“Hello?” I called.

“Bonjour, y a-t-il quelqu’un ici?” a cheerful voice sang out.

I recognized the seller from the booth where we bought the antique cream-colored chairs with rose stitching and went to greet him at the entranceway. “Je ne parle pas beaucoup le français, Simone n’est . . . Simone n’est . . . I’m afraid Simone’s not here.”

“Voilà, the chairs. For you,” he said, carrying them into the house, one wedged under each of his arms. His eyes darted around the space. “Où?”

“Où? Oh right, where? Follow me,” I said, motioning him toward the salon.

“Où sont les caméras?” he asked as we made our way down the long hall.

“Where are the cameras?” I translated and repeated back to him. “Not today,” I responded and held up two fingers. “Deux jours. Two days.” His face fell in disappointment. “Maybe you can come back then, and we can reenact the chair delivery? Sorry, I don’t know how to say reenact in French.”

The seller plopped the two chairs down in the middle of the room with a resounding humph.

“Um . . . if you can wait a few minutes, I can try to find someone who can speak better French who can explain,” I offered.

“Non, non, non, Simone m’a promis!” With that, he turned on his heel and marched out the front door, muttering a handful of what I imagined to be French expletives along the way.

“I’ll have her call you,” I yelled after him, but he was already halfway to his truck. Once he was gone, I turned my attention to the beautiful chairs now strewn in the middle of the room. They were heavier than they looked, and it took almost all the upper body strength I had to drag them across the floor to the front of the fireplace, but Simone was right, they made the most perfect addition to the space.

Exhausted from the early wake-up call, I plunked down in one of them and stretched my feet out in front of me. Even though it was close to ninety degrees in the house, it was easy to imagine a family gathered around the massive hearth playing card games and telling stories. I glanced up, and there above the fireplace was the fully excavated Adélaïse family coat of arms. The workers must have finished it while we were at the market. I don’t know how I’d overlooked it earlier, maybe it was all the commotion with the yelling chair vendor, but as soon as I spotted it, I sprang out of the seat to take a closer look.

Most of the color on the crest that had been faded from the layers of paint that had to be scraped to unearth it were renewed, now clearly detailing the heralding trumpets, fleur-de-lis, and rampant lions on its shield. The proud name Adélaïse, now clearly visible in a stylized Old English–looking font stamped across the middle, added to its regality and prominence. With the colors restored to a distinctly vibrant crimson, green, and gold, the crest looked dynamic and powerful, a true symbol of what this house and this family stood for—and seeing it displayed front and center in the space made me feel a sense of pride I hadn’t felt while working on any project . . . or maybe ever.

What sounded like a man’s and a woman’s voice cascaded down the hallway. I poked my head out of the salon doorway and spied Bastien and Kate locked in an intimate conversation, Bastien’s hand on the small of Kate’s back as they walked. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but every couple of words were interspersed by laughter. They stopped at the stairway, huddling closer together. Kate placed her palm on Bastien’s chest, nodding along to whatever it was he was saying before he pulled her in for a long hug. She broke away and threw him one last smile before turning on her heel and walking out of the house.

I waited a few seconds, cleared my throat, and called out, “Bastien? Bastien, is that you?”

He strode into the salon. “Plum, there you are! How are you, ma chérie? You were at Brocante de Beaucaire, non? How was it? A rousing success?”

“Honestly, it was hot. But we did manage to find these two beauties,” I said, pointing to the chairs.

He stood back to admire them. “Elles sont magnifiques.”

“Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Oh, I have been up with the cicadas since this morning . . . busy, busy. First, I did a walk-through of the house to make sure we cleared all the mold. Believe me, mold is not something you want to play around with, very serious if any at all is left behind. I think the fans and dehumidifiers need just one more day to run to make sure everything is dried out before we secure the floors, and then we can resume filming.”

“That is very good news.”

He cupped my chin in his hands. “Why do you look like that when you say, ‘that is very good news’?”

“Why do I look like what?”

“Like the very good news is actually very bad news.”

I stepped back and away from him. “No, it’s nothing. Just a long, hot, exhausting day is all. And it is very good news. I’m sure Kate was delighted.”

“Maybe? I am sure René has already provided her with an update.”

“René? Not you? You’re not the one who’s been updating her?” So if Bastien wasn’t giving her the lowdown on the mold situation, then what were they so cozied up about?

“Oui, I asked René to take the lead on this part of the renovation. There are just too many things to tend to, and I needed to, um, how do you say . . . give some jobs away?”

“Um . . . delegate?”

“Oui, yes, delegate. He will update Kate on his part.”

“I see.”

Bastien took two long steps past me toward the fireplace. “Hmm, what is this?”

I spun around to look at where he was now pointing. “Oh, isn’t it incredible?! It’s the Adélaïse family crest. Elliott uncovered it from beneath like a dozen layers of paint.”

“Oui, I saw the crest already. I meant this,” he said, pointing to a clock sitting on the mantel.

I was so enamored by the coat of arms earlier, I completely overlooked it sitting right there in front of me. I carefully lifted the base up off the shelf. “Wow, it’s the clock that we . . . me and Elliott . . . came across at the market this morning. It reminded me so much of the one I saw in that original photograph we found at Saint Orens. I even joked with Elliott that it just might be the very same clock. I wanted to get it, but it was a little too expensive. I guess he must’ve gone back to the booth to buy it after we split up.”

“Well, it fits perfectly, non? Like it was made for this exact spot?”

“Oui, it really does.”

He put his arm around me. “C’mon, you must be hungry. Can I interest you in that life-changing croque Monsieur now?”

“Can I take a rain check? I’m tired and sweaty and could use a cold shower and a full night’s rest. Besides, I have a tutoring session with Pascal tonight.”

“Pascal? Should I be jealous?” he teased.

“I don’t know, should I be jealous of Kate?” I said before I could stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

His eyes went round. “Kate? Don’t be ridicule. She is only my colleague, the same way Elliott is your colleague, non?”

At the mention of Elliott’s name, I felt my body stiffen, remembering the feel of his soft lips on mine and the jolt of electricity that almost knocked me off my espadrilles. “Yes. Of course, you’re right, I am being ridicule.”

He gently stroked the side of my face. “Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point.”

My brain tried to catch what it could of his French, running through my limited vocab with Pascal. I came up woefully short. “The only thing I got was cœur . . . heart, right? So what does the rest mean?”

“The heart has reasons for which reason knows nothing.”

“Tell me, why does the expression ‘you’re being ridiculous’ sound so much better when it’s said in French? It’s almost infuriating.”

The corners of his mouth turned up to a flirty grin. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask Pascal?”

Mon dieu, he was charming. And seemed to be very into me. Maybe I was jumping to the entirely wrong conclusion about him and Kate. Maybe I was just still in my head after the whole Rhys encounter? I didn’t have anything to worry about . . . Colleagues talked, right? Colleagues even occasionally touched. Sure. Colleagues sometimes even kissed on romantic antique carousels, and that didn’t mean there was necessarily anything more to the story.

But there was just something about the look in Kate’s eyes and the way she and Bastien were overly familiar with one another. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that in this case, there really did seem to be more to their story.