Her Mediterranean Makeover

She watched as he moved about the restaurant, looking absolutely fantastic in his dark suit, which he must have changed into in one of the back rooms. She sighed. Suit, jeans, it didn’t seem to matter…

She might as well admit it to herself. She was attracted to Jacques in a way she’d never been attracted to a man. Ever. All this heat and tingling and electricity business was new to her. But she had no intention of getting involved with another man. She’d been married to Shane for twenty years. He was the love of her life. Even if he was no longer here, she had her memories, and they would be enough to keep her warm for the rest of her life.

Still, it was a revelation to meet someone like Jacques and discover that, even now, she possessed hormones. That was where these feelings came from. Hormones doing their stuff to her nerve endings. She knew that much, but she’d thought they were a thing of her past; it was many years since she’d felt them stir, and even then…

Well, she could and would ignore them because hormones weren’t real, or, at least, their effects were only transitory. What she’d had with Shane was real. They’d had a family. And that family was waiting for her back in Australia.

This new friendship with Jacques was important to her, and she wanted it to continue because it was making her time here in Nice so much more enjoyable. A visit to the flower market would have been interesting on her own, but not nearly as interesting as it had been with Jacques. And he’d promised to take her to see a château, which was a treat she hadn’t expected to experience.

So, yes, she wanted to continue to be friends with Jacques, but from now on she was going to ignore her attraction to him. Friendship was going to be the only thing on her mind. She wouldn’t allow those silly hormones to dictate how she felt about being in his company.

‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Leonie,’ Jacques said when he finally approached the small table.

‘No problem. I can see that you’re busy.’ She hesitated, head tilted, while he sat down, then said, ‘What do you actually do? I mean, I know you’re the owner, but there’s a chef and a maître d’…’

He laughed. ‘You make me sound superfluous.’

‘No, no…’ She shook her head. ‘I’m interested, that’s all.’

He gave a small shrug. ‘A restaurant is a business. It needs managing. Someone has to worry about recruiting the right people to maintain a standard, about keeping the dining room full, about paying the bills.’

‘Of course. I never thought about it. I’ve never known anyone who owned a restaurant before.’

‘Also, I like to meet the customers. We have regulars—some have been coming here for many years. It is only polite to greet them personally and assure them that they are welcome, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, absolutely, but you said many years…How long have you owned the restaurant?’

‘It has been in the Broussard family for a long time. My grandfather started it, and he left it to me when he died. It’s one of the most popular restaurants in the region.’

‘Oh, how wonderful. You must be very proud of it.’

He smiled and gave a single nod. ‘I am. And now, what are you going to eat?’

She slipped on her reading glasses. She’d already looked at the menu, which was in both French and English, but she still didn’t know what to choose. ‘It all sounds so lovely. I was hoping you might recommend something.’

He pointed out a few recommendations, then leaned back and made a subtle sign to the head waiter, who hurried over to them.

Leonie smiled at the immaculately dressed waiter and carefully pronounced her selections in French.

Jacques nodded his encouragement. ‘Would you like me to order the wine?’

‘Yes, please.’

Jacques spoke rapidly to his employee, who inclined his head in agreement before collecting the menus and hurrying off.

‘So,’ Leonie said, ‘why hasn’t a nice man like you been snapped up?’

He turned a puzzled gaze on her. ‘Snapped up?’

‘Why haven’t you remarried?’

‘Ah.’

He said no more and his silence made her stomach tighten. ‘Or have you?’

Not that she should care. Hadn’t she just told herself there was nothing between them but friendship?

‘No. No, I have not.’ He lifted his eyes to meet hers. ‘But I came close. It was a bad time, and I haven’t told anyone else about this.’

She could believe it. In her experience, men didn’t talk about personal stuff, especially where pain was involved. She sat up a little straighter, conscious of an intense curiosity. ‘How long ago?’

His eyes flickered away, then returned to her face. ‘Around four years ago.’

Ridiculous to think he wouldn’t have been tempted to marry again. And, of course, he would have had plenty of opportunity, a man as goodlooking as him, a man who, as far as she could see, had everything going for him.

He looked down at his place setting and moved his cutlery a millimetre or so. ‘It didn’t work out.’

‘Can I ask why?’

He met her eyes. ‘Antoine.’

With a little shake of her head, she frowned. ‘He didn’t like her?’

He gave her a crooked smile. ‘On the contrary, he adored her.’ He shrugged. ‘What can I say? My son has inherited my poor taste.’

‘Then…?’

‘She, it turned out, saw me as…’ he looked up, frowning, and seemed to be searching for words ‘…a meal ticket is the expression, if I remember correctly.’

Leonie nodded, then bit her lip as she waited for him to go on.

‘When I explained to her that I would want Antoine to move in with us after our marriage, and live here in Nice, just the three of us, she decided I wasn’t such a good bargain. I think she’d expected that he would stay with his grandmother while we lived the life of a childless couple here in Nice.’

‘Oh, Jacques.’ She couldn’t help herself; she reached for his hand where it lay on the table.

‘For me, I suppose I was lucky to find out what she was like before it became too late, but for Antoine it was heartbreaking.’

Her heart ached for both him and his son. ‘But surely he didn’t know the reason—’

‘No, no,’ he said quickly, his expression horrified. ‘But even so, he took her rejection personally. He was already attached to her, and believed she would be his stepmother.’

Leonie pursed her lips. ‘Poor darling.’

‘I can’t let that happen again. He is a very sensitive boy.’

After lifting his empty wine glass and examining it, he said, ‘Well, there’s no chance of it happening again anyway. I’m too old to think about marriage now. I’ve been single for too long. Any relationships I have will be…casual.’ He shrugged. ‘No need for Antoine to know about them.’

The glass made a small thud on the tablecloth as he put it down. Like a full stop for the conversation. And with perfect timing, the wine waiter arrived.