first course.
She and Alexandre were seated at one of the best tables on the patio, the place almost empty. Only two other tables were occupied and far enough away that Jeanne-Marie couldn’t hear the occupants, who were talking quietly.
Opening the menu, she took a moment to study the items, already knowing what she and Alexandre always ordered, but looking anyway.
A moment later Matthieu Sommer was seated at a table nearby. Suddenly aware of his presence she tried to keep her eyes on the menu. Fortunately he’d been seated with his back toward her, so she wouldn’t have to look up and find him watching her. But she couldn’t help taking a glance his way now and then. What was it about him that intrigued her so much? He wasn’t particularly friendly. Keep your distance was more like the vibe he sent out. Granted, he was a handsome man, but arrogant. She didn’t know if she liked him or not, but he certainly had captured her interest.
“I want the chicken,” Alex said, kicking his feet against his chair.
“As always. And I’ll have the quiche.”
“As always,” he mimicked, grinning up at his mother.
Jeanne-Marie closed the menu and put it on the table. She glanced at Matthieu Sommer studying his menu. Wistfully she wished she’d asked him to join them. Not that he’d want to spend his meal with strangers. But during the meal she might have discovered more about him. And even realized they had nothing in common so this aberration of interest would fade.
Had he joined them she would probably have ended up as tongue-tied as a teenager facing a major crush. Yet, it must be lonely to eat alone. She debated asking him to join them now, but in the end decided to leave things as they were.
When their order had been taken, Alexandre brought out his small cars and began playing with them on the table. Jeanne-Marie was glad of the distraction. She had to stop staring at her newest guest. Once his order had been taken, he began to look at brochures he’d brought with him. She suspected they were the ones offered at the inn. One touted the shopping in the little fishing village, tourist places all. Another gave an overview of Les Calanques. And a third was one from a local sport shop that catered to climbers.
Alexandre looked up. “Will I be able to take my cars when I go to school in September?” he asked.
“Probably not. You’ll need to pay attention in class so you learn all you can.”
And she needed to pay attention to her son, and ignore the man sitting so enticingly close.
When their meal arrived, Jeanne-Marie devoted her attention to helping Alexandre with his food and eating her own. She couldn’t help notice when Matt’s dinner was served. And that he finished at the same time they did. The place was still scarcely occupied.
Matt couldn’t finish dinner fast enough. The food was excellent, he had to give it that. But he could hear the chatter behind him between the innkeeper and her child. Their laughter sparked memories of happier times—when he and his small family had shared meals together. Etienne would have been seven now. The pain that gripped his heart squeezed again. His adored son, now buried beside his mother in the family plot. He gazed ahead for a moment, trying to blank the memories. Marabelle had scolded their son if he played around too much when out in public. Now he wished they’d let the child do whatever he wanted. He’d lived too short a time.
Madame Rousseau’s son was just the age his had been when the drunk driver of the huge truck had plowed into their family sedan and instantly killed them both. He couldn’t help thinking his reflexes might have been faster than hers, to escape the crash. Or if he’d been in the car, he would have died with them, and not been left behind with all the pain.
He wanted to tell the innkeeper to cherish her son. But of course he never would. He kept the pain bottled up inside and to the outside world presented a facade belying the constant anguish he lived with. Time heals all wounds, he’d been told over and over. Everyone lied. This wound didn’t heal.
Only the challenges of climbing temporarily swept the memories away. Intense concentration was necessary to pit his strength against the walls of rock. And the energy expended ensured he slept most nights without nightmares.
He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in staying at the inn. He hadn’t expected a young and pretty innkeeper— or a child.
As he ate he wondered about the widow behind him. Her husband had died from a climbing fall. Yet she ran a successful inn in the shadows of some spectacular day climbs. He was curious about her. His cousins would be delighted to learn that he could wonder about something and not be locked into the past. His uncle would see it as moving on. His aunt might even hold out stronger hopes.
Not that he foresaw much interaction between Madame Rousseau and him except as it concerned his stay.
Climbing was dangerous. He knew as well as the next man, a cliff, a mountain could turn rogue and the one scaling its face could end up injured or dead. Yet the challenge wouldn’t let go. To climb a sheer cliff, to scale a mountain too steep and rugged for the average trekker was a challenge not to be missed. The exaltation when conquering each one was a high he had once relished. Man against nature. Sometimes nature won. So far in his pursuits, he’d triumphed. Not that he took joy now; it was just something to do to take his mind off his loss.
He didn’t envy the pretty innkeeper. She’d have her hands full raising a son without a father. He knew Marabelle would have had lots of family to rally around if he had been the one to die. His family tried to help out, but he didn’t need them. It was easier dealing with everything on his own. It was his own private hell, and he wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon.
Matt heard the commotion behind him as the bill was paid. A moment later the small boy startled him, coming to stand at his side. “Did you like dinner? Isn’t this a good place to eat?” he asked, smiling up at Matt. The boy’s sunny disposition penetrated his own dark thoughts.
He took in the earnest expression on the child’s face and nodded. “It is a very good place to eat.”
His reward was another sunny smile the child bestowed. “I like it lots,” he said.
“Come along, Alexandre,” his mother summoned him.
When Matt followed a few moments later, he spotted the mother and son on the beach. They had removed their shoes and obviously were going to walk back to the inn along the shore.
He hadn’t walked along any beach in a long time. He watched them until others exited the restaurant, laughing, reminding him he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Giving into impulse, he stepped onto the beach and headed to the packed sand near the water.
The little boy danced at the edge of the sea, running almost to the water, then dancing back when the small wavelets splashed on his feet. His laughter was carefree. How long had it been since he had felt that carefree? Matt wondered. Would he ever again?
THE NEXT MORNING Jeanne-Marie placed the coffee press in front of the older couple from Nantes. They were both engrossed in their daily newspaper and didn’t even glance up. Surveying the small dining area, she was pleased to see her guests enjoying the breakfast she provided. Three couples had requested the box lunch she also supplied to guests. Many liked to enjoy the water sports and didn’t want to have to change
