Having the Frenchman's Baby

“Now that we have that out of the way,” he said on a ragged breath, “tell me why you ran from me today.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t run.”

“No?” he demanded. In the space of a millisecond his mood had changed. She edged further away from him.

It was the wrong thing to do. He just moved in closer so their bodies brushed against each other in the water.

He put his hand beneath her chin and lifted it so she was forced to face him. “I don’t know what else you’d call it.”

“I—I felt I’d become a nuisance,” she stammered. “Normally I make plans to visit a vintner several months in advance. But in your case I arrived unannounced. You’ve had to make all sorts of accommodations for me. Poor Giles—”

“Poor Giles has been having the time of his life,” Luc cut her off.

“So have I,” she confessed. “I’ve learned reams about wine from him. In my opinion he’s a national treasure.”

Disarming laughter broke from him once more.

“An apt description of Giles. I can’t wait to tell him.”

“He and Solange are both terrific individuals.”

“I couldn’t agree more. It’s a small world when a stranger comes to Thann and ends up brightening the lives of two people who love to live in the past.”

She made the mistake of looking at him. “You’ve just described my grandfather. He always tells me he feels sorry for me because I didn’t live in the golden age following World War II.”

He held her glance. “My grandparents said the same thing to me. Each

generation thinks theirs is incomparable.”

She nodded. “I suppose it is to them.”

“But you don’t feel that way about your life?”

Rachel bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I haven’t lived all of it yet.”

“Touché,” he murmured in such an odd tone she trembled a little.

Though they were talking on one level, something else was happening on another. She had a premonition they weren’t making idle conversation any more.

Without warning he heaved himself from the water, then extended his hands to pull her out.

“Let’s get dressed and drive into town. I know a little place that serves pasta Alsacienne style.”

His moods changed so fast, she couldn’t keep up with him.

“That sounds good.”

Except that she wasn’t hungry, not after trying to keep up with his mercurial emotions.

“Oh—the towel!”

“I’ll get it later. Let’s go.”

He grasped her hand. They walked back inside the convent. Whatever was on his mind had to be serious. Maybe over dinner he would tell her.

CHAPTER FIVE

LUC ushered Rachel inside the Petit Vosges. The fragrance from her strawberry shampoo assailed him.