Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Laden with shopping bags, I stepped out of the shop as my stomach grumbled. I glanced at my watch—it was almost 1 o’clock. I had barely eaten anything this morning, and now I was famished. I looked around at all the little cafés. For such a small village, there were certainly plenty of places to eat. I made a mental note that I was going to try each and every one of them before I left. Not sure where to go, I chose the first place that looked inviting and not too crowded. A few patrons lingered inside, but the outside patio, with its small bistro tables and umbrellas, seemed more appealing. Soft, jazzy music played overhead. I slipped into a chair, and a server approached with a small paper menu and a tiny tumbler of water that could only hold two sips at best. He wore a black vest over a white shirt and black slacks. Given the casual vibe of the place, he looked like he could be serving me at a five-star hotel. His expression was pleasant but all business—none of the gregarious, overly friendly demeanor you often find with American servers.
“ Bonjour, Madame. Bienvenue au Bistro Soleil .”
“ Bonjour , Merci ,” I replied.
A flicker of understanding crossed his face, and he switched to English. “May I offer you something else to drink?”
Apparently, my lack of Frenchness was quite obvious.
“I’ll have a sparkling water, please.”
He nodded and soon returned with a small demi-baguette of freshly baked bread, some olive oil, and a tall glass bottle of sparkling water.
I glanced over the menu and decided on a salad with local vegetables and roasted chicken.
I allowed myself to linger in the sun, taking my time with the meal, knowing I had nowhere to be. It was a strange feeling. I couldn’t remember the last time I didn’t feel pressure to be doing something. Even on my days off back home, I was constantly doing. I could never just be.
As I was wrapping up, I felt a presence. Slowly, I glanced up and, through my sunglasses, saw Remi walking toward me. My stomach flipped at the sight of him. He looked determined as he strode down the street, lost in thought. He wore a chambray work shirt rolled up to his forearms and faded navy pants. His chiseled jaw sported a day’s worth of scruff. God, he really was gorgeous. He belonged on a calendar for Rustic Men of France .
As though he felt my gaze, he stopped and looked at me. I suddenly wanted to hide under the table.
“ Bonjour ,” I said nervously.
He stood silent for a moment, his jaw working. He really didn’t like me, did he? But then, he softened slightly and stepped closer.
“ Bonjour . I see you found the best bistro in town.”
I glanced up at the building beside me. “Is it the best?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess. Honestly, they’re all pretty good. They’re all pretty much the same. It is what it is.”
I laughed. “I suppose we get used to the things we know. They don’t seem special after a while.”
He shrugged again.
“What brings you out on a day like today?” I asked.
“I had some supplies to pick up. Then I had lunch and a coffee. You know, just a typical day. I was planning on coming by Pierre’s place later this afternoon. I wanted to take a look at some of the rows in the back block. They always gave Pierre trouble. But I have some thoughts.”
My heart warmed a little at the idea of him coming over. But I shook it off. I wasn’t going to go lusting after someone who clearly wasn’t my biggest fan.
“Wonderful. Maybe you’ll stay for dinner.” I wanted to smack myself the moment the words left my mouth. Why was I inviting him to dinner? And who was going to make this dinner? Colette? Great, now I was acting like the bossy mistress of the manor.
He hesitated, his jaw working again. But then he shrugged. “I could stay for dinner. I haven’t had one of Colette’s meals in a while.”
My cheeks flushed as though he had read my thoughts.
The server came by then and dropped the check on the table. I handed over my card, and she quickly tapped it and printed out a receipt. I raised my pen to sign and leave a tip when I noticed there wasn’t a space for one.
Remi chuckled at my confusion.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re looking for a place for gratuity, no?”
“I guess it’s included?”
He shrugged. “We don’t really tip here.”
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t tip. Like I said, it’s not really part of our culture. You’ll find places in Paris that have adopted the practice—too many American tourists eager to give away another 20% of their money. Some places won’t say no to that. But in small villages like ours, we’re old-fashioned. We pay our staff a living wage, and you pay the price on the menu. That’s it.”
I leaned back, considering it. “Imagine that. Service staff being paid a living wage? Definitely not something you see in the United States.”
He chuckled. “Oh yes, I know. Your tipping culture is quite the shock when we go there.”
“You’ve been to America?”
He nodded. “I have. I spent a summer working at a Napa vineyard. Drove up and down the coast of California. Managed to visit a few other cities while I was there. It was a while ago, though, after I graduated from university.”
“That sounds like a great experience. I wish I had traveled more when I was younger. We don’t encourage it as much as we should. We’re all pressured into immediately going to college, then immediately getting the best job we can. And then, basically, working ourselves to death to buy all the things. I can’t remember the last time I sat like this. No pressure. Nowhere to be.”
He shook his head. “I get the money part. But it’s no way to live. What good is having millions of dollars and a huge house if you’re never around to enjoy it or too stressed out to care?”
“I’m definitely starting to see the error of our ways,” I said with a smile.
A moment of awkward silence settled between us.
“Well, I guess I should get—going,” I said, for lack of anything better to say.
“Why? You said you had nowhere to be, nothing to do.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, making me laugh.
“True. Maybe I’ll just wander, then. Explore the village.”
“How’s your caffeine level?” he asked.
“Never adequate. Do you have a remedy?”
He pursed his lips and nodded. “I might. It would be a shame to let you come to Douce Ville without introducing you to Café Alice. Best coffee in France.”
“That’s quite the pressure on poor Alice.”
He shrugged. “Her fault. Come. I’ll take you.”