Before either of us can protest, she's swept Isla away, leaving us standing on the cobblestone street like we've been marooned.
"So," I say, suddenly nervous."That was subtle."
"About as subtle as Captain Feathers in a library."Roarke runs a hand through his hair."We could go back to the yacht, or..."
"Or we could walk.”I nod toward the promenade."It's a beautiful evening."
To my utter shock, Roarke agrees.
We stroll in silence for a few moments, the Croisette lit with soft golden lamplight, the last sliver of sun dipping below the horizon and setting the Mediterranean on fire.
The sea air smells like citrus and salt, and the buzz of Cannes at twilight surrounds us.
Couples laughing over wine.The clink of glasses.
The echo of a saxophone from somewhere near the marina.
Just as I start to think we’re heading back to the yacht, Roarke slows in front of a small, tucked-away wine bar carved into an old stone building draped in bougainvillea.
“La Cave du Nord,” the hand-painted sign reads in faded gold script.
The place is dimly lit and quiet, the interior glowing with amber light that spills from wide arched windows onto the narrow terrace lined with a handful of bistro tables.
Roarke glances at the entrance, then at me.“You hungry?”
“Starving.I—You know this place?”
His mouth quirks.“Jean-Pierre and Sylvie—the owners—were friends of my brother’s.We used to come here after long sails.Daniel would flirt with Sylvie and charm free bottles out of her until she chased us off with a dishtowel.”
The softness in his voice wraps around me.
This isn’t the Roarke West I first met.
This man is all memory and melancholy and quiet reverence.
As we step inside, a silver-haired woman behind the counter looks up—and lights up.
“Roarke West!”she exclaims, coming around the bar with open arms.“Mon Dieu, it’s been too long!”
He lets her pull him into a hug.“Hi, Sylvie.”
“You still frown too much,” she scolds affectionately.“But at least you brought someone beautiful this time.”
He glances at me.“This is Mia.”
“Ah,” Sylvie says, looking me over with a warm smile.“Bienvenue, Mia.Come, I’ll open the terrace for you.”
Within minutes, we’re led up a spiral staircase to the closed upper patio, half-hidden behind flowering vines.
Strings of fairy lights flicker overhead, and below us, the harbor sparkles like a blanket of stars scattered across dark water.
It’s quiet.Secluded.
Perfect.
“I hope this is okay,” Roarke says, pulling out my chair like the damn gentleman I’m afraid he might be.
“This is… incredible.”
