One Night in Provence Page 10

  The news cast a pall on the atmosphere. Shirley swore. “I thought he’d have a little longer. Poor guy. I’ll call his daughter.”

  “And, on the opposite end of the spectrum,” their colleague continued, “Lola has been restless all night.” Lola being one of their patients with dementia. “She keeps sneaking out of her room and climbing into other patients’ beds.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Jenna volunteered. Chasing after Lola would keep her too busy to think about Philippe. At least for a few hours.

  * * *

  Eight long hours later, an exhausted Jenna stepped out into the early-morning sunshine. “I don’t know about you, but I could use breakfast,” she said to Shirley. “I forgot my sweet cheese croissant and baby’s annoyed. Wanna join me? My treat.” Mr. Mylanski had passed an hour before, and she figured her friend could use the distraction.

  Shirley shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m going to go home and take a hot bath.”

  “You sure?” Wasn’t like Shirley to give up free food. The phone in Jenna’s bag was buzzing again. She wasn’t in the mood to take the call now anymore than she was any of the other times during her shift. “Did you miss the part where I said my treat?”

  “Positive,” Shirley replied. “Besides, I think you already have plans.” She nodded to the parking lot, where Philippe was walking their way.

  “What’s he doing here?” Jenna asked.

  “Beats me. You’ll have to ask him,” Shirley replied.

  He’d gone casual, in jeans and a black sweater that emphasized his shoulders and muscular arms. When he saw Jenna he smiled.

  Jenna’s stomach swooped, and it wasn’t morning sickness.

  “Bonjour, ladies,” he greeted. “The time difference had me up early, so I thought I would bring you breakfast.” In his hand he carried a tray of cups and a white paper sack. He handed one of the cups to Shirley. “This is for you. I am afraid I don’t know how you prefer it.”

  “Free works,” Shirley replied, “but if you have sugar, I won’t say no.”

  “Sugar packets are in the bag, along with one of those sweet cheese pastries you said helped with the morning sickness.” He looked back and forth between her and Jenna. Shirley had dark circles from the night’s stress; Jenna guessed she looked the same. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “We lost a patient last night,” Jenna explained.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. He was a sweet old man,” Shirley said. “I’ll miss him.”

  “At least his family made it in time to say goodbye,” Jenna said.

  “Yes, that is good. No one should die alone.” Philippe frowned, leaving her to wonder if he was referring to more than Mr. Mylanski.

  “Is this a bad time?” he asked.

  “Not for me,” Shirley replied. “I’ve got a date with a hot tub.”

  “Jenna?”

  Jenna eyed the white paper sack he held. Baby really needed to eat. She couldn’t believe he’d remembered she said the baby craved sweet cheese croissants.

  “There’s a park a short way from the coffee shop we visited yesterday. If you don’t mind eating on a bench, we can go there. This hour of the day we’ll have privacy.”

  “A park bench is fine. Lead the way.”

  Jenna waited until they’d walked a few paces before accepting the drink. Warm water with honey and lemon. Same order as the day before. She tried not to be touched that he remembered.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you today,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because...” Because they’d said everything they had to say last night. With his business complete, what reason would he have to stay? “Is this about the paperwork you wanted me to sign?”

  “Xavier is fast, but not that fast,” he replied.

  “Then...?”

  “Perhaps I wanted to enjoy your company. We are having a child together. Shouldn’t we be friendly? What is that buzzing sound?”

  Jenna sighed. “It’s my phone.” The vibration could be heard coming from her pocketbook.

  “Do you need to answer?”

  “Definitely not.” It was way too early for drama, just like last night had been too late. “They’ll leave a message.” Or call back again, more likely. “I’m not talking to anyone until I’ve had my pastry.”

  “Present company excluded, I hope.”

  “Only because you brought the pastry,” she replied. “Although there’s no guarantee I won’t be too busy soothing my stomach to talk with you, either.”

  Because of the hour, the park was empty except for a lone dog walker. In the center, there was a bench overlooking the walking paths. Using his handkerchief, Philippe wiped away the moisture and fallen leaves and they took a seat.

  The moment was surprisingly peaceful. After a long, crazy night, it was pleasant to simply sit and listen to the sounds of the birds waking in the bushes. Philippe had stretched his arm along the back of the bench, a warm, protective barrier against Jenna’s shoulders.

  “Reminds me of the morning we had breakfast at Marguerite’s,” he remarked.

  “Except the weather was warmer and we were on a busy street corner surrounded by people instead of sitting under an oak tree,” Jenna said once she’d washed down the last of her croissant. “Other than that, though.”

  “Completely the same.”

  They both chuckled. Jenna knew exactly what Philippe meant.

  That morning had felt peaceful, too. The silence between them easy.

  He nodded and sipped his coffee. “I’m sorry about your patient.”

  “Thanks. He’d only been with us a couple months, but we all liked him. I feel bad for his family. No one likes losing a loved one.”

  “No, they do not.”

  Jenna winced. Fatigue was making her insensitive. She touched his knee in apology, earning a slight smile in return.

  “You said his family was there, correct? He did not die alone?”

  He wouldn’t have died alone regardless—Shirley would have made a point of sitting with him—but something in the way Philippe was double-checking about Mr. Mylanski’s family said the point mattered to him.

  “All but one son,” she told him. “He lives in Boston and couldn’t get across until this morning.”

  “Too late,” he murmured. “He must feel terrible.”

  He looked out over the grass, his profile as open as Jenna had ever seen, excepting that afternoon in his apartment. “I wasn’t with either of my parents when they died. No one told me until after the fact. With Felix... I tried, but I couldn’t get there in time. I was in Italy, and by the time I saw the hospital had called and arranged a flight... He died all alone.”

  In that moment, his comments from before made sense. Mr. Mylanski’s death must have triggered his guilt. Armchair analysis wasn’t what he needed right now, though. She sat back and waited for him to continue.

  “I thought I had more time. I wanted to make this one last deal before... So he’d know he was leaving the business in good hands. If I had known the end was close, I would have...”

  “Canceled your trip?” she asked. “Do you think that’s what your brother would have wanted? For you to let the business languish while you sat vigil twenty-four-seven?”

  Tucking a leg beneath her, she turned to face him, her hand squeezing his knee. “You were doing what your brother wanted you to do—you were taking care of the business.”

  “How do you know what he wanted?” he asked.

  Oh, why did his eyes have to be so sad? “I don’t know for certain,” she told him. “But you told me your brother loved the business.”

  “More than loved. He was born to run D’Usay International.”

  “And did he want you to be as dedicated to the company as he was?” Philippe nod
ded. “Then he would have wanted you to be spending your time making the business grow...”

  She cupped his cheek and looked him straight in the eye as she told him the same words she’d told others over her career. Only this time, they felt far more important. “You tried your best, Philippe. That’s all you could do. Your brother knows that.”

  “Merci,” he whispered, eyes shining. He leaned briefly into her touch before kissing her palm and backing away. “Listen to me. You lost a patient and I’m making the moment about myself.”

  “Don’t apologize. I like when you open up.” Knowing he trusted her enough to reveal even the slightest vulnerability touched her more than any compliment. “You don’t have to be charming and witty all the time.”

  “But I am so good at being charming and witty.” His eyes sparkled for a moment before returning to the dark violet they were before. “You make it easy,” he said. “To share the thoughts in my head. I don’t know why, but you do.”

  “Not at first,” Jenna reminded him. “Remember I had to push?”

  “And now look at me. You’ve created a morbid monster.”

  “Morbid? Maybe. Monster? Far from it.”

  His eyes locked with hers. Piece by piece, the noise around them died away until all Jenna could hear was the pulse fluttering in her throat. She wasn’t even sure she was breathing.

  “Thank you for listening.” Philippe was whispering. Was he afraid to break the silence, too?

  “Anytime,” she whispered back.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Jenna’s gaze hitched. She knew that look. She felt her body start to lean toward his, the way metal moved toward a magnet.

  “I want to see you tonight,” he whispered. “Will you have dinner with me?”

  “I don’t know.” When he looked at her like that, she had trouble thinking clearly. Was this entire conversation to break down her defenses and revisit what they shared in Provence, or was he attempting to be friendly with the mother of his child? She was too confused to know.

  “I’ve never been to Nantucket,” he was saying. “I’d like to see your island.”

  Her island. He knew the right phrases to melt her resistance. Pulling her eyes away she studied the dents in her drink lid, hoping the answers lay in the white plastic.

  “All right.” The answer came out automatically. “I’ll show you around Nantucket. You might as well know about where your child is going to grow up.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Philippe shooting her a look. Apparently he hadn’t considered the baby would live on Nantucket.

  “But first, I need to go to bed. To sleep,” she quickly added. “We can take your tour later this afternoon.”

  “Very good. I will call you to work out a time.” His expression brightened, and Jenna immediately felt her insides take a tumble. Damn if he couldn’t obliterate her resolve with a single smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Heaven help her, so was she.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PHILIPPE STARED AT the string of messages in his in-box. Xavier was on him to go over the contracts for the upcoming year. There were changes in the terms that the lawyer wanted to review with him. The growers in Belgium were making noises about a potential work stoppage over wages. If they succeeded, it would start a chain reaction eastward to Asia. Dozens of little fires demanded his attention, and here he was thinking of ways to extend his stay in Nantucket.

  Truth be told, he could have departed that morning, but when his alarm went off, he found himself unwilling to leave. Normally he couldn’t wait to be on his way home. Then again, normally he grew tired of a woman’s company by this point in their relationship as well. Instead, he looked forward to seeing Jenna as much that afternoon as he had that first day in France. Every time he tried to work, his brain went to her sitting on the bench in the sunshine. He’d thought of her all night, too, her soft, pale skin invading his dreams.

  Of course her dominating his thoughts could be easily explained. She was carrying his child. It was only natural that she—and her well-being—should be on his mind.

  Only it isn’t her well-being you’re thinking about, it’s her.

  Once again, Jenna Brown was proving the exception to his rules.

  Like the strange ability she had to make him share his feelings.

  Until today, he’d never told a soul how guilty he felt at not being by Felix’s bedside when he died. His only chance to actually say goodbye, and he’d failed.

  Strangely enough though, he felt better for talking. Jenna hadn’t said anything profound, but she’d still managed to comfort him. Small wonder he nearly kissed her.

  Leaning back in his chair, he relived those moments on the bench, rewriting them so that he tasted her kiss. Been too long, he thought. Far too long. He missed her.

  Shortly before three thirty, Philippe pulled up in front of Jenna’s address. Immediately, he knew which side of the duplex was hers. The one with the tricolor corn hanging on the door wreath and potted cabbages lining the porch steps.

  As he stepped out of his car, he spied Jenna through a first-floor window talking on the phone. Whoever was on the other end was making her tense. She was pacing in and out of view and rubbing the back of her neck.

  She was still tense when she answered his knock, her pink lips drawn in a tight line. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “I need to learn not to answer the phone on the way out,” she replied. “Someone always needs something when you’re rushing to get ready.”

  Her face held the same taut expression as this morning when she’d refused to answer the phone in her bag. His guess? Whoever she’d been avoiding had finally connected with her, and she wasn’t happy.

  “If you have business, I don’t mind waiting,” he told her.

  “Not necessary. I’m done with them.” She stepped outside and shut the door. Not before Philippe caught a glimpse of a brightly painted entrance way, however. “Besides, we only have a couple hours of daylight. If you want to sightsee, we shouldn’t dawdle.”

  “Good point,” he replied. Although was her rush really about daylight?

  “I’m looking forward to seeing your island,” he said as they walked down her steps.

  “I wish you wouldn’t call it my island. I don’t even own the house I live in.”

  “You live here though, no? Experience all the seasons? Then it is your island,” he added once she’d nodded her answer. He opened the passenger door and waited while she slid in and buckled her seat belt. “And I am looking forward to taking a tour.”

  “As long as you don’t expect a detailed history lesson along with it.”

  “I believe we’ve already established your historical illiteracy.” His teasing comment barely elicited a smile. The phone call had definitely dampened her mood. At least he hoped it was the phone call. “Where to first?”

  “Main Street.”

  They spent the next hour or so walking the winding cobblestoned streets. Little by little Jenna’s mood seemed to lift, and soon she was pointing out landmarks and sharing anecdotes with a smile. True to her warning, she didn’t provide much enlightenment in the way of local history, but she did provide a glimpse into her life, which Philippe found just as enlightening. Listening to her wax enthusiastically about the fried clams and lobster rolls served at the various restaurants, he learned that her dining tastes were simple and unpretentious. Her anecdote about the pets on parade during the local Christmas walk told him she had a fondness for animals. And her soft gaze at a little boy buying a stuffed black dog from one of the stores said she was looking forward to having their child. It was, perhaps, better than any history lesson.

  They moved from Main Street to the south. “From what I’m told, this street used to be called Prison Street,” Jenna told him.

 
“Why is that?”

  “Going out on a limb, I’d say because there was a prison.” He cast her a look. “Seriously. They’re restoring the old jail about a half mile down. No doubt that’s what inspired the name.”

  “Logical.” Saltbox houses from the eighteenth century lined both sides of the road. Philippe found their brown and gray shuttered shapes quaint. One particular house had a tall tower in its backyard, a strangely modern-looking structure. “Is that an observatory?” he asked.

  “Yep. On weekends they open it up so you can see the stars.”

  “Odd that would be stuck in a row of antique homes.”

  “Not really. The woman who lived in that particular house was an astronomer. One of the first female astronomers in the country, in fact.”

  “You don’t say.” Philippe craned his neck to look upward. “Too bad it is not yet dark—we could go look at the stars ourselves.”

  “Closed for the season,” she told him. “Plus, I already climbed one narrow tower with you. I’m not climbing a second.”

  “Chicken.” The remark earned him a nudge from her shoulder—the first contact of the evening. Instantly Philippe wanted to touch her in return, but he held back, stuffing his hands in his back pockets instead.

  “I didn’t appreciate how much of your island closes up during the winter,” he said.

  “Only the parts that cater to the tourists and summer residents. There are plenty of year-round businesses to keep the economy flowing in the off-season.”

  “Nevertheless, so many people leave when the weather turns cold. It must get very cold and lonely.”

  “Cold, definitely. Nantucket nor’easters can be pretty brutal.”

  Philippe wasn’t sure what a nor’easter was, but he understood the word brutal. If he counted correctly, Jenna would be well into her second trimester during those brutal months. When ice and snow could make a person lose their balance.

  A wave of unease washed over him. “Perhaps you should consider staying off the island during those months, and go somewhere a little less stormy.”