A ROMANCE IN PROVENCE

February - Part 2

After a journey that wasn’t easy, as the roads weren’t cleared, I finally reached my place of work. Danielle hadn’t lied, most of our colleagues had decided to play hooky. So I found myself in empty offices, apart from Hugo’s from which a streak of light escaped.

I knocked discreetly on his door, and he asked me to enter. I was amazed to find him sitting behind his desk, certainly, but not in a three-piece suit as usual, but in jeans and sneakers with a navy blue cashmere sweater that brought out the azure from his eyes. He was shaved closely, too bad I could have imagined a little two-day beard to go with this casual look.

He looked up at me, and examined me from head to toe, certainly also surprised by my outfit. Except I didn’t have anything sexy with my fur boots, my black leggings and my big sweater.

“Hi Cali, you dared to face the elements it seems.”

“Yes,” I smiled. “I’ll not be stopped by a few inches of snow. And then you’re here, too.”

“I deserve no credit, I only had the yard to cross.”

Hugo stayed on-site in a small outbuilding of the hotel.

“Well, I’ll see you later, I guess,” I said, starting to make my way to my own office.

“You can be sure,” he replied with an enigmatic smile.

The big advantage of being almost alone at work was that at least I didn’t have the incessant flow of my colleagues to come and disturb me in my work every ten minutes. The phone also seemed anaesthetized. Great well-being had taken me, I was super productive. When Hugo knocked on my door at around 6 p.m., I had skipped lunch and I was surprised by the late hour.

“You’re still here?”

“As you can see,” I replied.

He dusted the chair in front of my desk, unnecessary precaution and quite annoying since it was clean, and sat down.

“Maybe you should sleep at the hotel, it’s dark and it has snowed for most of the day. The roads aren’t safe. And there’s no shortage of rooms available this evening.”

“You are certainly right,” I frowned at the idea of facing the road back.

“May I invite you to dinner?”

I raised an eyebrow not understanding his invitation, as he had just said, the roads were snowy. Seeing my questioning look, he added:

“At my place. The restaurant is closed this evening, and I doubt that the peanuts from the minibar are enough for you after you skipped lunch.”

“Ah, yes, that’s nice, thank you,” I stammered.

What was I thinking about? He wasn’t going to invite me on a date in the middle of a snowstorm! And then did I want to? No. Actually, yes. But I didn’t want to admit it to myself. And anyway, it would have been complicated, we were working together. However, I couldn’t help but get excited about going to eat at his place. I rushed to the bathroom just to do a quick check of my outfit.

Yup, high-level appointments, it just wasn’t great. We had to rely on the rest. I checked that no piece of parsley had lodged in my teeth. How would it get there? No idea. As I just told you, I hadn’t had lunch, and parsley wasn’t my favourite meal for breakfast. But faced with the impeccable smile of my colleague, sponsored by the French association of oral hygiene, I had to be flawless.

My hair was tied in a hurry and as it had taken the snow, it was all flat. I still tried to untie it, thinking that maybe I could do something with it. Big mistake.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but in books and movies, the heroine just has to untie her hair, so that it instantly turns into a cascade of sexy curls. In real life, you invariably end up with a hairstyle that looks like nothing, and the only curl you have is the foul mark left by the elastic in your hair.

Anyway, I tied my hair back up. And here too, no more than a fuzzy bun. With only one bad elastic (the one bought in a set of 10 at the checkout of my favourite ready-to-wear store), I wasn’t going to work miracles.

I sprinkled a little water on my face (any way at this time of day, the foundation had bailed), pinched my cheeks a little to make them turn pink (this I had also read in a book) and found Hugo in the hall.

We headed in the direction of his little house. The snow had stopped falling, the sky had even cleared to let the stars shine in the cold winter sky. Hugo grabbed my arm to help steady my progress in the powder and certainly prevent me from slipping on the ice. My hand landed on his bicep and I could see that the hotel manager, under his impeccable designer shirt, knew how to take care of himself.

We prepared dinner together.

Correction, I kept him company while he cooked.

We chatted while eating in a very relaxed way, he told me about his childhood in Paris, about his background, and I told him about mine, my family and my friends in the United States. We had an excellent Bordeaux, and ended the evening, I sat cross-legged on the sofa, with him at the other end telling his university anecdotes each funnier than the others. The evening was pleasant, as was the company. Intoxicated by the delicious wine, I couldn’t help discreetly ogling Hugo. His perfect features, his charming smile, his shiny hair. I didn’t know if he had a serious relationship, and I would be surprised if a girl hadn’t already grabbed him. With his gentlemanly manner, he had everything of the ideal son-in-law. Maybe he preferred to play the field after all? On that thought, I’ll have another glass of wine.

When I looked at my watch, I saw that once again I had lost track of time. It was time to take my leave.

“I should go back to my room and go to bed,” I announced, suddenly standing up.

I wavered slightly, obviously having abused the vintage a little too much. Hugo, already standing, caught me, and I found myself against him, a hand placed on his chest. I looked up at his face and noticed the sparkle in his cerulean eyes. Troubled, however, I decided to attribute it to excess drinking.

I took a step back and pretended to look for my jacket to escape the weight of his gaze. A few seconds later, Hugo placed it on my shoulders, and I shuddered when his fingers touched me.

“I’ll walk you to your room.”

His statement didn’t leave room for discussion, yet I replied:

“I’ll be fine, I only have a few meters to go, and then there’s no one around.”

“Precisely, what man would I be if I left a pretty girl alone in the night and the cold without checking that she arrived safely?”

I felt the red rising slightly to my cheeks. Hugo thought I was pretty?

You’re worse than a teenager Cali! Pull yourself together! It’s just a compliment!

We took the opposite path from the one taken earlier in the evening. Despite my down jacket and the warmth of Hugo by my side, I was shivering.

Focused on the fact that I was almost as frozen as a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, I didn’t see the patch of ice on the path. My foot slipped, and I felt the rest of my body tipping. I made small desperate pinwheels with my arms, and in a final burst of lucidity clung to the first object under my hand: Hugo’s biceps.

Certainly not expecting me to lead him into Holiday on Ice choreography, Hugo lost his balance and fell heavily on the snowy ground, absorbing my fall.

Contact with the frozen asphalt knocked out a muffled cry. Unless it’s the weight of little old me suddenly crashing on his chest? How did I end up in this position?

I took a deep breath, just to recover from my emotions, and made a movement to release my colleague compressed by my weight, not exactly light. I discovered, astonished, that his arms had wrapped around my waist. Thinking that his protective gesture was purely instinctive, I made a second attempt, accompanied by a small clearing of the throat. His grip didn’t loosen a millimetre.

That’s when panic swept over me. Hugo had certainly hit his head violently, and he was in shock unable to move! Or perhaps worse, a rock hidden in the snow had broken his neck, and killed him instantly! Could rigor mortis be instantaneous?

I tried to meet his gaze, but a soggy lock of hair blocked my face. I blew on it, a desperate attempt to move it, without success. Hugo’s body was then taken by tremors. My God! He was having a seizure!

But very quickly, I realized that my attractive colleague wasn’t on the edge of agony, but rather in the grip of a laugh! My state went from worry to hilarity in a matter of seconds, certainly due to the release of pressure.

One of his hands left my waist and went up to my face to get rid of that notorious lock of hair that separated us. His fingers lightly caressed my cheek as he passed it behind my ear. At that moment, our laughter died. The dim lighting provided by the street lamps didn’t prevent me from noticing the brilliant gleam in his eyes. I suddenly became aware of the situation, of the proximity of our two bodies, of my curves against the harder lines of his anatomy. Especially in a place further south, which I could quite distinguish despite the many layers of clothing between us.

In case you didn’t understand, yes, the manager of the Western Hotel in Gordes was excited by our improvised embrace in the snow.

Danielle’s words came to mind.

What was wrong with having a little fun?

On a whim, and certainly helped by the hard work of the winemakers of the Bordeaux region, I took the first step and put my lips on his. They were soft and full, and I savoured that almost chaste kiss.

Hugo seemed surprised at first by my initiative but recovered very quickly. He put his hand on my neck, drawing me to him for another kiss, also very tender. Then, little by little, this one became feverish. His tongue titillated my lower lip and I opened my mouth to ease its passage. It then wrapped itself around mine in a sensual dance. Another quality to credit Hugo Ricard: he kissed like a God and gave French kiss an even more pleasant meaning.

It will not have escaped your notice that we were still lying in the snow. To be precise: Hugo was lying in the snow and I rested on him almost entirely. However, I had let my legs slide on the ground, on either side of one of his, to relieve him a little.

Snow is romantic. At least up to a point. The problem is that it was wet and especially cold.

So when the nearest tree decided it was time to shed white gold from one of its branches, its timing was really bad.

The pack of snow fell directly on my back, burying me from head to toe in less than a second. I let out a cry of surprise, feeling the cold creep in wherever my skin wasn’t covered. In a panic, I had the reflex to curl up on myself, quickly. The problem with any quick action is that there is often collateral damage. In this case, my knee collided with Hugo’s crotch, and tore a cry of incredible pain, I immediately regretted my spontaneous reaction, but the damage was done.

“Oh my God!” I cried, leaping to my feet.

This time, he was far too busy holding the bruised part of his anatomy to try and hold me. His teeth were clenched, his eyes wide, and his breathing jerky.

“What’s going on here?” cried a voice behind us coming from the hotel entrance.

I turned to the person running forward, a flashlight in his hand, and recognized John the night porter.

“Mr Ricard? Miss Caddell? But what are you doing here? And at this hour?”

Hugo gave him an angry look, reminding him that his questions were slightly intrusive. However John didn’t seem to pay attention to it, he waved his torch from Hugo to me, narrowing his eyes with incomprehension. I suppose we must have looked funny, the hair and the wet clothes, and Hugo still on the ground writhing like a worm.

He held out a hand to his boss to help him get up. Hugo grabbed it, and when he stood up he said:

“It’s okay, John, we’ll manage.”

He certainly didn’t want the night porter to ask too many questions.

John walked away muttering something in his beard, and as soon as he was far enough away, I rushed over to Hugo.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I was surprised by the snow, I didn’t control my movements! I’m so sorry!”

“It doesn’t matter,” replied Hugo.

But the fact that he told me while gritting his teeth didn’t make him convincing.

“Can you walk?” I asked, biting my lower lip, and offering him my arm so that he could lean on it.

“It should be fine.”

We walked slowly towards the entrance of the hotel.

Even though I had perhaps wiped out all of his chances of becoming a father one day, Hugo, like a perfect gentleman, still wanted to take me back to my room.

We then crossed the deserted lobby, a faint light in the small office behind the reception indicated the presence of the night porter. We headed down one of the hallways leading to the bedrooms, the thick carpet absorbing the sound of our footsteps. I stopped in front of the door of one of them and searched my pocket to find my pass. Hugo leaned over to open up for me with his own, and his smell, a clever mixture of cologne, detergent and something much more personal, pleasantly tickled my nostrils. At that moment, he didn’t touch me, but it was just like he had. I felt his breath on my skin, his eyes riveted to mine.

“Good night,” I stuttered

“Good night, Cali.”

He placed a chaste kiss on my cheek and went up the hallway we had just walked, leaving me frustrated and tottering in my doorway.

7 am, the shrill beep of my cell phone alarm tore my dreams away. I opened my eyes and didn’t immediately recognize where I was. I spotted the Western notepad on the nightstand, which gave me the first hint. After a few seconds, the memories of the night before hit me, and I straightened suddenly, like a spring, glancing at the place next to me.

It was very empty. And this morning, I was going to have to face reality.

In the morning, situations that seemed to be natural in the evening are no longer so at all.

In the morning, reality resurfaces.

The reality was that I had kissed—before I castrated him—one of my closest colleagues. We snuggled like horny teens, and in the snow too!

First solution: avoid him for the rest of your life. At least, until the end of my stay in the south of France. Let’s say that during the day it was doable, but in the longer term, hardly possible. At some point, talking only by email or phone would become annoying.

Second solution: barge into his office right away and put things straight. Ask him if he was considering a relationship with me, or if yesterday’s kisses were just a slip, caused by a funny situation and a little too much red wine.

This solution, however, required me to clarify one point: did I want to have a relationship with him or not?

So I opted for the third solution, prompted by cowardice and the fear of being rejected: do nothing. I let him take the first step, avoiding him a little bit to escape any possible embarrassing scenes.

After returning home to change, I spoke with Danielle over a cup of coffee and a croissant. She was off that day, and I was in no hurry to go back to the hotel. Of course, my secret didn’t last long, I told her about Hugo and our passionate exchange, as soon as she began to question me about my evening.

“I don’t believe it! You, Cali Caddell, have managed to seduce the most coveted bachelor in all of Luberon!”

“Of all Luberon, I don’t think…”

There didn’t seem to be crowds of 30-something, single men with decent haircuts and a good dental plan around, but still.

“At the hotel then! Christelle will be green with envy when she finds out!”

“Stoooop! I’ll stop you right there. It’s out of the question to tell anyone, you are and will be the only one who knows this story. And especially not to Christelle. I don’t want to find rat poison in my coffee.”

She gave me a sullen little pout.

“I don’t know if I’m flattered that I’m the only one in your confidence, or disappointed not to be able to knock her down a couple of notches. I hate her with her nose in the air, and every time she swoons in front of Mr Ricard, at least I want to wipe that smile off her face. I mean, if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t seen him pay any attention to her, except professionally. Anyway, I’m happy for you. He’s a little weird at times, but I have to admit that physically he’s one hell of a package.”

I raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback by the way she talked about her boss as if he were a piece of meat.

“You know we just kissed for a few minutes in the snow, we didn’t plan to meet again. At least, I mean other than at work.”

“And you’re not afraid of it being weird?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I said, my eyes vague. “In fact, at the time I didn’t consider it. To tell you the truth, I’ve been thinking mostly about your advice to enjoy life.”

“Hey! I’m happy to see that you’re following my advice!” she exclaimed. “So, I was the little devil leaning on your shoulder? I like that!”

We laughed together. I pictured Danielle dressed in red with her brown hair and high heels, she would have made a perfect little devil.

Our discussion was interrupted by three small knocks on the door.

“She’s here!” Danielle exclaimed, rushing towards the entrance, almost stumbling on the carpet.

But who is here?

She opened the door with a quick gesture and an adorable blonde doll with bouncy ringlets grabbed her neck.

“Danielle!”

“Oh, honey, I missed you so much!”

“I missed you, too!” she babbled with her cute little voice.

I approached them and noticed that Vincent was standing behind the little girl, watching the scene with an amused and benevolent look.

General alert: on February 16, Vincent, my roommate’s cousin, aka the grumpy garage owner, was seen almost smiling. It hadn’t happened since...

Well, since I knew him. Well, sure, I was just seeing him quickly at his mother’s, or the farmyard. Apart from a meal with Danielle’s parents where the whole family plus me had been invited, and the few times at the garage to buy my car, we had never spent more than a few minutes together.

“You must be Cali.”

The little blonde girl stood at my feet and looked at me with big curious black eyes. But what struck me was that she had just spoken to me in perfect English.

“Yes, I’m Cali, and to whom do I have the honour?” I asked her in Shakespeare’s language, raising an eyebrow at her serious little face.

“I’m Rose.”

“Enchanted, Rose. You have a lovely name. And I especially love it, do you know why?”

“No?”

“Because it’s also my middle name.”

“Dad! Dad! Cali’s name is Rose like me!”

Dad?

So she was his daughter? How come I’ve been living here for a month and a half and I hadn’t met her earlier?

“Hello, Cali,” said the dad in question.

He seemed almost warm, his look only showing a 3 on the boredom scale.

“Rose, do you want hot chocolate?” Danielle suggested, pulling her into the kitchen.

Vincent and I followed her with our eyes for a moment while Danielle put her on a chair.

“How old is she?”

“Five.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“This is the case, however," he replied a little dry.

Then he continued more peacefully:

“She lives with her mother on the Côte d’Azur, I only have her during school holidays and a weekend from time to time.”

I detected sadness in his words as he told me this without taking his eyes off her.

“She speaks good English, how is that?”

I realize I was a little curious, but after all, what parent doesn’t like to talk about their child?

“Melissa, her mother, is American like you.”

This time, it was disdain that tinted his words. Maybe he had problems with his ex, and so he thought that all Americans were the same? Was that why he always seemed upset by my presence?

“You’re still here!” Danielle rebuked him. “You can go to work, go, your daughter and I are going to have fun, don’t worry.”

“But that’s what worries me, that you two are having fun,” he teased.

Danielle rolled her eyes while taking on a dramatic look.

“Hurry up!” she ordered. “Go repair your cars. And you too Cali, go to work and find your new devoted admirer.”

I gave her a killer look, reminding her that she wasn’t supposed to talk about it.

“Oops!” she squeaked, putting a hand over her mouth.

I grabbed my jacket, not without threatening Danielle with reprisals during a silent exchange. Vincent kissed his daughter, and we went to our respective cars in silence.

“Be careful on the road, there are still a lot of slippery spots,” he advised.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to snowy roads,” I replied.

Honestly, I doubted he was worried about me, his remark was just a form of politeness.

“This is what half of my customers have said who called me this morning to find out if I could repair their cars smashed into electric poles.”

“Well, at worst, I know a good mechanic,” I joked, shrugging my shoulders.

“I’d still rather you didn’t call me,” he yelled, getting into his car.

He left right away, and I was stunned not knowing if his last remark was to be taken literally or figuratively.