Chapter 9
Olivia
“ W e’re early this time,” Jake said as he slid his sunglasses on and sat on the low wall next to the train station.
It struck me that this was the exact spot where I’d waited for him a couple weeks ago, wondering if I’d made the right decision to come here.
Today, after spending time with him at Domaine de la Ruche, I was sure that I had.
“Thanks for coming with me.” I sat down next to him and tried not to stare at his perfect profile.
I was constantly stealing glimpses of him.
I couldn’t help it. Yes, he was handsome.
And right now, in that loose linen shirt rolled up over his forearms and open at the neck, he was doing things to my insides that were making me lightheaded.
But it was more than that. I’d never been as drawn to another person as I was to him.
And now that I’d seen him in his element, I was even more intrigued.
Gone were the constant worry lines and permanent scowl that were normally etched on his face.
In the vineyard, he’d been another person, looser, more carefree, as he scooped up a handful of rocky earth and studied it with rapt intensity.
He and Monsieur Reynaud had a unique chemistry, almost like a grandfather and his wayward grandson.
It was kind of adorable. Quite honestly, Jake looked more at home in those vines than he did anywhere else.
Seeing that side of him was like being let in on a secret.
And it also felt like a turning point in our relationship.
When he noticed me looking at him, Jake dimpled under his scruff, and my heart fluttered. I could have happily stayed here with him for the rest of the afternoon, but then a high-pitched alarm came from the station announcing the train’s arrival.
“I’ll wait for you here,” Jake said. I nodded and rushed through the station and out onto the quay just as the train from Marseille pulled in. I searched the crowd for Callie and spotted her almost immediately.
At five-foot-ten Callie stood out in a crowd.
Not only that, but with long golden hair and her signature red lips, she always looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine.
Today, she wore a black formfitting dress that hugged her gorgeous curves.
Her kitten-heeled sandals clicked as she made her way toward me, arms open wide. I jumped into them like I always did.
“Chicken!” She squealed with delight. I laughed at her nickname for me.
I called her “fearless” because she was always so much bolder than I was and went after what she wanted, whereas I was constantly second-guessing myself.
She’d started calling me “chicken” to encourage me when I was besieged with self-doubt.
“How was the trip?” I asked, hoisting her leather bag over my shoulder. As we made our way out to the front of the station, I couldn’t help but notice the interested looks she got from men and women alike.
“Exhausting! I was sitting next to this guy who would not shut up until he decided to eat an entire roast chicken for lunch with his bare hands.” She shivered. “All that grease! I would’ve moved, but the train was full. I ended up standing in the back near the door for the last hour.”
Out front, Jake was right where I’d left him. But as soon as he saw us, he stood and started toward us. “Now I see why you broke your vibrator,” Callie whispered, and I elbowed her in the ribs.
“Callie, this is Jake,” I said unnecessarily with a nervous grin, praying she wouldn’t embarrass me.
“Nice to meet you, Callie.”
She mouthed “wow” over his shoulder as he gave her two quick cheek kisses. “I told you,” I mouthed back.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jake,” Callie purred. “Olivia hasn’t stopped talking about you since she got here.” I shot her a warning look.
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t exaggerate, Cal,” I said with false cheerfulness.
“Would you like to have a drink before we hit the road?” Jake nodded toward the café across the street. “You must be exhausted after your trip.”
“I would love a drink!” Callie winked at me, and I stiffened.
I had failed to consider how having her here for the weekend would give her ample opportunity to play cupid.
And I was right. No sooner had we sat down at a round table on the terrace, than Callie started interrogating Jake.
“So, Jake, tell me about yourself. Olivia says she so rarely sees you that she was beginning to think you work for the CIA.”
I glared at her, but Jake played along, smiling crookedly. “I guess my cover’s been blown.”
The waiter brought our drinks—Aperol spritzes for Callie and me and a Perrier for Jake. “You’re American, right? I don’t know why I was expecting you to have an accent.”
“Yeah, American. My mom is from the Netherlands. She lives there now, not far from Amsterdam.”
“Oh, that’s nice. You must see her often. Being away from family is the hardest thing about living abroad.” Jake’s mouth flattened into a tight line. He didn’t like talking about his parents, which I understood since I was equally determined to avoid conversations about my mom.
“Olivia tells me you’re at the Plaza Athénée.
” Jake quickly changed the subject, launching Callie into a series of stories about her job at one of the top hotels in Paris.
This naturally led to her telling Jake how she’d convinced me to apply to Ferrandi, which in turn led into funny anecdotes from when we lived together.
By the time we got back to the car and started on the drive home, the conversation had drifted to our book club. Afraid Callie might use it as an excuse to bring up my love life—or lack thereof—I decided to interrupt. “Callie, you said you had some news?”
She rubbed her hands together. “You’ll never believe who contacted me for a possible gig next year in London.”
“I don’t know . . . Gordon Ramsay?”
“Liv . . .” She frowned over her sunglasses at me. “You’re geographically correct. It is someone from the British Isles.”
“Don’t tell me it’s the self-proclaimed rock star of new British cuisine,” I grumbled.
“Gaz Greystone,” said Jake as if reading my mind. Callie and I both gaped at him. “What? You said hotshot Brit. He was the first person who came to mind. Am I right?”
“Wow, Jake, if we ever play charades, I want you on my team.” Callie laughed, looking over at me expectantly. “Well, what do you think?”
Not that asshole again , I thought but bit my tongue.
Callie and Gaz had an on-again-off-again relationship—if you could even call it that.
He’d left her self-esteem in tatters just a few months ago when, after spending a weekend with Callie, he’d gone back to London and been photographed with a famous actress on his arm.
He was constantly making her empty promises and she kept falling for them.
“That’s great,” I lied.
“Just don’t cross his father,” Jake warned.
“Do you know Mr. Greystone?” I asked, intrigued. I knew Jake had influential acquaintances in the industry but hadn’t realized how high up the ladder they were. Gaz’s father was a billionaire hotel mogul known for his ruthlessness.
“I’ve met him once, but everyone in the industry knows his reputation.”
A few minutes later we arrived at the house. As soon as Jake turned into the driveway, Callie squealed. “Holy shit! I thought you were exaggerating, Liv. This place is unbelievable. Jake, you don’t need a live-in chef, do you?” She winked at me. “What am I saying? You already have one.”
Jake glanced sheepishly at me. If I’d wondered before if he’d purposely been avoiding eating the food I’d made, I had no doubt about it now. I didn’t want to let on how sensitive I was about it, though, so I pretended not to notice. “I’ll show you the cottage, Cal.”
“Let me know if you need anything.” Jake excused himself and went inside.
Once he was beyond earshot, Callie turned to me with wide eyes and an eager grin. “Okay, I want all the details, leave nothing out.”
* * *
Two hours and a couple glasses of rosé later, Callie had learned just how uneventful things had been with Jake.
As we made our way down the quiet streets of the village toward Chantal’s house, she gave me the same advice Jin had. “You need to take more initiative. He’s not going to make the first move. He’s a good guy and probably sees you as off-limits.”
“Callie, he won’t even eat the food I make,” I whispered, afraid someone would overhear. The night was still; only the chirping of crickets and the clicking of our sandals on the cobblestones disturbed the silence. “He’s made it pretty clear that he’s entirely uninterested.”
She wagged a finger at me. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” I knocked on Chantal’s door as she continued lecturing me. “But I am sure that you are a lousy flirt. How many guys have given up because you don’t know how to give the right signals?”
“I know how to signal. I just do this.” I winked and pursed my lips just as Chantal’s nine-year-old granddaughter, Isa, opened the door. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “ T’es bizarre .”
At least I understood what she said this time. I was making progress.
“ Entrez, entrez ,” Chantal cried as she bustled down the hall to give us both three enthusiastic kisses on the cheek.
Callie handed her the flowers we’d bought from the florist and Chantal ushered us into the tiny living room where Michel and their two grown daughters were waiting on a chintz-covered sofa.
“ Et Monsieur Jake? Il est où? ” Michel pretended to search behind us, his hand over his eyes. People were always asking me about him. When I didn’t respond, Chantal started speaking even faster and gesticulating wildly while Michel rolled his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Callie, grateful for her perfect French.
“They’re annoyed that Jake isn’t here,” she whispered. “Did he know he was invited?”
“Was I supposed to invite him?”
“Chantal says he leaves you alone too much.” Callie snorted and put her hand to her mouth. “Uh-oh . . .”
As I waited for her to elaborate, Chantal shooed us toward her small kitchen to show us what she was preparing for dinner.
A plate of petits farcis —plump tomatoes and bright green zucchini stuffed with meat and breadcrumbs and bathed in olive oil—sat on the counter, making my mouth water with the familiar scents of garlic, onion, and basil.
Callie and Chantal hit it off right away, chatting and laughing like old friends while I poked at the food.
When dinner was ready, we helped Chantal carry the food into the dining room, but before we sat down Callie took me aside.
“Chantal told me that she’s taught you to make all Jake’s favorite meals.
She says you should know how to keep him happy and his belly full so he’s too tired to go elsewhere. ”
“What?” I croaked.
Callie nodded with a wicked grin and asked Chantal another question. It was hard to follow, but I did hear the words copine and fiancée . When Callie turned back to me her eyes were twinkling. “Apparently, the whole town thinks you’re engaged.”
I could feel the blood rushing to my face. “Why would they think that?”
“Well, the first day you met Chantal, you told her you were Jake’s copine .”
I swallowed hard. “Doesn’t that mean friend?”
“Yes, and also girlfriend.”
“Oh my God! That’s why they’re always asking me about him.” I started to hyperventilate. “Should I have said amie ?”
Callie took a forkful of salad. “That can also mean girlfriend.”
I faced Chantal’s family who were staring at me now, and said, “ Je n’aime pas Monsieur Jake !”
“ Alors là !” Michel chuckled, his belly bouncing against the table.
“You also confirmed a wedding in the works. The whole town is waiting for an invitation.” Callie giggled. She was taking way too much pleasure in this situation.
“Can you please tell them not to mention any of this to Jake?” I begged.
How was I going to show my face back at the house if he caught wind of this?
But when Callie explained the misunderstanding, Michel only laughed harder, clapping his hand on his knees, and speaking so rapidly I couldn’t make anything out at all.
“Too late.” Callie grimaced. “They had a chat this morning.”
“No!” That meant the entire time we’d been together today he’d known and hadn’t said anything. I buried my face in my hands while everyone laughed, even little Isa, the traitor. Chantal came to my side to comfort me.
“She says not to worry. If he didn’t deny it, there’s still hope,” Callie explained. “She has a few tricks up her sleeve that she used to snare Michel and she’ll share them with you.”
The idea of lessons in seduction from Chantal was too much. “No, no. Thank you, but there’s no hope. Fini. Basta. Caput .” I mimed cutting my throat.
Eventually, I was able to turn the topic away from Jake and tried to concentrate on the food.
Chantal served homemade gnocchi and ragout followed by an apricot clafouti but I hardly ate anything, only managing to down a shot of Michel’s digestif —a homemade plum liquor that nearly ripped a hole in my esophagus.
As we were leaving, he made me take a bottle for the road. I refused, but he insisted, pressing the bottle into my hands. “For the wedding!” Laughing heartily, he closed the door.
When we arrived back at the house, I was relieved to find everything dark. There was no way I could face Jake tonight. And I had no idea what I would say to him tomorrow.
“Callie,” I said, after we had each taken a shower, brushed our teeth, and snuggled up in bed like it was a middle school slumber party. “I think I’m going to have to go back to Paris with you.”
“Don’t be silly, Liv. Chantal was right when she said it was a good sign if he didn’t deny it. Maybe he’s just waiting to make his move.” She rubbed my arm.
I snorted. “You’re dreaming. But thanks for trying to cheer me up.”
My phone buzzed and Callie giggled. I opened our group chat to find that she’d already messaged Levi about tonight’s events.
Callie: You missed the big news, Levi.
Levi: Did you finally learn how to tie your shoes?
Callie: Ha ha. No, bigger than that. Liv’s getting married!
Levi: ???!
I glared at her and wrote back: Just ignore her, Levi. I have my phone back, btw.
Levi: Yeah, I noticed. It was so peaceful around here last week without my pocket constantly buzzing.
Callie: Ah, you missed us. Admit it.