“Is your stepfather in the Diplomatic Corps, too?”

He shook his head. “Rudy is a journalist. He’s been a correspondent for every major bureau you can think of. And he plays a mean slide guitar. When we lived in Frankfurt, he was in a garage band called the Trailing Spouses.”

“Interesting name . . .”

“It’s an official designation for the spouses of people with government posts. In the Diplomatic Corps, almost everybody has one.” A waiter came to pour water from a crystal pitcher. “Anyway, that’s my family in a nutshell. I’d rather hear about yours.” Finn was startled, because he really did want that. He wanted to know everything about her.

“My parents divorced when I was eight, so I spent weekends with Papa and the rest of the time with my mom and stepdad, Bart. I have two half sisters. Britt is married and works with us at the shop, and Hilda’s in college. Papa never remarried. When I was younger, that was fine with me, because I always thought a stepmom would be scary. Too many fairy-tale readings, I guess.”

“Fairy tales are awesome. I once taught a class on the historical context of fairy tales. Stepparents get a bad rap.”

“True. My stepdad, Bart, is totally great. He’s an oysterman.”

“And your dad’s a wine expert. You guys must eat like kings.”

“We do, actually. Papa and I make dinner together every Friday night. It’s a tradition. And we mostly speak French together, because I wanted my daughter to speak it like a native. Actually, a native of the Languedoc, so not the usual—”

“You mean she sounds like a southerner,” Finn said in Occitan, the vernacular he’d picked up on his latest teaching assignment.

Camille’s eyes widened. “Okay, now you’re showing off.”

Yes. Yes, he was. “You should come to Aix-en-Provence.” The idea of hanging out with her in France seemed incredibly appealing.

She looked down at her lap. “Like I said, I don’t really travel.”

“Why’s that?”

She paused, then let out a sigh. “You have a plane to catch tonight.”

“Long story?” He wanted to hear all her stories. Preferably while lazing in bed with her after a night of—

The waiter came back for their drink orders. She asked for a glass of sweet tea, extra lemon. “Let’s take a look at the menu,” she suggested, opening hers. “Oh boy. Really, you didn’t have to do this.”

The cuisine here was a fusion of Patsy’s soul food and Arnaud’s French classics. “We both have to eat. It’s my last day in the States for a while. I might as well make it pleasant.” He set his menu aside. “Do you have a favorite restaurant in the city?”

She shook her head. “I’m not one for foie gras and Reblochon cheese. In Bethany Bay, we’re happy enough with local backfin crab and sliced cukes in ice water.” A flush rose in her cheeks. “Thus revealing my townie roots.”

“I chose wrong, then.”