LITMIR.BIZ

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a lot of time here when he wasn’t working. After his death, I thought this would keep me closer somehow. Plus it gives me the opportunity to make a living and still be able to spend most of the day with my son. And keep him near enough to see his grandparents. Alexandre’s all they have left of their only child.”

      “It’s a charming village. But quiet.”

      “True. It suits us at this stage in our lives.”

      He wished he could see her expression. “What do you do in the evenings?”

      “Read. Work on the accounts if I don’t get a chance during the day. I have a computer and keep in touch with my family and friends. And I have Alexandre.”

      “He can’t be much of a conversationalist, though you wouldn’t know it by his chatter tonight. It’s captivating, actually.”

      She smiled, barely visible in the dim light. “He can be funny and wise at the same time—and all without knowing it. I’m content with my life. Why would I change it?”

      “To find another husband. It can’t be easy to be a single parent.”

      “I had one. I don’t expect a second.”

      “Men aren’t rationed, one per woman.”

      She shrugged. “How many wives have you had?” she asked.

      He paused a second before replying, “One.”

      “Ah, the contented married man,” she said.

      “A drunk driver killed her and our son. Two years ago now.”

      “I’m sorry. How horrible.” Jeanne-Marie was stunned. She couldn’t imagine losing both Phillipe and Alexandre. Sympathetically she reached out to touch his arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

      They walked in silence for a moment, then hoping she wasn’t making things worse, she asked, “Where do you live?”

      “Family enterprise in the Vallée de la Loire.”

      “Castles and vineyards,” she murmured. “Do you have a castle?” she asked whimsically.

      He paused a moment. She wished the light was better so she could see his expression.

      “My family has one,” he finally said.

      “You’re kidding! How astonishing. Are those old castles as hard to heat as they look?”

      Matt was surprised by her question. Most of the time if the castle came into discussion—which he tried to avoid—the first question was how large was it and when could the person see it. “The rooms we don’t use are closed off, and those in use comprise the size of a normal house, so it’s not as hard to heat as you might suspect.”

      “Sorry, it’s none of my business, but every time I’ve seen one, I’ve wondered how in the world it’s heated. We don’t have such a problem in winter here with the warmer climate.”

      “Are you a king?” Alexandre asked.

      “No. The castle has been in the family for many generations. But I work for a living like anyone else,” Matt said.

      “At the family enterprise?” she asked.

      “Vineyards and a winery.” There. Now see what the woman did with that knowledge.

      “Mon Dieu, vin de Sommer—I’ve heard about your wines. They’re excellent.” She stopped abruptly and looked at him. He stopped and looked at her. The stars did not shed much illumination, so he couldn’t see her expression well.

      “Are you telling me the truth?” she asked, trying to see him clearly.

      “I don’t lie,” he said calmly. What, did she think he was trying to puff himself up? To what end? He was here for escape, nothing more. He certainly was not out to impress her or anyone else.

      “Then why are you at my inn instead of a five-star place in another town?”

      “I want what you’re offering—peace, quiet and an excellent vantage point to scale Les Calanques.” Not the nightlife Paul loved. That he and Marabelle had once loved.

      The fact his innkeeper piqued his curiosity was a turn he had not expected. It had been twenty-four months, two weeks and four days since he’d found his interest captivated by anything.

      Now that she knew who he was, how long before she changed her attitude toward him? He wished he’d kept his mouth shut! No one needed to know his own tragedy. Sympathy was wasted; it didn’t change anything.

      “Alexandre, time for bed.” Jeanne-Marie calmly took her son’s hand when he ran over and began walking toward the inn, cutting obliquely across the sand to reach it sooner than walking along the water’s edge.

      She didn’t say another word to him as he kept pace with them. Once in the inn, she went directly back to their private quarters with only a brief word of goodnight.

      Matt stood in the lounge watching the closed door for several seconds after she firmly shut it. Of all the reactions he’d anticipated, that had not even been on the list.

      “Do you need something, monsieur?” the teen behind the desk asked.

      “Insight into women,” he said.

      “Pardon?”

      “Never mind.” Matt took the stairs two at a time, wondering what exactly had caused him to choose this inn. And why the innkeeper would spark an interest in an otherwise gray world.

      CHAPTER THREE

      JEANNE-MARIE rose early the next morning to prepare breakfast for her guests—starting with Matthieu Sommer, millionaire extraordinaire and daredevil climber. She knew enough about the wine business, and the Sommer name, to know the normal circles he traveled in were far removed from her family inn. If there was anything further to prove that she needed to keep her distance from this guest, learning that about him provided it.

      She’d felt vaguely sad all evening, due to learning about his own wife and son’s deaths. How horrible to lose a wife, but even more devastating to lose his son. She didn’t know how she’d go on if something happened to Alexandre. Poor man. Truly all the money in the world couldn’t bring back a loved one.

      The fresh warm croissants waited in a basket, and she pulled the pain de raisin from the oven, taking in the delicious cinnamony fragrance as she turned it out onto a cooling rack. Cooking soothed her and brought her joy. She was glad her guests liked her offerings.

      “It smells as good as the bakery in here,” Matt said from the doorway.

      She looked up and frowned. “If you sit at one of the tables in the dining area, I’ll bring your breakfast out in a moment.” She’d set the tables the night before to save one step in the morning. The two tables by the windows overlooked the garden. As he was first down, he’d have his choice of places in the dining area.

      “This is fine.” He crossed the floor and sat at their small family table by the windows in the nook. She frowned at his presumption. This was family space. Still, it was early—maybe he didn’t want to sit alone in the dining room if she was working here. She could more easily make sure he had everything he needed.

      Setting a basket of assorted warm breads and croissants on the table, she asked if he preferred coffee or hot chocolate, annoyed at her rationalization.

      “Chocolate. Extra sugar and energy,” he said.

      Jeanne-Marie brought an assortment of jams and jellies and placed them on the table. “I’ll have your drink ready in a moment.”

      She returned to preparing more bread for her other guests, keeping an eye on the baguettes baking. Timing was not as easy with one guest eating well in advance of the others, but some of the breads would be just as good cold as hot, and she always had plenty left over to use for the box

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