“Careful, do not move,” she warned, in her fast Parisian French, and he thought it would be nice to hear her speak her perfect English again, saying something other than “penis-head.” Perhaps over a meal, perhaps stretched out on a soft bed where the only words necessary were whispers of each other’s names.
He managed to fall forward onto his knees and give his burning thigh muscles a break.
***
IMPOSSIBLY, SERENAhad an attractive stranger hiding behind her grandparents’ barrels of wine. She ought to be alarmed. Instead, she was thoroughly entertained. The Renault delivery team, two men whom her grand-père had known since they were boys, continued to come and go for the remainder of the day. She directed them to take barrels that were well away from where the Englishman crouched.
When it was dusk, the hall emptied, but still the man who’d worn the kerchief at the Café was loitering by the stall of the Cerise vintners. Although not the owner, she thought he might be the manager of sales. In any case, he seemed in no hurry to depart.
“Hey, Mademoiselle Serena, we have finished for the day,” said Michel, one of their delivery men. The other, Jacques, already stood by the far exit. “Time for a good meal. My Marie said lamb tonight. Do you want me to walk you home first?”
“No, thank you, Michel. I’ll go soon.”
He touched his cap and left. Another ten minutes passed. She wondered if her hidden Englishman had fallen asleep. Finally, when she could not pretend to straighten her papers one more time, the man from the Cerise winery walked past and out the door. Immediately, she hurried to the stacked barrels and peered between them. She could see no one until she realized, he was on the ground.
“Are you well?” she asked, bending low.
A brown eye appeared at the crack.It was a beautiful eye, she thought. Then she heard his fingers scraping and scrabbling at the barrels as he drew himself up to standing with an audible groan.
A strange sound that made her insides tingle.
“I think I’m crippled,” he declared in English.
She knew it wasn’t the least amusing, but it made her smile nonetheless. Walking around the stack, she found the narrow opening through which he’d squeezed his muscular body. Out, he came.
“Ow,”he said, hopping around. “For Christ’s sake,ow!”
She said nothing as he did a little dance restoring the circulation to his limbs. She didn’t tell him he would have been better if he’d remained standing the whole time. Instead, she poured him a restorative glass of wine, and when he finally grew still, she handed it to him.
He drank it down in two long gulps.
“Thank you.” His tone was a little husky, and again, she felt a tingling response.
“I think you should stay away from that man who manages the Cerise wine shipments,” she suggested.
Immediately, he grinned, and the tingling became a fiery shiver.
“You’re right, mademoiselle. May I know your name?”
“Renault,” she gave her grandparents’ surname, as that was how she was known in Paris.
“I appreciate the place to hide and the wine, Mademoiselle Renault.”
“And may I know yours?”
He hesitated, before saying, “Branley.”
“Shall we go, Monsieur Branley?” she asked.
“Where?” he looked curious.
She had the distinct impression he imagined she was inviting him to go somewhere private for a tryst. With his good looks, that was undoubtedly a regular occurrence.
“Away from here, monsieur,” she explained. “They will lock the doors soon.” Serena gestured toward the entrance.
“Oh, yes, I see.” He set the empty glass down as they walked past her stall’s table. Glancing back, noticing the name on the barrels, he said, “Your family owns the winery.”
“Yes.”
