Audrey pinches her wet T-shirt away from her body. “I need a shower.” She shoots me a questioning glance.
“Go,” I say. “I’m in no danger at present.”
Well, not the kind of danger you can protect me from,I note silently as she jogs to the door and disappears behind it.
CHAPTER TEN
As Henri and I walk into the kitchen, I expect to find Odile engrossed in culinary activities. Instead, she’s standing in the middle of the room, phone in hand and a ruffled look on her face.
Henri rushes by her side. “What’s wrong?”
“I just hung up with Quentin.” She stares at him, blinking.
The crease between Henri’s eyebrows deepens. “Is he all right?”
“He’s injured himself doing some DIY,” Odile replies. “He’ll survive, but you know men and the sight of blood… He’s convinced he’s on death’s doorstep.”
“How serious is his wound?” I inquire. “Did you see it?”
She points at her screen. “Yeah, he showed it me. He managed to get a cut on his forehead but he’s not going to bleed out. He might need stitches, though.”
“Do you guys have a first aid kit in the house?” Henri asks. “Can he drive to the hospital?”
Odile shakes her head. “He’s just sitting there with a kitchen towel wrapped around his head, like he’s reenacting a scene from a war movie.”
Henri raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Do you need a lift to check on him?”
“I can drive, thanks. I’m not as easily unsettled as he is. It’s just…” She glances at the stove. “I was only starting on tonight’s dinner. Everything for the bloggers’ welcome breakfast is ready, though.”
“Don’t worry about the dinner,” Henri says, stepping forward. “I’ll take care of it.”
Odile gazes up at him. “You sure?”
“Oui, Madame! Go take care of your husband. We’ve got this.”
Odile gives him a quick, grateful hug. “Thank you, Henri. You’re a lifesaver. Quentin and I will be back early in the morning.”
As she hurries out, he picks up her apron, dons it, and surveys the produce laid out on the worktop. “Let’s see.”
“I can’t cook or I would’ve offered to help,” I say, leaning against the central counter.
Henri moves on to rummage through the pantry. “Do you think you can chop some veggies for a ratatouille without losing a finger?”
In my mind’s eye, I picture a plate with ratatouille. “Medium-sized cubes?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose so. I learned to handle a knife during my self-defense training.”
He shoots me an amused look, then turns on the faucet and runs two zucchinis and two eggplants under the water.
“Here you go!” He hands me a zucchini along with a peeler, a knife, and a cutting board.
I pick up the knife and prepare to start chopping.
“You might want to peel that zucchini first,” Henri suggests.
“Right. Of course.”
