Page 71 of One Last Gift

“Do you have plans, until then?”

“Ummm…” Hazel looked around at all of them. “I don’t know. Do we?” She focused on Cassie, who shrugged and looked across at Claire, passing on the question.

Linda jumped in. “Here, love,” she said to the waiter, “why don’t you give her your number?” She got out a pen, handed it to the waiter along with a napkin.

When he left, Cassie burst out laughing. “Getting hit on in France! It’s like something out of a romance novel.”

Hazel waved a hand at her.

“Well, you wanted to move here, didn’t you? Maybe you can get a French husband while you’re at it.”

Hazel rolled her eyes overdramatically. “Don’t be ridiculous. Though if you’re all being boring tomorrow, maybe I’ll take him up on it and go on a wild romantic day.”

Cassie narrowed her eyes at her.

Hazel frowned. “What?”

“You’re not even going to give him a chance, are you?”

“Cassie, he lives in France.”

To be fair, that was a valid point, but Hazel never gave anyone a chance—she’d yet to go on more than one date with any of the various guys she’d gone out with this year, as per usual.

“Well,” Claire said, “if anyone wants my recommendation, a French boyfriend is definitely the way to go.”

“Hear, hear,” Linda said, raising her glass and finishing off the contents. He wasn’t here tonight, because Claire had insisted on a few girls-only nights, but they’d met Claire’s new boyfriend the other day. Boyfriend—it sounded so odd, for her aunt. And Blaise didn’t really seem like the word “boyfriend” fit, either. He was this sexy, older Frenchman, who whispered into Claire’s ear and made her blush. It was kind of nice to see—Claire had been single since Cassie could remember. She supposed she’d not been with anyone when Cassie’s parents had died, and then she’d suddenly became a parent to two young children, which couldn’t have done wonders for her love life. If she’d ever had a boyfriend before now, she’d kept it quiet, and Cassie had never really thought to ask. She was realizing that it wasn’t just Claire who hadn’t made an effort. They both could’ve tried harder, over the years.

“Oh look,” Linda said, gesturing across the cobbled street. “They’re closing up that shop, the one with the pretty scarves. I wanted to make sure I went in there before we leave. Will we be able to come tomorrow?”

Claire hesitated. “Well, I thought we could take in the vineyards tomorrow, if you’re all up for it?”

“Aha!” Hazel said. “So we do have plans!” Everyone ignored that.

“Well, I’ll just run over now. I’m sure I can convince them to stay open.”

“I’ll come too,” Hazel said, and the two of them got to their feet and crossed over, Linda waving at the pretty Frenchwoman who was closing the shop in a way that left no doubt about the fact that she was a tourist.

It was odd, given they’d spent the whole week together, but Cassie still felt a little awkward, sitting alone with Claire. She supposed they’d never quite figured out the rhythm of their relationship, beyond the caregiver-child basics.

The waiter came out with their drinks order, and as Claire thanked him, Cassie’s phone buzzed from inside her handbag. She bent down to get it, and saw it was a WhatsApp from Amy. A photo of the baby—her nephew. Amy had given birth around a month ago. Cassie had gone to see her early on, when Amy was still a bit exhausted and out of it, but she hadn’t been since—Amy’s parents were staying with her, to help, and she hadn’t wanted to intrude. She smiled as she looked at the photo, a little lump forming in her throat. Could she see Tom in him? She wasn’t sure.

“What are you looking at?” Claire asked, and Cassie turned the phone so she could see.

“Tom’s son,” Cassie said quietly.

Claire stared at the photo, and her expression was unreadable. Then she smiled at the phone. “My grandnephew. Is that right? I always get confused.”

Cassie put the phone away—she’d reply to Amy later—and Claire sighed. “Your mum would’ve loved it here.”

Cassie paused in the action of picking up her coffee. A tiny coffee—was it supposed to be this small? She watched her aunt. Claire never voluntarily offered up information about her parents.

“Your dad too, of course,” she continued, “but your mum…I can totally picture her, sitting out here, drinking, having everyone laughing, making friends with all the staff.”

“Just like Tom,” Cassie murmured, and Claire nodded, her eyes shining.

“Yes.” She twisted the stem of her wineglass on the table. “Cassie, I’ve been wanting to say this for some time now, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to. And I suppose, being here, moving, it’s given me some space and I’ve been reflecting a bit on some things. So, I just wanted to say sorry.”

Cassie frowned. “Sorry?”