I tear my eyes away, and we start walking slowly. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”
“Favors for the guests. Madi wants something that’s local. A gift to represent this region of France.”
“Eiffel Tower keychains?”
“Not funny, Jack. In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s more to France than the Eiffel Tower.” She pulls out her phone. “I did some research and made a list of some things this region is known for.”
“Lay ‘em on me.”
She eyes me in that way that tells me I’m doing something right, even though she wants me to think the opposite. “Okay, so… strawberries, walnuts, roasted duck,foie gras, and truffles.”
I snap. “Roasted duck. That’s the one.”
“Yeah. We’ll just send all the guests home with a roasted duck in a knapsack dripping with cooking juices.” She stares me down. “Are you going to be helpful, or are you here to make this harder than it already is?”
I snap again and point at her. “The helpful thing.”
“Strawberries!” Siena points to the closest booth, where small plastic packages of juicy red strawberries are arranged next to larger crates.
Despite the fact that neither of us speaks a lick of French, the woman in the linen apron next to the booth is more than happy to satisfy our desire for samples, and she hands both of us a napkin with two berries. I bite into the first one, perfectly firm with a burst of juicy sweetness.
“You going for a Carl’s Jr. ad?” Sienna reaches a finger over, using her napkin to wipe up the juice dripping down my chin.
I use my thumb to dab the bit hanging out by the corner ofhermouth. “Better that than Dracula.”
“Is it, though? At least Dracula has skills beyond ruining a perfectly good dress shirt.”
“What, like convincing multiple women to be his wife?”
“Ew, no.” She punches my arm, which I make a half-hearted effort to avoid. “Youwouldimmediately jump to that.”
“Pfft. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re a guy, and guys are the worst.” She bites into her other strawberry, being careful this time not to let any of the juices dribble. “I obviously meant Dracula’s ability to talk to wolves.”
“Ah, right. Super useful skill.”
I feel eyes on me and glance over at the lady in the apron. She’s watching us with the hint of an indulgent smile on her face.
Siena clears her throat and throws her napkin and the top of her strawberries in the small garbage can nearby. “Thank you so much. Those are delicious.”
She nods, then picks up a couple of crates. “You take how many? Zree? Four?” That accent of hers isthick.
Siena and I glance at each other, unsure what to say, just as another couple walks up, taking the woman’s attention.
“You’re not really thinking of using these as favors, are you?” I ask Siena quietly.
“Gosh, no. Can you imagine a chateau full of wedding guest Draculas? And how in the world would we package and store them? They’d be moldy even before the civil ceremony. Let’s slip out while she’s busy.”
I clench my teeth, shooting a glance at the woman.
“What?” Siena says. “Let’s go.” She grabs my arm and pulls, but I don’t budge.
My conscience has officially kicked into overdrive.
“Jack, come on. What’re you doing?”
The couple shake their heads and walk away, and the lady turns toward us, her eyebrows raised in a hopeful question.
