s always been sentimental.”
Gen’s casual nickname for him scratched at Vivian’s soul. He wasn’t Johnny. He was John. Steady, reliable, funny, gentlemanly John.
“So tell me,” Gen said. “Is all this sneaking around because of his parents?”
Well, that was interesting.
“It could be, but I’m curious why you’d ask?”
Gen lifted a shoulder. “People talk here in the café. There were rumors about them for years after they left Marseille. They traveled frequently. More than others in the same job. They asked many questions, but answered few. Some thought they were spies.”
Vivian’s stomach squeezed. Sounded familiar.
“But that was impossible.” Gen laughed. “They were so dowdy. Monsieur Seymour was always in need of a haircut, and Madame Seymour wore ill-fitting pantsuits and brooches.”
Blend in with the crowd, don’t draw attention to yourself.
“She loves those brooches, doesn’t she?” Vivian smiled. “Thank you for everything. John told me lots about you, and I’m glad we were able to meet.”
Gen waved her off. “May I offer you some advice about John? He was a tenderhearted boy. He must’ve told you he was often left on his own because his parents were busy solving other people’s problems?”
“He has.” She nodded.
Gen touched her hand. “It’s good to see him with someone who prioritizes him, accompanies him on his walk down memory lane.”
Which had been a complete accident.
Vivian drained her coffee. Did she prioritize John?
This past year she’d apologetically broken plans, hopped on flights, spent long hours at her computer.
He never complained. No, to the contrary, he cheered her on, celebrated exhibit openings with her, brought meals to her desk when she was burning the midnight oil.
She loved him to the point of breathlessness.
But…
If the best that she could love him wasn’t the best that he could be loved, was that fair?
“Thank you, Gen.” Vivian rose from the table, then shrugged her backpack onto her shoulders. “I hope to return your kindness someday.”
To her great surprise, she meant it.
Gen kissed her cheeks. “Now go after your man.”
Vivian clambered up the stairs…and more stairs…and yet more stairs.
John leaned over a railing. “Up here.”
“When you said ‘rooftop,’ I didn’t think it involved three flights of stairs.”
The thick attic air pressed her skin like a steam iron.
“You saw the building from the outside. The roof is usually on the top floor.”
“Don’t throw logic at me,” she huffed. The boxes and furniture stored under the slanted roof looked like they dated to the revolution. “Where’s the door?”
John pointed to the hatch directly above them.