Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
I awoke from a deep, restful sleep, my mind still hazy with vivid dreams. In my slumber, I had been a little girl again, running through endless fields of lavender, their purple haze stretching to the horizon. I'd dreamed of a life here, of growing up in this sun-drenched paradise, with Mom and Dad still together, their laughter echoing through the old chateau's halls.
As the golden sun filtered through the gossamer curtains and that now-familiar rooster pierced the morning quiet, a sudden clarity washed over me. I might not have all the answers—the future still a hazy silhouette on the horizon—but I knew with certainty what the next few months would hold. It was time to embrace the present, to seize this unexpected opportunity full on.
I savored a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the last cobwebs of sleep and doubt. Feeling refreshed, I slipped on a light sundress, its fabric cool against my skin, and set out in search of coffee, my bare feet padding softly against the worn wooden floors.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee led me to the back patio, where I found my three siblings lounging in wrought-iron chairs. A steaming pot of French press coffee and a basket of golden, flaky croissants sat on the table between them.
" Bonjour , everyone," I said brightly, stepping onto the sun-warmed stones of the patio. “Coffee to spare for a lonely, lost American?”
Félicité nodded, gesturing toward the French press. "Just made a fresh batch. Help yourself. The croissants are fresh from the Cafe Alice, too."
“No Colette specials?” I asked.
I poured myself a small cup of the rich, dark coffee and plucked a croissant from the plate, settling into an empty chair. All around us, birds trilled their morning songs, and a gentle breeze whispered through the vineyard, rustling the leaves with a sound like soft applause. It was a scene plucked straight from a travel brochure, almost too perfect to be real.
“She has the morning off. She doesn’t work non-stop, you know,” Régis said a little icily.
“Right. Of course.” I took a bite of the croissant, its buttery layers melting on my tongue, then cleared my throat. “Well, don’t tell her, but these are pretty damn good.”
“And what are you up to today?” étienne asked dryly.
“I actually have my first meeting with the contractor. Remi arranged it.” They all looked up at me.
“Contractor?” étienne asked. “You’re not going to start tearing out walls, are you?”
“Not at all. I just want to see if there is anything serious that needs to be addressed before we start in on aesthetic touch-ups. Is there, I don’t know, mold, rot, piping issues.”
“That’s very thorough,” Félicité piped in. “Pierre would be grateful.” We exchanged a smile.
An hour later, I nervously paced the front porch, awaiting the contractor’s arrival Remi had coordinated for me.
The crunch of tires on gravel announced his arrival, and suddenly, my heart plummeted into my stomach as if I'd just stepped off the edge of a cliff. What was I doing? Had I completely lost my mind? Was I really about to oversee the renovation of a French chateau? How long was I really going to stay in France? The thoughts clashed in my head like gladiators in an ancient arena, each vying for dominance.
Despite the internal chaos, I plastered on a smile as the battered white truck pulled up, its engine sputtering to a stop. The door creaked open, and a man stepped out, his movements deliberate and assured.
His face was a roadmap of lines etched by sun and time, framed by salt-and-pepper hair that caught the morning light.
" Bonjour ," he said, his voice as weathered and warm as his appearance. “Madame Descoteaux?”
He had bright, genuine smile that instantly eased some of the tension coiled in my chest.
“Er, no, it’s—” I hesitated, then smiled. “ Oui. Je suis Madame Descoteaux. Bonjour .”
He grinned widely. “Bon, bon.”
“Er—do you speak English? Parlez-vous anglais ?”
He nodded, a slight tilt of his head. "Not very well, but Oui . Un peu .” He brought his thumb and forefinger together to indicate ‘a little.’
I felt my smile relax into something more genuine. "I'm sure it's much better than my French, so I hope you don't mind if we do." His grin widened, and he shrugged—a quintessentially French gesture that spoke volumes.
"Is no problem. Je suis Jacques ."
"Nice to meet you, Jacques. Call me Elodie."
"The new owner," he said it more as a statement.
I let out a half-laugh, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "Apparently. Thanks for coming out."
Jacques' gaze swept upward, taking in the towering fa?ade of the chateau. "So, what are we looking at?"
I followed his gaze, suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of what I'd undertaken. The morning sun cast long shadows across the weathered stone, highlighting every crack and imperfection.
I began, uncertainty creeping into my voice. "I guess you'll have to tell me that. We probably need to update some of the plumbing. Some fresh paint." I shrugged, feeling woefully out of my depth. "I know, I'm not helpful at all, am I?"
He chuckled, the sound rich and comforting. "Is OK. It gives me lots of room to think and be creative."
We started at the base of the chateau and room by room, we moved through the grand old house, our footsteps echoing off old tiles and creaking floorboards. Jacques pointed out areas where things weren't up to code and potential safety hazards hidden behind ornate moldings and faded wallpaper. But he also marveled at the quality of the workmanship, his calloused hands running reverently over intricate woodwork and sturdy stone walls.
"Homes are just not built the same anymore, you know?" he said, shaking his head. "A lot of, how you say, fast homes going up all over. Trying to create, what do you call them? Suburbs?"
"Yes, that's the word. And yes, I know they're an eyesore. The quality is nothing compared to these old homes."
Jacques nodded assertively, tapping his hand against the wall. “You are very lucky to have this."
After a full walk-through that left my head spinning with terms like 'load-bearing walls' and 'electrical rewiring,' we found ourselves on the back patio. The vineyard stretched out before us, a sea of green leaves shimmering in the late morning sun.
"So, what do you think?" I asked, unable to keep a hint of trepidation from my voice. "Is it going to be a complete nightmare?"
Jacques waved a hand. “Nightmare? No, of course not. Is a dream for me. But be prepared for a lot of work. Which is going to take a few months to do all the things we discussed. That is OK, right? Time is relative."
I smiled, thinking that was possibly the most French thing I had ever heard. Time was a precious commodity in America, always in short supply, always slipping through our fingers like sand.
The creak of the patio doors interrupted my musings. I turned to see Félicité stepping out, her eyebrows rising slightly in surprise at the sight of Jacques.
“ Bonjour ,” I said, trying to read the emotions flitting across her face.
“ Bonjour ,” she replied, her voice a touch too chipper. She offered a friendly smile and nodded to Jacques, her curiosity evident.
"This is Jacques. The contractor who Remi arranged for me. We’ve just been reviewing what needs to be done,” I said.
“Wonderful. Enchanté, Jacques,” she said, her gaze darting between Jacques and me. "I was going to ask what your plans were."
“It’s going to be a big project, but I feel—” I felt excitement rise in me. “I am really excited.”
“I can’t wait to hear more. Are you still working, or can you take a little break?” Félicité asked.
I turned to Jacques. “You will send me over the proposal?”
“ Oui . I should have it by tomorrow.”
After he left, Félicité slipped her arm through mine. “Come. You must tell me everything. And, tell me what on earth is going on between you and that Remi.”
“What? Nothing is—” I protested.
“Mmm-hmm,” she said knowingly as she tugged me along.