on her sturdy hiking boots and socks. Bees and bare feet were a bad combination. “We’ve been staying close to home for the past several days.”
“I haven’t heard any complaints.” He nuzzled her neck. “On the other hand, we could eat here. Later.” She shivered as he nibbled her ear. “Much later.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” She pushed him away, though gently.
“Rejected.” He pressed a hand to his heart.
“Hardly.” Jack laughed and Lily realized her unintended pun. “Oh, you.” She started to blush and his grin widened.
“Yes, me indeed. But alas, it is picnic time.” He locked the back door of the guesthouse and they went around to the driveway. The picnic basket was already waiting in the car’s backseat, and they drove up a dusty road deeper in the hills.
They stopped at a field full of workers. “Would you like to see how they harvest the lavender?”
“Absolutely.”
A couple dozen harvesters, mostly young men and a few women, straightened as they approached. An older man started to chastise them for pausing but caught sight of Jack. He shouted a greeting. “Eh, M’sieu le…Jacques!”
He rapidly picked his way across the lavender field like a plump but nimble ballerina, not trampling or bruising a single plant. He wore a button-down shirt that had seen better days, a vest with several pockets, work boots and a round, flat-topped hat that she had seen on several of the older men. His face was round as well, bisected by a luxurious black mustache. “Jacques, mon brave.” He slapped Jack on the back. “And who is this?” he asked in heavily accented English.
“Lily, this is Monsieur Jean-Claude Chailan, husband of Marthe-Louise. Jean-Claude, this is Mademoiselle Lily Adams from America.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Lily extended her hand.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Lily, I am sorry we have not met before. I have been supervising the farm workers and Jacques has been keeping you all to himself.” Jean-Claude swept off his hat and actually bowed to her. He replaced his hat and clasped both of her hands, gazing at her with such a fond expression that she was momentarily taken aback. She saw the cheek-kiss routine coming, though and was prepared for it, although the third and fourth kisses were a surprise. Jack had told her that a fourth kiss was basically reserved for special occasions.
Jean-Claude drew back, still holding her hands in his work-hardened ones. “Ah, Mademoiselle, my good wife said you were beautiful, and I can see she was not exaggerating.”
Lily reddened and Jean-Claude shook his head. “Ah, the touch of the rose on your cheeks. Jacques, you old dog, what did you ever do to deserve such a pretty girl?”
“Nothing, mon ami, nothing.”
“Too true.” The older man barked out a loud laugh. “Eh, but I should not tell all of your secrets today, no?”
“No,” Jack said firmly.
“Oh, you’ve known each other a long time, then?” Lily asked.
“A lifetime, chérie,” Jack answered. “Jean-Claude came to Provence with the Roman legions and liked it so much he stayed.”
Jean-Claude gave him a narrow stare. “Are you calling me an old man?”
“Just joking,” Jack said hastily. “You are a man of experience, seasoned like an expensive red wine.”
“That is better, you young punk.” Jean-Claude let go of Lily’s hands and slapped Jack on the back again. He bent and broke off a lavender sprig. “Voilà, Mademoiselle. This is the best lavender in France.” He offered it to her.
Lily inhaled deeply. The perfume spiraled up into her nose, making her almost dizzy with the ripe scent.
Jack steadied her. She smiled at the men. “Powerful. But it doesn’t smell like what I’m used to.”
“You are used to the scent of the lavandin plant, a sterile hybrid that has more of a woodsy, camphor smell,” Jack told her.
“Good for soap and clothes washing, but perfume—bah!” Jean-Claude waved his hands dismissively. “No good unless you want to smell like laundry.” He puffed out his chest. “In fact, we are providing the lavender oil for an upcoming royal wedding. The bride is creating a perfume to be sold for her children’s charity.”
“Fascinating.” Lily turned to Jack. “Did you know about this?”
“Many of the details are hush-hush, right, Jean-Claude?”
The older man put a finger to his mustache in a shushing gesture. “But of course.”
Lily was disappointed not to have a big scoop like this but she wasn’t some tabloid journalist to snoop around. “Tell me all the details as soon as you can.”
Jean-Claude spread his hands wide. “I promise, you will be the first to know.” His stomach growled