Chapter 11
Eleven
Elise
The train rocks gently beneath me, a steady rhythm that should be comforting but only makes me feel more untethered.
Thirty-three hours. That’s how long it’s been since I left Paradise, and still, I feel like I haven’t landed anywhere—not in San Francisco, not here in France, and definitely not in my own head.
My body is present, in a plush red seat with countryside blurring past the window, but my mind is still back in Black Bear Valley.
I pull out my phone and hit Sebastian’s number before I can talk myself out of it.
He answers on the second ring. “Elise,” he says warmly. “You made it.”
“I did.” I force brightness into my tone. “I landed this morning and just got on the train. Three hours to Bordeaux.”
“Perfect. I will pick you up at the station.” His voice dips lower, a smile in every syllable. “And tonight, I’ll take you somewhere unforgettable.”
My throat tightens. “I’m looking forward to it,” I say because that’s what he wants to hear.
When the call ends, I stare at the darkened screen.
Am I looking forward to it? To him? I don’t know.
Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Kingston leaning toward me, the taste of him, the spark that made me see actual stars.
I’ve been kissed before, but never like that, never in a way that made me question every plan I thought I’d made.
I set my phone down, breathing through the knot in my chest. The train rattles, people chatter softly around me in French, and the scent of roasted coffee drifts down the aisle. It’s just normal life, but my world feels cracked open.
I log on to the train’s spotty Wi-Fi, more out of habit than anything, and open my inbox. My heart trips over itself at the sight of his name. Kingston Paradise. My palms are instantly damp, and for a long moment, I can’t bring myself to click it open.
A man clears his throat beside me, and I look up into the face of the train inspector. “Billet, mademoiselle?”
“Oh—yes.” I fumble, handing over my ticket.
He scans it, and then lingers with a curious smile. “First time to Bordeaux?”
“Yes,” I say, forcing a polite smile.
“And what brings you?” His accent makes the words smooth and easy.
“A job,” I answer. “Just for a few months.”
“Ah, you will love it,” he says, eyes bright. “Wine, sunshine, long evenings—it’s… How do you say? Perfect for romance.”
I laugh lightly, though my pulse flutters. “I’ll take your word for it.”
He tips his hat, a twinkle in his eyes. “Bienvenue. Enjoy France.”
When he moves on, I sink deeper into my seat. Romance. If only he knew.
My gaze falls back to the unopened email. I can’t avoid it forever. With trembling fingers, I tap it open.
Elise,
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night. That kiss. It’s part of me now.
The house feels different without you. Quieter, emptier.
I didn’t expect that. You once asked why my company is in Vancouver when I insist on living here in Black Bear.
I couldn’t answer then, but I can now. This valley is more than home.
It steadies me, feeds me in ways nothing else can.
When you told me it feeds your soul, I realized you understood me better than anyone else has.
My mother told me recently that after her residency here in Paradise, while she worked on Vancouver Island, my father wrote her letters. She said that was how she held him close across the distance. I’d like to do the same with you if you’ll let me.
So this is my first. Just so you know, you are already missed.
—K
The train tilts around a bend, but it’s not the motion that makes my stomach drop. It’s him, the way he’s put himself on the page, vulnerable in a way I’ve never known him before.
I press a hand to my lips, that kiss still alive there, and hit reply.
Hi,
I made it safely to France. The flight was long, and I don’t think I slept at all—at least partially because I couldn’t stop replaying last night in my head. You kissed me, and every time I closed my eyes, I was right back there with you.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, I caught myself smiling like a fool, and the flight attendant asked if I wanted wine. I almost said no—because nothing could distract me from the thought of you.
So yes, Kingston. I felt the stars too.
Write me. Please. I want to hear from you.
—E
After I hit send, I sit back, my heart caught between two worlds—Bordeaux waiting ahead but Paradise refusing to let me go. Out the window, the fields roll by in soft greens and browns, stitched with stone walls and dotted with villages where church spires rise above weathered rooftops.
Beside me, a woman who boarded with me in Paris sets down her book and turns toward me with a friendly smile. She looks about my age, maybe a little older, with shoulder-length chestnut hair and kind, curious eyes. “I’m Claire. Claire Logan,” she says in North American-accented English.
I smile, relieved to hear English after hours of stumbling through half-remembered French. “Elise Anderson.”
“Are you visiting?” she asks.
“Sort of.” I link my hands in my lap. “I’m going to Bordeaux for a job exchange. I work at Paradise Hill Winery in Canada, but I’ll be a vintner here for a few months.”
“You’re so young.” Her brows lift, impressed. “The wine industry runs Bordeaux.”
“It’s a lot of hard work,” I admit. “But I love it. My father’s been the master vintner at Paradise Hill for more than forty years, so I grew up in the vines. It feels strange to be leaving them behind for a while.”
She nods. “I know that feeling. I work in Bordeaux, but I’ve just come back from visiting my family in Massachusetts. The vineyards there are…different, but still, there’s something about home, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” I agree, my throat tightening. Home. Paradise. Kingston.
Claire leans in, lowering her voice. “It can be overwhelming when you first arrive, but it helps to have someone who knows the place. We should be friends. I’ll make sure you don’t just work but also enjoy Bordeaux.”
I like that idea very much, and we fall into easy conversation.
She asks about harvests and soil types, and I ask her about Bordeaux, about the lifestyle, about the rhythms of living in wine country here compared to back home.
She tells me about her favorite cafés tucked down cobbled streets, the farmers’ market that smells like lavender and warm bread, the festivals in late summer when the grapes swell heavy on the vine.
I listen, enchanted, scribbling mental notes.
By the time the train begins to slow, the sky outside is washed in honey-colored light. My nerves buzz with anticipation and something like dread, Sebastian waiting on one side, Kingston’s words still echoing on the other.
Claire gathers her things, then fishes in her purse and pulls out a sleek, white card. She presses it into my hand. “If you want a break sometime—or just someone to explore with—call me.”
I glance down, and my eyes widen at the bold black lettering. Chateau. My heart skips. “This is where I’m going.”
Her smile brightens. “Really? Then we must meet for lunch at the very least. We’ll be neighbors, in a sense.”
The train glides into Bordeaux, the brakes squealing softly.
I clutch her card, grateful for this unexpected kindness.
I came here expecting to feel lost, untethered.
Instead, I already have a connection, someone who might make this place feel less foreign.
As the doors slide open and the crowd surges forward, I tuck the card safely into my bag.
The platform is crowded when I step off the train, people rushing in every direction with rolling suitcases.
I spot Sebastian immediately—tall and impeccably dressed in dark jeans, a field jacket, and a very French scarf wrapped around his neck.
He stands with a confidence that draws eyes without him even trying.
He strides forward and greets me with three quick kisses, brushing each cheek before leaning in once more. It’s warm but seems more familiar than a boss should be. I stiffen, unsure how to respond as I force a smile. Inside, unease twists through me.
The spark I entertained between us when we met is gone now—at least for me—and I realize it never should have been there in the first place.
Sebastian was a welcome distraction, but that’s not what I need now.
Not what I want. I came here because I admired his talent and thought this opportunity would push me forward.
But standing in front of him now, I realize that may not be clear to him.
Suddenly, I feel the weight of expectation instead of excitement.
His charm feels rehearsed, too smooth, and I wonder if I’ve stepped into something I can’t quite control.
I want to respect him as a mentor, but I hope I haven’t started this exchange on unstable footing.
“It’s good to see you, Elise,” he says. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Me too,” I manage.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Claire stepping onto the platform, and relief floods me. Sebastian turns, his face breaking into an equally warm smile for her. “Claire!” He greets her the same way—three quick kisses, his hand resting briefly on her arm. “Back from the States, yes?”
“Yes.” She laughs. “And apparently, I’ve made a friend on the way. Elise and I shared the ride down.”
Sebastian’s brows lift, clearly pleased. “Excellent.” He turns to me. “Then you’ve had the best possible welcome to Bordeaux. Claire is one of our most talented colleagues. You’re in very good hands.” He gestures toward the exit. “Come, I’ll drive you both to the vineyard. You must be exhausted.”
We pile into his sleek black car, the leather seat cool against my skin.
Claire slips easily into conversation with him, the two of them catching up in rapid French, and I let the rhythm of their voices wash over me.
I speak French, but as tired as I am, I struggle to keep up.
My eyes close as we head toward the open countryside and my adventure.