Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
That afternoon, I waited for Remi on the back terrace, taking in the sprawling, sun-kissed sights all around. I ran my hand along the rough stone wall, bits of mortar crumbling beneath my touch. The peeling paint on the shutters caught my eye, and I noticed the once-manicured gardens had grown a little wild and unkempt. The estate held an undeniable charm, but time had taken its toll. This was my inheritance—beautiful, daunting, and in desperate need of care.
I heard voices and footsteps and snapped to attention. Remi came out of the back door, the sun bouncing off his tan skin, making him practically glow. If I could figure out how to bottle that up for Elodie’s Natural Life , I’d be a rich woman by now.
“ Bonjour ,” he said, his voice low and husky.
“ Bonjour .”
We stood in silence for a moment. My nerves felt like they were on fire, and I wasn’t quite sure why. I shook it off. “Is now a good time?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “ Oui . So, why don’t you tell me what you want from me, and I will see if I can help.”
I took a deep breath, acutely aware of how out of place I must seem to him. "I want to restore the estate. Really restore it, top to bottom.”
He chuckled. “That’s quite an undertaking.”
I sighed. “I know. And I know it will take time, but—well, she has beautiful bones. I think she just needs a little patching up.”
Remi’s eyes trailed over the building, and he nodded. “I agree. I don’t know if there are any foundational problems, but I think it wouldn’t take much. New paint, windows, maybe replace some stone.”
I exhaled with relief. “That’s good to hear.”
Remi turned back to me. “Elodie, I’m a fairly handy man, but I’m no contractor. I grow grapes and make wine. I can’t fix the house.”
“But you probably know someone who can.”
“I do?”
I shrugged. “I’m sure you know someone I can call. Sure, I could just search Google, but I need someone reliable and trustworthy.”
He worked his jaw, then finally nodded. “ Oui , I’m sure I can give you some names. I’ll put you in touch with someone I trust.”
“ Merci .”
“Was there anything else?” he asked slowly.
“Well, the other thing. I'll be honest—I don't know the first thing about managing a vineyard."
He snorted a laugh. “I am truly shocked,” he said with heavy sarcasm.
“Haha, yes, I know. I know nothing. But you, by your own admission, do know something about it. And perhaps you might be able to help me.”
Remi's eyes narrowed slightly, studying me. Then, with melodramatic flair, he said, “Winemaking isn't something you pick up overnight, Mademoiselle. It's a lifelong craft."
I held up my hands. “I’m not suggesting I learn. I was hoping you would just be willing to stay on through the harvest. See it through.”
For a moment, he looked utterly offended, and I wasn’t sure what I’d said.
“Do you think I would abandon it mid-harvest?” he asked.
“Oh, no, I guess—”
"Pierre poured his heart and soul into this land. Every grape, every bottle, was a labor of love for him, even when it wasn’t profitable. I wouldn’t let that go to waste.”
His energy rose with his words.
I felt a flash of defensiveness but pushed it down.
“I wasn’t suggesting that you would,” I said calmly.
Remi sighed. His eyes trailed out to scan the vineyards. His expression softened, almost imperceptibly. He was quiet for a long moment before speaking again.
“Once, not long before he passed away, Pierre told me that the first taste of a new vintage feels like greeting an old friend."
I looked up, meeting Remi's eyes.
“That’s beautiful,” I said.
He smiled thinly. “Pierre had a bit of a poetic streak. Anyway. Oui , I already have plans to see the harvest through.”
“And then? Next harvest?”
His steely blue eyes bore into me. “I think that depends entirely on you, Madame de la Maison .”
“Have you had a chance to tour the estate?”
“Not nearly as thoroughly as I need to. It’s been a little chaotic.”
He nodded. “Perhaps I can—show you around.”
I pressed a hand to my chest playfully. “Show me around my own property? How gentlemanly of you.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Someone better. Left to your own devices, you’ll get eaten by bees.”
“I think bees sting, not eat.”
His eyes went wide. “You have clearly not met French bees defending their land against the Americans.”
I laughed, and he did me the honor of a subtle ghost of a smile. I couldn't help but notice the way the sun caught subtle flecks of gold in Remi's eyes, or how strong his hands looked. I hadn’t realized hands could be muscular. There was something magnetic about him—a quiet strength that both intimidated and intrigued me.
“Maybe tomorrow? Early before it gets too hot, we can walk the property, and I will tell you what I can.”
“Thank you. That would be amazing,” I said.
“How are things going with your family?” he asked.
I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. “We're still... getting to know each other."
He hummed noncommittally, but I sensed a wealth of unspoken thoughts behind his neutral expression.
“They aren’t the easiest bunch to get to know.”
“Seems to be a French trait,” I said.
He chuckled. “We make you work for it.”
“Have you known them long?”
“Only their whole lives. I was…let’s see…five, I think, when étienne was born.”
“That’s quite the history. I take it you’re not exactly friends.”
His mouth went tight. “We played a little when we were young, but the age gap is enough that we were not close.”
His phone pinged then, pulling us from the moment. He glanced down. “Ah, désolé. I have to get back to my place. There is an issue I have to see to.”
“Oh. You won’t be staying for dinner?”
“Unfortunately, no. I can’t. Another time.”
“Right. Well, thank you. For—for everything.”
Our eyes locked for a long moment before he nodded and offered a thin smile.
He straightened, brushing his hands on his worn jeans. " à demain , Elodie," he said, tipping an imaginary hat with a hint of playfulness.
"Until tomorrow," I echoed, watching as he made his way down the row of vines, his gait sure and steady on the uneven ground.
I stood there long after Remi had disappeared from view. I turned back toward the house, and a strange mix of hope and uncertainty swirled in my chest. The path ahead was daunting—but for the first time since arriving in Provence, I felt a spark of encouragement.