“They never are,” Mr. Pascale’s voice cut in. “They do six market mornings a week, traveling every day. I think they gave up being charming a long time ago.”

I looked up at his profile but couldn’t get a read on his face with his mouth set so sternly.

“Come,” he said with a shrug. “Let us go and find a cafe. I have to make some phone calls, and it is too noisy here.”

“Uh, thank you Mr. Pascale, for letting us stop to shop. Sorry it took so long.”

He waved me off and took Dauphine’s hand. “If it means you have a proper swimsuit and I don’t have to worry about Rod making inappropriate comments, then it is nothing.” His neck flushed. “And call me Xavier, please. Mr. Pascale is my father.” He strode ahead.

I let out a breath and followed them, feeling again as if I’d just been reprimanded for the Rod thing. I hung back as Dauphine pointed out things here and there, and Xavier pulled out his wallet again and bought her a pink summer dress, a set of sparkling scrunchies, and some beaded bracelets. I admired everything I passed but didn’t dare stop to admire too long in case I lost sight of the two of them or got caught up with another scary sales lady. My earlier awe for the market had morphed into a bit of sensory overload.

Finally, they took a right turn out of the market and down a side street. We approached a super cute street cafe with small wooden tables spilling onto the sidewalk. A trellis wound with some kind of flowering plant, and there were bright tangerine-colored umbrellas. There was a single table with two seats available and Xavier pointed Dauphine toward it before speaking briefly with a nearby table and stealing an extra seat. In seconds, we were all closely seated.

“What did you think of the market, Josie?” Dauphine asked.

“It’s amazing.”

“You see? Je l’ai dit, non? I told her, Papa. She did not believe me.”

Xavier gave a small smile, and I wished I could see his eyes. “Is that right?”

I lifted a shoulder, then cleared my throat. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. It was also a little overwhelming.”

A waiter appeared. Dauphine ordered an Orangina, and Xavier looked expectantly at me. “Uh …”

“May I order a drink for you?”

“Okay. Thank you. Nothing alcoholic.”

He nodded. “Un citron pressé,” he told the waiter. “Pour nous deux.”

“What am I having?” I asked.

He took his sunglasses off, and I was momentarily frozen in the snare of his blue eyes. “Wait and see?”

Swallowing, I nodded.

“Sorry if the saleswoman embarrassed you. I had a tailor measure my inseam at the market once. I know the feeling.” He gave a small grin, and my stomach unclenched slightly, grateful he was trying to make me feel at ease.