Elliott nodded and slowly slid into the seat. He pushed his tousled hair out of his face and moistened his full lips. His eyes were really the most beautiful shade of baby blue. Was he this good-looking yesterday, or was I too distracted by his less-than-winning personality to even notice?
“Hope you don’t mind the company?” he mumbled.
“What?” I said, quickly averting my eyes off his face. “Oh, it’s fine,” I answered.
“Coffee? Tea?” Agnès asked Elliott.
“Tea would be great,” he answered.
Agnès called out to Odette, who scooted over with a steaming pot. “This is my daughter, Odette,” Agnès said, introducing her to Elliott. “She is a grad student at La Sorbonne but comes home to work when she needs extra money.”
“That’s not the only reason, Maman.” Odette flashed the most perfect pearly white smile in Elliott’s direction.
“What are you studying?” Elliott asked her, clearly already smitten.
“Art history,” she answered.
Elliott’s eyebrows practically jumped up into his hairline. “Really? I minored in art history.”
“Vraiment?! Quelle coïncidence! Where did you study? Have you visited Paris yet? All the museums there—oof, you would love it!” Her enthusiasm was palpable, and Odette inched closer to Elliott, their newfound connection seemingly ousting me out of their conversation.
“I grew up in Kansas City, but when I became interested in filmmaking and set my heart on UCLA, my single mom knew out-of-state tuition would be impossible. In-state was hard enough, even with loans and grants. So we moved to Fresno when I was in high school, I got accepted into UCLA’s film school, and I put my nose to the grindstone to make it worth the sacrifice every day since. A professor I TA’ed for convinced me that an art history minor would help refine my eye as a filmmaker. Wise man.” Elliott paused and set his napkin in his lap. “If I get to Paris, I may not have a ton of time to explore all the museums. So if you have any recommendations on your favorites or tips on how to see the best exhibits, I’d love to hear them.”
I didn’t quite catch her response as I was marveling at the ease of their conversation—like a friendly game of tennis, gently lobbing the ball back and forth with fluidity, when ours had been so . . . trying and difficult. Elliott hadn’t said that many words in the full twenty-four hours I’d known him, let alone shown any kind of interest in me or my background like he was with Odette. I felt a pang of jealousy, and not because Odette was so beautiful and captivating (and she was undoubtedly both) but because I literally had nothing of substance to add to the conversation and felt a bit like an uninvited third wheel.
I didn’t go to college. I’d thought about it, but in the end, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life and didn’t have the first clue as to what to major in. So when Nude and Nervous, Celebrity Edition came calling and offered me a big fat paycheck and the promise of a multi-season run, I gave up on the idea entirely. Now looking at the current state of things, I couldn’t escape the nagging feeling I’d made all the wrong decisions.
Odette cracked open a small wooden box containing a variety of tea flavor options and showed the selection to Elliott.
“Which one do you recommend?” he asked.
“Le citrus is my favorite.”
He offered her a smile and nodded. “I’ll have that one, then.”
Odette pulled the tea bag from the paper and placed it on the saucer. She surveyed the room quickly to check on the other patrons, and seeing no one needed her assistance, rested the teapot on the table and pulled up a seat in between me and Elliott.
“I am so pleased you are here, and I’m sorry I could not stay and chat with you yesterday. I must confess, I learned English from watching EVERLYday. I’m such a huge fan. Will your sisters be joining you in France?”
“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.”
