The lavish French aperitif, with everything freshly made from the farm, imparted a sense of timelessness. In this self-contained world, they still produced their own fruit and vegetables, wine, meat, and even silkworms and honey. After her second glass of vin maison, Camille started to feel . . . comfortable. Almost relaxed.

Until she sneaked a peek at her phone. Unlike Julie’s, her phone worked fine here, as she had added an international usage plan.

The pop-up on the screen said New Message from Malcolm Finnemore.

Thirteen

As Camille watched Finn get out of his car—a disreputable old Citroën known as a deux chevaux thanks to its gutless horsepower—she felt ridiculously nervous. Jet lag had turned her first few days at Sauveterre into a dreamlike fantasy. Today, she had been wide-awake since four in the morning, and waiting for him to arrive had been an exercise in self-restraint. He was Christmas and school’s-out and her birthday all rolled into one.

She felt like a girl Julie’s age with her first crush, which was utterly silly, but she couldn’t tamp down the confusing and undeniable flutters. She kept reminding herself that he was not for her, but her ridiculous self didn’t listen.

“So this is the one who is going to look into your father’s mysteries,” said Anouk. She was about Camille’s age, and like the rest of the family, seemed intrigued by the story of Lisette Palomar. When not tending her two little ones, Anouk was an avid reader. She read a different romantic novel every day, the paperback kind with attractive people on the cover, executing impossible, yoga-like embraces. “You chose well,” she added. “He’s gorgeous.”

I know. Camille shrugged. “He’s very knowledgeable about this region during the war years.” She could feel a flush rising in her cheeks, and even though she tried not to smile, she couldn’t help herself.

“Love looks good on you,” said Anouk, studying Camille’s face.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Camille said.

At that moment, a squabble erupted in the back garden, the sort of sibling dispute that sounded the same in every language. Anouk went to investigate, and Camille hurried across the courtyard to welcome Finn.

Behind her, she heard Anouk’s all-knowing sniff. L’amour te va très bien. What did she know? Camille thought defensively.

“Welcome to Sauveterre,” she said to Finn.

And then there was that awkward moment when she didn’t know what to do next. Hug him? Offer the French-style air kiss on each cheek? Jump his bones and worry about the consequences later?

He offered her the same devastating smile she’d been dreaming of since the day they’d parted ways. “Nice to see you in this part of the world.” He didn’t seem to feel awkward at all as he pulled her into a hug. He smelled amazing—fresh air and male sweat, something she’d never found sexy before, but which now inspired wildly inappropriate ideas. She wanted to press her cheek against his chambray shirt and stay like this for the next week or so.