Having the Frenchman's Baby

“I often come here with Giles after work. As you can see, it contains all sorts of memorabilia from the war years.”

“It’s amazing,” she exclaimed. “I’ll have to bring Grandfather when he gets better.”

Luc was planning on it.

He ushered her to an empty table in the corner and motioned the waiter over.

“Do you trust me to order for you?”

Rachel’s blue eyes fastened on him. They looked more brilliant in the candlelight against the leaf-green of her suit. She was so damn stunning, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Of course. In fact I’d prefer it.”

He had to tear his attention away from her to order the scampi pasta and beer.

After the waiter walked away, a bewitching smile broke the corner of her mouth. An incredible mouth. The memory of that kiss had altered the rhythm of his heart.

“I understood your French, but I didn’t know you liked beer.”

“Only the draft on tap here. I’m curious to know how you’ll like it, and the music.”

Her expression livened. “What kind?”

“Are you familiar with Edith Piaf?”

“Yes. Grandfather said she was called the little French bird who sang her heart out during the war.”

“That’s true. The female vocalist who performs here looks and sounds incredibly like her. If you have a favorite song from the past, she’ll sing it for us.”

“I know Grandfather had one. It had something to do with the soldier who didn’t come back.”

Luc nodded. “I know the one.”

“As I recall, it was very sad.”

Rachel’s voice sounded wistful just now, reminding him of what she’d said earlier about life.

I haven’t lived all of it yet.

Those words had resonated in some secret part of him. That was because he hadn’t lived all of it yet, either.

Being with her made him hunger for the things he’d thought were over. He needed to tell her, but he would wait for the right moment.

“The pasta is marvelous,” she said a little while later.

“And the beer?”

“Well…” She made a little face that caused him to chuckle.

“It’s all right if you don’t like it, Rachel. I have to admit it’s an acquired taste.”

“How long did it take you?”

“To acquire it?” he questioned poker faced. “To be honest, I never really did.”

“I knew it.”

She leaned forward. Her eyes flashed blue sparks. “You’re a purist, and a horrible tease. I bet your sister could tell me stories—”