The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters: a laugh-out-loud romcom!

I blush again at how rabid I was. Instead of shoving the whole baguette in my mouth, I snap the gorgeously crusty crust and pull pieces off, trying to remember how civilised people act.

‘I’m Kat.’

‘Wendy,’ I say, my words muffled around yet another mouthful of the best bread I’ve ever tasted. ‘And you’re English. I didn’t expect to find any English people out here.’

‘There are a lot of expats around these parts. Land is cheap, the commute back home isn’t too bad, and everything’s just that bit nicer over here. Well, you must know that already if you’re moving in.’ She nods towards the château, her long earrings jangling with the movement.

‘I haven’t moved in,’ I say, trying not to choke on the baguette I’m making short work of. So much for being civilised. ‘I’m just here on holiday for a few weeks. After that, it’s back to the grindstone in the UK.’

‘Where are you…’ She stops mid-sentence with her mouth hanging open. I follow her line of sight towards the château. Julian has chosen that moment to appear from the gardens and is walking up the steps to the open door.

‘Oh. My. God,’ Kat says, doing an unintentional impression of Janice from Friends. ‘Look at that fine specimen of manhood. That is a god carved out of pure marble, that is.’ She grabs my wrist. ‘Is he yours?’

‘No!’ I say in horror. ‘Ick!’

At the top of the steps, Julian turns and gives us a wave.

Kat is practically swooning on the spot as he disappears into the depths of the château. Her grip on my wrist tightens. ‘Why on earth is he not yours? He’s gorgeous.’

‘Ew! I would never…’ I stutter, struggling to find the words for just how hideous a thought that is.

She looks at me and then back at the house. ‘There’s something wrong with you. As they would say around here, that is un homme magnifique.’

She may as well be drooling.

‘Yeah, from a distance. Once you meet him, his attractiveness drops so far below zero that we need a bigger numeric table.’

‘I don’t believe that for a second.’ She finally lets go of my wrist, but if she was a cartoon character, there would be hearts in her eyes.

‘He’s a Scottish knobkettle who thinks he’s far better looking than he actually is.’

‘Ooh, he’s Scottish too?’ She fans a hand in front of her face. ‘Don’t make it worse! Scottish men are so sexy. Does he have a kilt?’

‘I sincerely hope never to find out.’

The look she gives me would be less incredulous if I’d told her there was a flock of pterodactyls swooping overhead. ‘Why is he shirtless?’

‘Because he’s an idiot.’

‘I didn’t know idiocy caused men to spontaneously remove their shirts. If that was true, there’d be a lot more shirtless men in my life.’

I smile as I look over at her. She’s got friendly blue eyes that are accentuated by her short haircut, and her bright green top is colour-coordinated to perfectly match the green bits of her hair, her eyeshadow, and the bracelets around her wrists. Everything about her screams of someone who’s supremely comfortable in their own skin.

‘I could introduce you, if you want,’ I say against my better judgement. She seems like a nice person. She deserves better than Julian.

‘Nah. I’ll trust your judgement. Besides, I’ve got my eye on someone. He hasn’t got the body of that glorious creature, but he’s got a smile that makes me go weak at the knees every time I see it. Of course, he’s only in town twice a week for the market and he doesn’t speak a word of English, but I think we have some kind of lost-in-translation connection.’

‘In all fairness, most men don’t understand English. Communicating with them is hard enough in the same language, so maybe non-verbal relationships are the way to go.’

She laughs. ‘I hear you on that one, lovely. I also sometimes think pushing them out of a window might be the way to go.’

‘If you want to test the window theory, please come in and try it from the fifth floor…’

It makes her laugh again and nod towards the château. ‘So what about him? Is he a workman or something?’

‘No, unfortunately. If he was, he’d be leaving soon.’ I sigh, unsure of how to explain sharing this place with Julian in a way that makes sense. ‘We’ve inherited half the château each. We’ve both turned up at the same time and there’s nothing either of us can do about it.’

‘Oooh, forced to share a house with him. I wouldn’t complain about having to look at that body! It’s a shame it’s such a big house really. You’ll probably never even see him.’

‘I live in hope.’ I go to tell her about my plan to drive him out, but I stop myself. It seems just as childish as everything else I’ve done since I’ve been here, and I get the feeling she’d tell me I’m being unreasonable, and I don’t want to have to admit that I am being a teensy bit unreasonable. Like, the teensiest, tiniest bit.

‘Well, I must be getting on, lovely, but I’ll come back tomorrow. If you could arrange for that gorgeous Scottish thing to be shirtless again, I’ll feed you for free.’

‘What if I could arrange for him to be upside down in the moat? Would that work?’

‘Aww, I’m sure he’s not that bad. Do you want anything else before I go?’ She pulls back the cover of her cart to reveal a selection of goodies I hadn’t even seen until now. ‘I’ve got croissants, pains aux raisins, cinnamon twists, brioche, and white crusty loaves that’ll still be fresh by lunchtime.’

Everything’s set out on her cart in individual clear plastic boxes and, even with the lids shut, the smell is divine. The bakery at work never smells like this. It always smells of the chemical preservatives the company pumps into their dough to keep it looking fresher than it is.

This is proper baking, proper fresh, proper food. The noise I let out sounds positively orgasmic. ‘Oh God, one of everything, please. Two of that iced twisty thing.’

‘And for your gorgeous housemate?’

‘Ha. He can feed his bloody self. After all that taunting last night, I wouldn’t get food for him if you paid me in fresh baguettes and gold bars.’

She gives me a curious look, obviously having no idea what happened last night, and I blush. ‘I’ll just run in and get my purse.’

When I get back, Kat’s still standing in the courtyard, looking around at the surrounding land, and I’m feeling sheepish.

She’s bagged everything up into brown paper bags, and I tip my empty purse upside down as I walk towards her. ‘What do I owe you? Because I’m fairly sure it’s more than the three euros I’ve got left.’

‘Six euros.’

I hand her my last three coins. ‘I used the last of my cash to pay the taxi driver yesterday. Can I cancel—’

‘You know what, don’t worry about it,’ she says with a smile.

‘No, I can’t do—’

‘Seriously. Coming here and seeing the, ahem, sights has really perked up my morning. It’s the least I can do for a fellow Brit.’

‘I can owe it to you. If you’re coming back tomorrow, I’ll have it by then.’

‘There’s no need,’ she says with a shrug.

‘Speaking of, where is this village you mentioned earlier? Is there a shop there? Because I need to get cash out and I really need to get some food in, and some teabags. I haven’t had a cup of tea in over twenty-four hours. I’m failing as a Brit.’

She starts laughing. ‘If you think you’re going to get a cup of tea around here, you’re sorely mistaken.’