Chapter 3
OLIVIA
Provence, late June
Downing the last drops of the lukewarm Coke I’d bought from the outdoor vending machine, I tried to distract myself from the ball of anxiety spinning in the pit of my stomach.
My train had arrived two hours ago, stopping barely long enough for me to fling my bags out and hop onto the hot pavement before rolling off again toward Toulon.
The handful of people who’d gotten off with me had been met by their families, leaving me alone on the platform to wait for a man I’d met only once and who’d grudgingly agreed to let me stay with him this summer.
Since it was Sunday the tiny train station was closed, so I found a seat on the sun-drenched stone wall next to the miniscule parking lot and waited. And waited.
I couldn’t even call Jake because I’d left my phone behind in Paris.
As the cicadas buzzed in the trees behind me, I fanned myself with the copy of French Vogue I’d picked up that morning in Paris.
It had been ungodly early when I’d said goodbye to my best friend Callie and my cousin Levi at the Gare de Lyon .
We’d spent the past two weeks tooling around Ireland and Scotland before Callie started a new restaurant gig in Paris and Levi headed to Aviano Air Base in Italy where he was stationed for the next two years.
“Watch out for yourself, Liv,” Levi had said as he ruffled my hair.
We’d always been close growing up, and he was more like a big brother than a cousin.
Now that he was a pilot in the Air Force, we rarely got to spend time together.
That’s why this trip abroad had been so important to me.
“And remember, you can always call if you need me.”
I’d shaken my head at his protectiveness. “Okay, Dad.”
“Call me when you get in.” Callie had squeezed me tight, and I didn’t want to let go.
Before she left for France, we’d been roommates, and I’d missed our late-night gossip sessions and weekend adventures.
But if things worked out as I planned, we’d be living together again in the fall: I’d applied and been accepted to one of the top culinary schools in France.
Now, I just needed to get the nerve up to tell my dad that I planned on abandoning law school for cooking in Paris.
“And keep me posted on any developments with Hot Boss.” Callie winked. She knew better than anyone that since I’d met Jake six months ago, I couldn’t get him out of my head. Now, all my romance novels and late-night fantasies featured leading men with wavy brown hair and scruff-covered dimples.
I worried that I’d built him up too much in my head.
What if the reality of him was a huge disappointment?
I mean, we’d only spoken briefly at Christmas, and then I’d emailed him once to see if his offer still stood, and he’d taken forever to answer.
When he did, it was the shortest message I’d ever received: “Yes, send me the details. I’ll pick you up. ”
I sent him my train information last night and then . . . radio silence.
“This is a bad idea. He’s probably hoping I won’t come,” I’d moaned to Callie with one foot on the train platform.
It was too late to abandon my plan now. My return ticket wasn’t until August, and Callie’s roommate—a sour-faced pastry apprentice from Connecticut—wouldn’t be pleased if I kept camping out on their couch.
“No way,” she argued. “He probably sprained his hand from getting himself off in the shower thinking of you. That’s why he didn’t respond.”
“Oh, please!” I laughed. “Remember, he’s only ever seen me in a bulky Christmas sweater.”
Callie shook her head. “It’s time to lean into your inner sex goddess this summer, Liv. You can do it. Make me proud.”
I looked down at the ivory silk camisole and shorts I was wearing.
I’d chosen the outfit in hopes of making a more memorable impression on Jake than I had last year.
After hesitating over wearing a lacy bra or going braless, I figured, I’m in France, right?
and had stuffed the bra into my suitcase.
Except now, with this heat, my top was starting to cling to me in a way that may have crossed the line from sexy to lewd, but it was too hot to cover myself with the cardigan I’d worn in the train.
Just as I was considering buying another lukewarm soda from the vending machine, a dark gray Land Rover with tinted windows pulled up in front of me.
Jake stepped out of the driver’s side, and my pulse raced at the sight of the tousled hair and handsome features I’d been fantasizing about for months.
Damn, he was even hotter than I remembered.
“Olivia, I’m sorry,” he said, hurrying over to me. I held my breath when his large hand grazed over my side, and he leaned over to greet me the French way by lightly touching his cheeks to mine in quick succession.
Cool, cool, Liv. Don’t make too much out of it. Everyone does that here. Unfortunately, my nipples hadn’t gotten the message because they were on high alert.
“I had an emergency with a client that I had to drive to the airport in Nice. I tried calling you, but it went directly to voicemail,” Jake explained, lifting my suitcase into the trunk as my eyes drank him in like I’d been crawling through a desert, and he was a sparkling oasis.
His dark T-shirt clung to his broad back and narrow waist, revealing the corded muscles of his strong arms. His jeans hugged his ass in just the right way to hint at the way they flexed as he walked.
“I don’t have a phone,” I managed to say at last, tearing my eyes away from him.
“You don’t have a phone?” He frowned. “I thought girls your age were surgically attached to them.”
Girls my age? Great . “Well, I’m always misplacing mine. I think I left it at my friend’s apartment in Paris.”
“We can get you another one while you’re here. Or you can invite your friend down. There’s more than enough room.”
“Really?” I hadn’t even been here a day and he was already offering to have my friends over. Was this guy for real?
He held the passenger door open for me and I climbed in.
The car smelled like new leather with a hint of his cologne—fresh and clean, a hint of bergamot and cedar.
I inhaled deeply and sighed as I watched him through the tinted glass as he crossed over to the driver’s side with a languid confidence that was kind of hypnotic. God, he was sexy.
Even his smallest movements turned me on apparently, because when he slid his long tan fingers over the stick shift and eased it into position my entire body throbbed. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his hand. Why didn’t we have more manual cars in the States?
“So remind me—do you speak French?” he asked, leaning his arm against my seat as he backed out of the parking space.
“Not really,” I responded weakly. “I tried doing some Duolingo, but it’s tough to learn on your own.”
“You’ll have lots of time to practice.”
I buckled my seat belt, acutely aware of how it emphasized my bralessness.
Between the effect Jake had on me and the air-conditioning, my nipples were rock hard, standing out like torpedoes against the thin material of my top.
Jake didn’t seem to notice though. I don’t think he even looked at me once as we made our way up winding roads lined with tall cypress and olive trees.
My self-consciousness ebbed away as I got lost in the magnificent landscape.
Rolling down the window, I inhaled the fresh air heady with the scent of pine needles, cut flowers, and a hint of the briny sea.
It was heavenly, and I closed my eyes, not caring if I looked like a cocker spaniel with its head out the window.
“Is the air-conditioning too much?” Jake asked.
I pulled my head back inside and caught him staring at my legs. A little thrill of satisfaction went through me. “No, I just wanted to breathe everything in.”
He nodded and kept his eyes riveted to the road. As we rounded the next hill, I could barely contain my excitement when I glimpsed a sliver of turquoise water in the distance. “Is that the Mediterranean? I mean, of course it is.” I chuckled nervously. “I guess it’s been a long day, huh?”
Jake winced. “My fault. We’ll be in Moustiers soon.
That’s the village up there.” He pointed to the next hill that seemed to emerge from the sea.
At its peak perched a high church tower surrounded by a collection of terracotta roofs and a snaking medieval wall.
It all looked as if it had been carved out of the stones themselves.
“This is so surreal,” I said, glancing at Jake’s serious profile. “I feel like I’m in a Van Gogh painting—one of those gorgeous explosions of color of his—but I can feel the warm breeze in the trees and smell the lavender on the hills.”
“That’s very poetic for a future corporate attorney. Glad you like it.” The firm line of his mouth curved up slightly, and his dimple popped.
“How could I not? It’s breathtaking.” At that instant another flash of brilliant sea green was visible through the pines. “Or maybe you don’t notice it anymore. That must be the danger of being surrounded by so much beauty. You forget to pay attention to it.”
I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but his eyebrows had drawn together. “You know, I think you’re right. I do take it for granted. It’s nice to see it through someone else’s eyes.”
Relief coursed through me now that the initial awkwardness between us had disappeared.
As we drove down the main street of the village past the café terrace full of people lounging in the sun, past the striped awning of the boulangerie, Jake told me more about Moustiers.
“There’s a market twice a week. And you can get fresh fish down at the port daily. ”
We continued down narrow streets lined with pastel-hued houses draped with bougainvillea, their colorful shutters drawn against the sun.
Then, leaving the village behind, we turned off on a narrow gravel path that cut through a dense tunnel of umbrella pines and led to a dark iron gate.
When he pressed a button on his sun visor and the gate opened to reveal an immense vine-covered stone villa with pale green shutters, I gasped. “All this is yours?”
His firm mouth crooked up in that ghost of a smile that I’d already come to recognize as his only tell when he was embarrassed or uncomfortable. “It’s too big, I know. But I receive clients from time to time and they have certain expectations.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t a critique. I never imagined I’d be staying somewhere like this.” We parked in the half-moon driveway, and I stepped out in a daze, slowly turning around to take it all in.
The sun had turned the old stones a pale buttery yellow and filtered through the pink-tipped roses that grew up along the walls.
Happy birds danced around a stone fountain that looked as old as the medieval village itself.
There was a garden off to the side with a breathtaking view of the hills and the Mediterranean.
Jake had already taken my suitcase to the back of the house, so I hurried to catch up with him, skidding to a halt in front of the magnificent pool set deep in a stone terrace.
Behind the pool, a pergola wrapped in wisteria offered shade from the sun.
I could already envision myself laid out on the enormous pile of cushions with a book and a cold drink.
“If I had a place like this, I’d never leave,” I said. This had to be a dream, right? When I had pictured Jake’s home, I’d imagined one of those narrow two-story houses that we’d passed in the village.
“It didn’t always look like this,” Jake admitted. “It was just a crumbling pile of stones when I bought it six years ago. And since this little corner of Provence is still relatively unknown, it was kind of a steal.”
“How’d you find it?”
“Pure luck. I came out here because I’d happened to taste one of the best wines of my life at a blind tasting, and I was determined to meet the winemaker.
” His hand brushed over my arm lightly, sending an electric charge through me, and my breath caught as he guided me toward the stone wall overlooking the valley below.
“Those are the vineyards over there. See?”
I was so distracted by his nearness that it took me a minute to make out the neat rows of vines clinging to the rocks. “How do they survive there?”
“Perseverance and ingenuity.” Jake dropped his hand from my arm and stepped back, running his fingers through his hair.
“Anyway, I drove down to meet the winemaker the next day. Tried to convince him to let me export some of his wine, but he told me he wasn’t interested.
He still won’t sell anything to me if it’s not for my own consumption.
He’s about ninety years old and stubborn as a rock. ”
“Like his vines.”
“Yeah, but so am I.” He leaned his elbows on the wall, gesturing to the place.
“I came back every year, and always left empty-handed. One day, I saw a ‘for sale’ sign sticking out of the wall here. The place was in ruins, but when I saw that it overlooked the vineyards, I bought it on the spot. Almost to spite the old man.”
I laughed. “Funny, you don’t look like the vengeful type.”
“Well, turns out the joke was on me because it took years to rebuild.” He ran his hand over the stones, and I couldn’t help wishing I was laying on those stones. “Didn’t help that I was determined to do it myself.”
“You did all the work yourself?”
“No, not all of it. I left the plumbing and the electricity to the experts, but yeah, I did the plaster, drywall, stonework. With some help from a couple guys from the village.”
“So you’re handy and ho—” I caught myself before the word hot left my mouth. “Ho-hospitable.”
He shot me a bewildered look. “I think you’re the first person to call me ‘hospitable.’”
I couldn’t help letting my eyes wander over his strong body and imagine him shirtless in the sun, covered in sweat and dust. And just like that I had another visual to add to my ever-growing stock of Jake fantasies.
He turned around and caught me ogling him.
Flustered, I asked, “How long did it take you to finish?”
“To be perfectly honest, it’s still not done. I’m here only a few months out of the year, and never more than a month at a time. Plus, seventeenth century stone is uncompromising. I want to do it justice.”
“Seventeenth century?”
“Almost as old as the village itself. Except for this part. This is new.” He indicated a small cottage at the end of the garden. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying.”