shift. Knowing Luc, he wouldn’t dare stand up to his parents.”
“Has he always been that way?”
“He’s a good son.” She lifted a glass dome and handed me a thin, round waffle cookie. “Galettes. You will love these.”
I ran a fingertip across the tiny square indentations. The toasted cookie was crisp and delicious, and left tiny crumbs at the corners of my mouth. This reminded me of the crunchy bits of batter left at the sides of the waffle iron, which were always my favorite.
“They will go well with whatever tea your aunt is sampling,” she said, stacking the galettes into a small box before placing them in a paper bag with handles. “How is she? I heard the shop was closed yesterday. My parents talked to the other shopkeepers; they are disappointed in them. We don’t understand how they can spread these lies to their customers and to tourists. It’s cruel.”
“It is.”
She handed me the bag and leaned in closer. “If only their romance hadn’t soured.”
“It’s not hopeless though. I have a plan.”
Ines’s dark brown eyes widened and her poppy-red lips gaped open. “You’re going to set them up?”
“Why not? They loved each other once.”
“They would make a striking couple.” Ines jotted down the order on a slip. I reached for my purse, but she waved me away. She pointed to tins of my aunt’s teas on a nearby shelf. “Don’t worry about payment. We have an arrangement in place.”
I took this as an opening to recruit her to my cause. “Will you help me?”
“This is going to be a difficult mission. Monsieur Renaud is a hard man to get a hold of. He’s very busy and very inaccessible. He keeps a tight counsel and is notorious about his privacy.”
“Does this mean you’re not going to help me?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m going to help. But you must know what we’re up against.” Tearing a sheet from her order pad, she wrote down her phone number before reaching below the counter to reveal a small envelope. “And this is for you.”
“Me?”
Ines winked. “A handsome pastry chef dropped it off early this morning.”
Marc.
He hadn’t forgotten about me.
Thirty-Nine
I tore open the packet outside the bakery.
The letter smelled of chocolate; the instant I unfolded it, a slight breeze carried the scent upward, enveloping me in the sweetest of embraces.
Inside was an ink illustration of a heart-shaped croissant. The intricate strokes rendering the pastry’s layers illuminated his attention to detail. He signed it, “You have my heart, Marc.”
I pressed the paper against my chest.
All was well. Ines had agreed to help. If I could determine Girard’s schedule, it would be easier to “run into” him and plead my case. But how could I convince him that he and my aunt belonged together?
My only evidence was an old photograph, his intense feelings for her frozen for eternity. I sent a short email to Auntie Faye, asking her to overnight the photo to me. It was midnight there, so it would probably arrive here tomorrow or the day after. The time difference wasn’t conducive to coordinated conspiracy.
A familiar face emerged from a nearby bistro: Luc. He walked to his delivery van. I had to find out why he was avoiding Ines. Hobbling toward him, my hip screaming in protest, I called out.
“Luc, please wait. Can I talk to you?”
Dark shadows crept under his hazel eyes. He loaded two empty crates onto the rear of the vehicle. “Did Ines send you?”
“No, should she have? Why are you avoiding her?”
“My parents have set a date for the proposal.” Luc slammed the doors shut. “Why continue to see her and torment myself with the unattainable?”
“Because you love her and you don’t want to get married. You want to be with Ines.”
He flinched. The truth stung. It hurt, more so when it was already known but never spoken.
“I understand family is important. I get it,” I continued. “But what about your happiness?” Luc’s dilemma mirrored my aunt’s from all those years ago. She had chosen her family and paid the price in years of loneliness.
“I can’t go against my parents.” His deep voice dropped to a whisper.
All I could think about was Ines. She loved him—was waiting for him to choose her. As tortured as he seemed, his decision was clear.
I frowned. “At least tell her what you’ve decided instead of avoiding her like a coward.”
“I can’t.” His chest caved, turning inward.
“Then you don’t deserve her.”
* * *
* * *
My aunt stood outside the tea shop. Her once straightened shoulders slumped.