“This is the private part of the farm, and the public has no access. This is my grandparents’ house. We used to stay in the main house as kids, but we were each gifted a cottage on the grounds, and we’ll be staying at mine. It has two bedrooms,” he adds, and I’m not sure what expression he saw on my face. “It’s about a half mile in that direction.” He points beyond the house. “It’s not far to walk to the lake from my place, and this side is private.” His lips twitch as he says, “I usually go skinny-dipping late at night.”
“Is that a challenge,MonsieurColbert?” I waggle my brows as the car slows down and approaches the house. “Because I’ll have you know, it wouldn’t be the first time this girl went skinny-dipping.”
“Is that right?” He arches a brow as his smile expands.
“It is.” I clutch his hand harder as we draw up in front of the house where a smiling gray-haired couple awaits us.
“I think you’ll fit seamlessly into French culture.” He holds my hand tight before leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Don’t worry. I already know they’re going to love you.”
Thirty minutes later, it feels like I’m already a part of the furniture. Beck’sgrand-méreandgrand-péreare very welcoming, and they instantly settle my nerves, kissing me on both cheeks and telling me to call them Margot and Alain. Margot’s English is very good, but Alain’s is a little rusty; however, we manage to converse just fine.
I stuff myself full of the most mouthwatering fruit and creamy yogurt I’ve ever tasted, followed by melt-in-the mouth pain au chocolate and real French croissants that bear little resemblance to the ones available back home.
Margot gives me a tour of their gorgeous traditional farmhouse, complete with a review of old photo albums from when Beck was a kid. We drink delicious coffee on the patio that overlooks a large outdoor pool and stunning gardens. Margot and I have a full-blown conversation about flowers, and I promise to help her weed some flowerbeds before we leave for the US. She has arthritis in her knees and her hands, so the garden has gotten a little overgrown.
The second Margot took the family photo albums out, Beck hightailed it with my laughter following him. Alain and he are taking our bags to his cottage. I took my sneakers out before he absconded, along with some sunscreen, so we can explore the property on foot before heading there. I’m dying to see everything and glad jetlag hasn’t kicked in yet.
“We’re so pleased to have you here,ma chère,” Margot says, kissing me on both cheeks, when Beck has returned and it’s time to leave. This is a working farm, and Margot and Alain have things to do.
“Thank you for having me. You have a beautiful home and a beautiful farm, and I can’t wait to explore it and the town.”
“You are welcome any time.” Her soft smile is warm, and it feels like a gentle hug.
“It’s so good to see you.” She envelops Beck in an embrace before kissing him too. “You look happy, and it pleases me.” She casts another motherly smile in my direction before smooshing his cheeks. “Tell your sisters I expect a visit before the end of the summer.”
“I’ll make sure of it even if I have to drag them here myself.”
“Have fun, you two!” She waves us off, and we set out in the direction of the shop and petting farm.
“Just roll me over,” I plead, groaning as I rub a hand across my full belly. “If I keep this up the entire vacay, you’ll be rolling me onto the plane too.”
He chuckles. “I told you the food is good.” He points things out to me as we walk, waving at farm hands out in the fields as we pass by.
“So good. I have a feeling I’ll want to relocate to France before we leave.”
“I have thought of moving here often,” he says, pressing a button to open the large double gates when we arrive at them.
“I can already see why it would be a writer’s paradise. It’s like an entirely different world. The smells and the scenery and the peace and quiet is idyllic.”
“If I can extricate myself from Colbert Cartwright, I will definitely be spending some time here. Not year-round, but I can see myself living here part of the year.”
We walk through the gates and swing a right. I bat an insect away from my face as we stride toward the public area in the near distance. “Have you given any more thought to speaking to Sarah and Esther about your father’s blackmail?”
“It’s been on my mind, yeah,” he admits.
“I won’t nag you, it’s your decision, but I hate you can’t pursue your dreams because of your dickhead dad.”
Laughter spills from his lips. “I might start using that.”
“You should. If the name fits and all that jazz.”
He slows to a stop outside the shop, loosely linking his fingers in mine. “One part of me is scared of getting everything I want.” Sun glints off his shades, almost blinding me behind the lenses of my own glasses. “What if I’ve built it up to be this great something and it’s not? What if my writing career fades? What will I do then?”
I step closer and place my hand on his arm. “It’s only natural to have fears, but like a wise man once told me, it’s one step at a time, one day at a time.”
His lips kick up at the corners.
“It’s a good motto and one I’m trying to live by,” I say. “The first step is getting free of those shackles, and then everything else will slide into place.”
