Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
We continued along a single-lane road, passing fields with grazing cows and horses and modest homes partially hidden by enormous trees. The next village over was sorely lacking in medieval castles, but it had a boulangerie, a pizzeria, a post office, a market, and a few boutiques. It was also very dog friendly.
We left the bikes at the rack in front of the post office, put Beau on a leash, and set off to explore. I’d figured Winnie would lose interest quickly. There was nothing flashy or exciting here. This was a quiet provincial dot on a map where only a handful of residents spoke English. Winnie loved it.
“Enchanté, enchanté, enchanté!” He pivoted on the sidewalk, one hand on his hip. “I could live here.”
“And what would you do for a living?”
“Cut hair. There’s no barber shop. They need me, and I’m easy, honey. They can pay me in cheese, bread, and wine. C’mon, you can tell me all about chalets while we check it out.”
“Châteaus,” I corrected, smiling the same silly smile I’d been sporting for days as he sashayed down the street like a runway model.
Winnie waited for me at the corner with his hand outstretched and a beguiling come-hither look on his face. For me. And yes, I was the one who was enchanted now. Utterly enchanted.
We strolled hand in hand through stores stocked with Eiffel Tower tees, felt berets, and kitschy Impressionist prints. Nothing high-end or fashionable, but better quality than at some of the tourist traps in the city. And the last boutique on the street sold colorful clothing that Winnie declared was magnifique.
“Alistair, they have your color. I swear this is it. This is you,” he commented, flattening a jumper against my chest.
“It’s blue.”
“No, no. It’s not plain ol’ blue. It’s sky blue and cornflower blue and…Egyptian blue.” Winnie arched a brow in challenge. “See, I listen. Try it on for me. Please.”
The salesperson descended on cue, and she understood enough English to insist that my friend was right. I figured it was easiest to go along with them. I pulled the wool-blend fabric over my head, chuckling at Winnie’s theatrical gasp.
“C’est parfait!” the woman gushed.
“Oui!” Winnie agreed. “It’s par-fay! It’s the perfect hopper.”
“Jumper?” I snickered as I pulled it off. “Thanks, but it’s not my taste. It’s too…colorful.”
He waggled his brows. “Trust me on this one. This color is your friend, honey.”
I glanced from the salesperson to Winnie to Beau, who was busy licking his balls, then shrugged. Why not?
“Fine, I’ll take it.”
Win flashed a radiant grin that made me feel like I was ten feet tall with a mega penis and a winning lottery ticket. Who was I?
Honestly, I didn’t recognize this version of myself. I’d ridden a bicycle, held hands with a man in public, and parted with cash for a jumper that would clash wildly with everything in my wardrobe. And I had zero regrets. In fact, my smile was too broad and my shoulders were set with a confidence I didn’t usually feel whilst dealing with everyday people in the real world.
This was the Winnie effect. My whirling technicolor dervish of a lover cast a spell everywhere he went, charming shopkeepers, waiters, seasoned archeologists, and anyone lucky enough to fall into his orbit.
Like me.
We returned to pack up our belongings and deliver Beau to his owners. I’d expected Françoise to be home now, but we’d missed her. She’d left a note on the kitchen table with instructions to leave Beau in the house as Jacques would be back within the hour.
The note was in French of course, and filled with nosy questions about my new friend along with the usual “It was nice to see you, don’t be a stranger” sentiments. She’d signed her name with a flourishing F, a heart on the I, and “Bonne chance.”
I scribbled a quick thank you on the flip side of her note, no hearts, assuring her I’d hoped to visit again soon. I…not we. I certainly didn’t respond to her queries regarding Winnie. For obvious reasons. I couldn’t explain what I didn’t understand.
I glanced at the man showering a stranger’s dog with nonsensical gibberish till Beau rolled belly up, tongue out, begging for more. Winnie delivered, slowly straightening and peering over my shoulder.
“Bonne chance. Why is she wishing you good luck?”
“She knows I’m giving a speech or two at the conference. Small world, remember?”
Winnie pushed a strand of hair from my eyes and fussed with my shirt collar. “You don’t need luck. You’re going to be amazing.”
I could have scoffed and assured him that words like luck and amazing didn’t apply. I knew the material too well to falter. A few speeches in front of a crowd of likeminded scientists and historians was a walk in the park. It was the socializing I didn’t enjoy.