Chapter 2

Simon’s home was set off the road, though the rolling fields opposite left it in clear view. The stone farmhouse bordered on the edge of a forest, and the towering trees shaded it away from the worst of the summer sun. Gravel crunched under his tires as Alain approached. The rosebushes Simon always bragged about nearly hid the edges of the building, but it was the man himself, bowed slightly as he trimmed the branches, that truly captivated Alain.

Simon was younger by two years, but regardless of the fact that they both neared fifty, Simon had the toned body of a man fifteen years his junior. His forearms flexed with each pull of the brambles, and his tanned skin glowed with health. Though he wore a floppy hat to protect his bald head from the unforgiving sun, his strong profile was more than visible. The long nose. The full mouth that begged for kisses and lots of them. Deep-set eyes the shade of freshly ground cinnamon. Simon turned more than one head when he came to Paris. Alain always considered himself fortunate that Simon chose a craggy old bastard like him to spend time with.

As Alain pulled up to the house, Simon looked up. For a moment, his eyes narrowed, only for his brows to lift in surprise when he saw who was behind the wheel. Alain climbed out with a broad smile and a sly wink.

“Good to see you’re as predictable as ever,” he teased. “I was planning on you being home for the holiday, and, look, I was right.”

“One of these days, I might surprise you.” Simon’s deep voice boomed across the yard, and he spoke in fluent French with only a hint of an accent. He pulled his gloves off and tossed them to the ground indifferently, then crossed the yard to pull Alain into a warm embrace. “As for me, I would have expected you to be at work on a holiday. What brings you all the way out here?”

Alain clapped Simon on the back, letting his fingers massage the tight muscles a moment longer than necessary before stepping back. “You do, of course.”

Simon tilted the rim of his hat back, exposing his furrowed brow. “I do?” He gestured toward the house, and Alain noticed the dark circles of sweat on his shoulders and chest. “Let’s get out of this sun, and you can tell me what you mean.”

It was several degrees cooler in the old farm house, and Simon took a moment to hang his hat on a peg by the door before leading Alain into the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. But Claude and I were planning for the festivities, and it kept getting later and later, and I realized, I really didn’t want to have to work another holiday.”

“Well, Claude’s a good man.” Simon poured two glasses of water as he spoke, then downed his quickly, the column of his throat moving with each swallow. “Why didn’t you call and let me know you were coming out? I would have chilled some wine and made you a nice dinner, for a change.”

His fingers chilled in the condensation on the glass, his thumb stroking along the thick lower curve. He wasn’t thirsty. He was far more interested in watching Simon. “And give you the chance to argue with me about leaving Rêver behind? It was hard enough detaching Claude from my ankle.”

“That’s because we both know Rêver is only as strong as its brilliant head chef. Besides, can you blame Claude for panicking? This is probably the first time you’ve spent more than six hours away from the restaurant since you’ve opened.”

“True. But there comes a time when you say, enough is enough. It’s time I started being a little more selfish.” He sipped his water, wetting his dry throat. He hadn’t anticipated being quite this nervous. “And what better way to start than with you.”

Simon smiled good-naturedly. “I suppose you could have started with you. Well, all is not lost. It’s early enough to put a bottle on ice, and I purchased a nice cut of venison this morning. We can go down to the market and get some fresh vegetables.” He poured another glass of water, but merely sipped at the liquid instead of gulping it down. “How long did you plan to stay?”

“Would through the weekend be asking too much?” That gave him five days. A lot could happen in five days.

“Of course not. You can stay as long as you like, as long as you don’t mind working out in the garden. Those rosebushes won’t trim themselves.”

Alain laughed. “I have the best set of knives in Paris. A few thorns won’t bother me in the slightest.”

“Good. I’ll make you work for your supper. But not too hard, I suppose. I don’t want to scare you away from another surprise visit. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you.”

Setting the glass down on the polished wood counter, Alain hooked a thumb to the door behind him. “Let me get my stuff from the car, while you do the wine. I’ll drive us down to the market then.”

Simon cocked a thick brow. “We could always walk, you know.”

“In this heat? Humor this city boy as long as you can, all right? You can subject me to your rustic ways after you’ve broken me down some.”

Simon’s shared laughter drifted after him as he went back to the car, a rich, rumbling sound that served better to warm him than any liqueur ever could. While his nerves danced, the rest of Alain felt more at home than he had since the last time he’d seen Simon. He wondered what Simon would think of that, if he knew Alain had been unable to garner an interest in even the prettiest young thing for the past year, for thoughts of Simon plaguing him instead. He’d laugh, probably. Mock him for merely getting old. But maybe, just maybe, he might see just what it truly meant.