“No, it’s just me on this project. I’m filming a new reality show here in Maubec.”

“Vraiment? In Maubec? Nothing ever happens in Maubec.”

Elliott raised his empty cup in the air, trying to get her attention without being rude.

“Oh, pardonnez-moi,” Odette said, sliding the hot water over to him.

“Merci,” he said, a big goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Will you be staying here the whole time while you film?” Odette asked.

“Until the château is habitable, I guess?” I answered, though I really had no clue.

Elliott pulled out his phone and scrolled through an email. “We’re filming at Château Mirabelle? Do you know it?”

“Ah oui, Château Mirabelle. I know it well. I tried to convince Maman and Papa to purchase it a few years ago, since our inn has so many foundation issues. In fact, try to avoid slamming any doors, if you can?” she said with a joking tone, but her face implied some truth in her warning.

“I’m not sure what kind of shape Château Mirabelle is in, but I’ll be renovating it, with the help of a local contractor,” I said.

Elliott looked down at his watch. “Speaking of which, we’re meeting Bastien at the château at eleven, so I should head upstairs soon to shower.”

Odette’s eyes widened. “Bastien Munier?”

Elliott glanced back down at his phone to verify and then looked up. “Yes, do you know him?”

“Everyone in Maubec knows Bastien . . . ,” Odette said, her voice fading off. “The same way everyone in Maubec knows everyone,” she quickly added. “That’s why I moved to Paris.”

Agnès returned to the table and set my espresso down in front of me. “Voilà. Can I offer you a pain au chocolat?”

I leaned closer and breathed in the rich scent of bittersweet chocolate paired with a hint of something I couldn’t quite place. “The croissants smell divine.”

“We bring them in each morning from the patisserie across the road,” Agnès said, pointing out the picture window to the café across the street. “You may have even seen the proprietor, Monsieur Grenouille, out front. He is always bustling about.”

“Oh yes, I think he grunted at me from afar yesterday.”

Odette chuckled. “Pfft. Don’t let his unpleasant expression fool you. He’s a teddy bear at heart.”

Agnès interjected, “And the very best pastry chef in all of Provence. Don’t tell a soul, but I believe his secret ingredient is hazelnut extract.”

“Hazelnut. That’s it!” I covered the side of my face with my hand and whispered, “My sister Pear adds almond paste to hers.”

Agnès smiled and pushed the basket toward Elliott. “One for the road?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, grabbing a delicious-looking tarte aux pommes from the pile and ripping a huge chunk off with his teeth. “Will we see you again?” Elliott asked Odette once he’d swallowed.

“Oui, I’m home for . . . how do you say in America . . . summer break?”

“Good, maybe I’ll catch you around, then. Plum, the van will be here at ten thirty. I’ll meet you outside.” He turned to leave before I even had the chance to respond.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Odette asked once Elliott was out of earshot.

“My boyfriend? God, no. He works on the production side of the show.”

She moistened her lips, closed up the box of teas, and stood. “Why don’t we all grab a drink later? Let me show you both around Avignon.”

“Avignon? Not Maubec?”

“If you drove through the town square and passed the clock tower, then you have seen all of Maubec. Avignon, though, is a bit larger and feels much younger since it is where you’d find one of the bigger universities in Provence. Lots of music festivals, a cool art scene, fun nightlife. Much more exciting than Maubec.”

I dabbed the corners of my mouth with the cloth napkin and set it down on the table. “Sure, sounds like fun.”

“Magnifique!”

“Odette, dépêchez-vous,” Agnès shouted from the next table.

She tilted her head to the right. “I should go.”

“Me too,” I said, standing from the table and pushing in my chair.

“See you later, n’est-ce pas?”

“Absolument.”

Chapter Ten

At precisely 10:29 a.m., the Sprinter van sent from production rumbled up to the inn’s entrance, kicking a thick cloud of dirt and gravel into the air. I waved my hand to clear away the swirling dust, but not before I managed to inhale a lungful. I coughed a few times, finally taking a large swig of water to stop the fit.

Elliott stepped outside the inn and raised his arms over his head to stretch. “Ah, smell that French country air. Just incredible.”

I coughed a few more times as Gervais came around to slide the door open for us.

“After you,” Elliott said, motioning to the van. “No first-class cabin in here, you’ll have to make do in coach with the rest of us commoners.”

Sheesh. Talk about not knowing how to let something go. He was holding on to the one stupid quip I made at the airport tighter than a squirrel hoarding acorns for the winter. “That’s okay, you go ahead,” I offered.

“No, you go. I have to get all the equipment loaded up in the back.”

I nodded and climbed into the van. I yelled to Gervais and tapped on the window. “Can we open these? Remember, yesterday?” Who could forget? “I get motion sickness?” I lifted up my bag, pantomimed puking into it, and then pointed to the window again.

Gervais rolled his eyes and said, “Ah oui. Dégoûtant!” He reached over me and pushed open the window.

“Merci.”

Elliott finished loading his equipment into the back and hopped into the captain’s chair beside me in the van.

“Aren’t we just meeting with the contractor? Why’d you bring all your camera equipment?” I asked.

“The network wants some exterior shots of the château for early promotional stuff. I figured I’d grab the footage while you meet with Bastien.”