Stolen Time

by Chloé Duval

  But he couldn’t blame Flavie for bringing the truth to light, even though it shattered the peace he’d built so painstakingly.

  He blamed himself.

  He remembered what Father François had told him on the day he’d left Karouac: If she’s meant to be with you, you won’t lose her. The Lord will reunite you, whatever may happen.

  Suddenly a terrifying thought crossed his mind. What if it was happening again?

  What if he was letting his chance slip away forever, for fear of what might happen when they came face-to-face?

  Erwan had never been a believer, but today he was ready to make some concessions.

  Maybe Father François had been right. Maybe the Lord did have a plan for them—and He was bringing them back together.

  Chapter 11

  Romaric had been telling the truth. The fountain was gorgeous.

  It had a round pool about three meters across, and the statue at the center was of a young woman pouring water out of a long, thin jar sitting on her left shoulder. She was looking down, as though considering something at her feet, a half smile playing on her lips. She was naked from the waist up, a drapery wrapped around her hips.

  I sat on the bench across from the fountain and gazed at her face for a long time, letting my thoughts wander.

  Erwan, Romaric, Amélie, Gwenn, the penguins, Liam and Clarissa, Erwan and Amélie again . . . A thousand questions went through my head. Was I right to come here? Should I try to reunite Erwan and Amélie? Was Romaric attracted to me? The thought drifted through my mind, and stopped me short. Ever since last night, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. But it had to stop. I had to stop. I was here, in the beautiful little town of Port-l’Abbé, to return Erwan’s lost letter to him—not to look for romance. Well, in a way it was a mission that was about romance, but not mine. It was for Erwan and Amélie. I had to make sure I wasn’t sidetracked by Erwan’s gorgeous nephew.

  Well, any more than I had already been, in any case.

  Dismissing (or at least, trying to) thoughts of Romaric, I returned to the questions that were popping up. I did want to go riding, but could I get back in the saddle without looking ridiculous? It had been quite a long time since I’d had riding lessons.

  Finally, my thoughts came back to my current work. Was I going to finish writing Liam and Clarissa’s story, or were they going to stay parked in a corner of my head gathering dust, the way they had over the last few weeks? I would have to get back to them someday soon, whether I wanted to or not. My publisher was waiting for them—and for me.

  I examined the statue’s face carefully, as though the answers might be in the fold of her eyelids, the curve of her lips, the gentle slope of her chin, or the pure lines of her high cheekbones. The longer I looked at her, the more her face seemed familiar to me. On a hunch, I opened my purse and took out the article about Erwan’s Virgin Mary I’d brought along.

  My memory had not been deceiving me. The faces of both statues were nearly identical. My imagination immediately went into overdrive. Could it be . . . Amélie’s face? If only I had a picture of her! I longed to find out if my theory was true.

  Another idea flashed through my mind. What if Erwan had carved the same face on all the statues of women he sculpted? Assuming he sculpted other women, of course. There was only one way to find out. I dug my phone out of my pocket and opened the browser app. I typed in the address to Erwan’s website, cursing against the poor network connection when the page loaded at a snail’s pace.

  Of course, when it finally did upload, I could see only half the website—it hadn’t been designed with phone access in mind. But I only cared about the photos. I clicked on the gallery of pictures and scrolled through Erwan’s work. An arched vault, several chimneys, a few façades . . . There! Another statue of a woman! Same face. I rapidly found a third, then a fourth, and a fifth dating back ten years. Each was different . . . but they all shared the same face.

  It had to be Amélie’s face.

  I closed the browser page and searched through my phone book for Chantale’s number.

  I had a few questions for her.

  * * *

  “Flaviiiie! Cécile here!”

  I had been savoring the final bites of my dessert on the beach, digging my toes into the sand and admiring the sunset setting the sky ablaze when my phone rang.

  On a whim, I had decided to have a picnic on the beach and bring my knitting along. I’d bought a salad, a bottle of peach iced tea and an almond tartlet—two, actually, because they only sold them in pairs—at the local grocery store. I’d also made a side trip to a small antiques shop where I’d found several valuable rare coins that my father, ever the coin collector, would love.

  I’d slipped back into the bed-and-breakfast to drop off my purchases and gone down to the beach, settling near a small cove out of the wind and away from the few tourists stubbornly going for a swim. My evening alone with my knitting had seemed like the perfect moment to reflect on what I had learned.

  “Hey, Cess. What’s up?” I asked as I lowered my bottle of iced tea into the sand. I had emailed the girls when I got back to the bed-and-breakfast earlier, bringing them up-to-date about Amélie’s face, Gwenn’s humor, Erwan’s kindness . . . and Romaric’s smile.

  “Oh, nothing much. I’m with all the girls. We decided to hold an impromptu meeting at Bérénice’s shop so you could tell us everything! Your email was waaaay too short. Everybody agrees with me. Are we interrupting something?”

  “Nope. I’m on the beach, enjoying the sunset. It’s beautiful, by the way.”

  “Okay, we’re all here, you’re on speaker. Say hi to everyone!”

  “Hi, everyone!”

  A jumble of noise came over the line. I could make out some of it: “Hey!” “Hi, Flavie!” “Tell us about Romaric!” “Is he really a hottie?” “Why do you always get the cuties? I’m so jealous!”

  “Wait a minute. I told you that Erwan is still madly in love with Amélie, and the only thing you remember from my email is that Romaric is even better looking than his uncle was when he was twenty?”

  “Was there any other interpretation of that email?” Angélique asked sweetly, as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “Flavie, Erwan is obviously in love with Amélie—that’s not news, and anyway, he’s too old for you. What we want to know is whether you’ve got a chance with the hot nephew. You deserve to have a bit of fun . . .”

  I sighed. “You all are insufferable.”

  “We know you love us. Come on, spill. What’s he like?”

  I closed my eyes and pictured Romaric, something that I had been doing quite often for the last twenty-four hours: his mesmerizing gaze, so deep and intense it made me dizzy, his lean, muscled build that was somehow so comforting, his smile that made me want to smile back at him forever. I thought about the strange and unexpected feeling of warmth and welcome I’d experienced when he’d shrugged out of his jacket and laid it over my shoulders last night, about his quick and easy sense of humor. About everything that was him.

  He was attractive. Very attractive. Maybe even too attractive. It had been a long time since I’d been so taken with someone, especially someone I’d only just met. The pull I felt was physical, almost magnetic, and stirred deep sensual instincts within me. In a way, it was nice to feel alive, thrumming with desire, but it was also disconcerting. I hadn’t been prepared for that. And I wasn’t sure what would come of it. Heartbreak, maybe.

  Lucky for me, years of teaching experience had taught me to be cool and collected no matter the circumstances, and I made the most of it. I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit out loud how much I was attracted to him.

  “He’s . . .” I hesitated, then changed tracks. “Let’s just say he looks like Superman and acts like that guy in Pacific Rim. You know, the hero, I can never remember his name.”

  “Charlie Hunnam?”

  “Yeah, him. Or his character, anyway. You know, smiling, charming, protective, kind, an
d he has a great sense of humor.”

  “You mean the kind of man you only find in books,” Angélique said rhetorically.

  “Yeah, more or less.”

  “I repeat,” Bérénice interjected, “I am jealous as hell.”

  “And the most important question,” Vic said, cutting in. “Do you like him?”

  “I don’t think there is a single woman on Earth who would not like him.”

  “You’re not answering the question, Flavie,” Vic reminded me.

  I grimaced. They knew me too well. “I met him yesterday, Vic. It’s too early to tell if I truly like him.”

  “So what you’re carefully not saying is that you’re really into him.”

  “All right, you win! I think he’s cute as hell and absolutely irresistible. Happy now?”

  “Only if you know what you have to do next . . .”

  “What?”

  “Go for it!”

  Easier said than done. Even if a part of me really, really wanted to. “Okay, moving on. You want to know what Chantale told me?”

  “She called you back after talking to her sister?” I could hear the excitement in Vic’s voice.

  I had asked Chantale about the reason for Amélie’s divorce when I called her this morning, explaining honestly why I was asking. Excited about my theory and the fact that Erwan was still very much in love with her, she had immediately called her sister to dig into the past and ask a few questions on my behalf, and called me back a few hours later—actually, as I was grocery shopping for my picnic.

  “Yup. That she did.”

  “We’re all ears.”

  “According to Chantale’s sister, France, things didn’t work out so well with Amélie’s husband, which is why they got divorced. And France thinks the reason they never worked out, though Amélie never admitted it, is that she never forgot about Erwan, try as she might.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Bérénice asked.

  “Nothing just yet. I don’t want to rush anything and I certainly don’t want to bully Erwan into something he’s not ready for. But I offered to give him Amélie’s phone number and address yesterday.”

  “You did?” Bérénice asked.

  In the background, I could hear someone saying, “He isn’t ready? For goodness sake, it’s been forty-five years!” I didn’t ask who had made the comment. Instead, I responded to Bérénice.

  “Uh-huh. I don’t think Romaric would like that very much if he knew, by the way. He thinks the past should stay in the past.”

  “Well, he does have a point,” Vic argued, pragmatic as always.

  “I know. Which is why I’m not going to push. But if Erwan asks me, I’m not going to lie. I’ll tell him what I know.”

  “What if Romaric resents that?”

  I looked down, hoping with all my might that it wouldn’t come to that, but knowing that if Erwan did accept my offer, Romaric probably wouldn’t be enthusiastic. I didn’t like the idea of doing this behind his back—though technically, he was there the first time I’d offered to give his uncle Amélie’s number . . .

  But what he didn’t know was that I’d brought the topic up again with Erwan later that evening, and frankly, after Romaric told me how he felt about Amélie this morning, I didn’t want to speak of it again. I was afraid our tentative connection would fizzle out as quickly as it had bloomed.

  And I would really hate that.

  “He’ll have to deal with it,” I replied in the end. I didn’t know what else to say. “It’s Erwan’s decision, not his. It’s not even mine. But we still have a way to go before hitting that roadblock, if we ever come to it. For now, I’m just going to enjoy my time here and try to do some groundwork for what comes next. Because brace yourselves, girls—I haven’t told you yet, but Erwan is okay with me writing a novel inspired by his story . . .”

  There was an explosion of reactions over the line.

  “That is sooooo cool!”

  “I just know that with you writing it, that story is going to be fantastic!”

  “Speaking of which,” Cess chimed in, “when you get back we have to get together and open our predictions to find out who won the bet!”

  “I look forward to it. But I can pretty much tell you already that I was way off base. I can’t wait to find out what you all wrote.”

  “It’s a date then. See you when you get home!”

  Movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention. A horse and rider were coming my way, silhouetted against the horizon. The last rays of sunlight cast a warm glow on the man’s brown hair and the horse’s glossy gray-black coat.

  My heart skipped a beat when I recognized the rider.

  Romaric.

  He must have seen me, because he veered off his path to come straight to me.

  “I have to go,” I said in a rush. “I’ll call you back when I know more.”

  “What? What’s happening?” Vic asked.

  “I’ll tell you later. Bye!” I hung up just as Romaric rode up to me.

  “Hi,” he called, swinging down from the saddle and smiling at me.

  “Hi.” I tried to seem unruffled and not at all as if his smile made me turn to butter.

  “How was your day?”

  I could tell from the way he looked at me that he wasn’t just asking out of politeness. He was sincerely interested, and I couldn’t help but feel flattered.

  It was silly to react that way to such a small thing, but what can you do? I wasn’t quite myself whenever he was around, that much was clear.

  And it got worse with every meeting. He was making my heart pound. The man’s effect on me was potent. “Great, thanks.” I tried to look smooth and unconcerned. “What about you?”

  “In the Kermarrec family, a day spent in the saddle is always a good day,” he replied.

  “Did you go riding with the group, or were you on your own?” I asked.

  “They left this morning and Gwenn had to go to Brest, so yes, I was on my own.”

  “You should have told me. I’d have asked you to come sightseeing with me.”

  I thought about how lovely it would have been to have him along as I explored the manor. Something, a sixth sense perhaps—or maybe the fact that he and his uncle had spent part of the previous evening narrating various local legends, to my great delight—told me that he would have been much better company than the freshman college student who had been in charge of the guided tour. He’d seemed about as interested in his surroundings as I was in the periodic table.

  “That’s all right.” Romaric shrugged. “I had things to do here anyway. What did you think of Kerzalec?”

  “It was wonderful. You were right about the statue, too—a real masterpiece. I think I spent an hour looking at it.”

  For a minute, I thought of telling him about Karouac’s Virgin Mary statue and the other masterpieces Erwan had carved, and Amélie’s face, but I managed to bite my tongue. Even though I would have liked to share my findings and tell him about my conversation with Chantale, I didn’t want us to argue about Amélie. Not tonight at least. I was enjoying the way he was looking at me, and the warmth in his gaze held me captive.

  The big revelation could wait a bit longer.

  And besides, he might already have noticed the similarity of the faces on Erwan’s statues.

  “I told you.” Romaric seemed to swell with pride. “Erwan is the best sculptor in Brittany. Maybe even the best in France.”

  “Whoa, hold your horses. Or horse, as it may be,” I teased. “But you’re right, he is very skilled.” I smiled as I reached out and stroked his horse’s nose. “Your horse is gorgeous.”

  “Flavie, this is Moonlight. Moonlight, meet Flavie.”

  “Hi, Moonlight. We haven’t met before, but I’ve been admiring you from afar ever since I got here . . . You are gorgeous, you know,” I repeated.

  He sniffed at my hand and neighed softly.

  “That means he thinks you smell good.”

 
; “Why, thanks!” I quipped, amused. “You’re a real gentleman,” I added, addressing Moonlight.

  “He is. For example, he’s really protective with Belle.”

  “Is that the white mare I saw across the pen?”

  “That’s her. She belongs to Gwenn.”

  “Is she your girlfriend? Your one true love?” I asked the horse.

  He bobbed his head as though he understood and agreed. Either the horse was psychic, or I saw answers where there were only coincidences. Still, at least I was having a lot of fun.

  “You’ll have to introduce me, then,” I told Moonlight.

  “You can meet her when I take you for a ride,” Romaric replied for him. “Maybe the day after tomorrow, on the fourteenth? We could go for a ride and come back in time for the party and fireworks. If you have a date to dance with Erwan, you can’t miss that.”

  “Certainly not. But you’re sure Gwenn won’t mind? I don’t want to take her horse away.”

  “Don’t worry, she’s perfectly fine with it.”

  “Then I’d love to.”

  Romaric’s face lit up. “Great! I’ll set it up tomorrow. I know the perfect place, and I think you’re going to love it.”

  “Where will you be taking me?”

  “It’s a surprise. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

  “All right. I leave the planning in your capable hands.”

  “Still working on your baby-seal sweaters?” He gestured at the abandoned knitting on my picnic blanket.

  “Penguin sweaters. I’m almost done.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’d hate to be responsible for leaving the penguins in the cold . . .”

  “Would you . . . Would you like to join me?” I offered timidly. “I have some tea left, though it’s barely iced anymore, and I have an extra almond tartlet, if you’d like that.”

  His gaze met mine, and my heart skipped a beat.

  “I would enjoy it very much. But I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You wouldn’t be. Not at all. I mean—” I stopped, unable to recall what I had meant to say. Chances were it probably wasn’t that important, anyway. My brain cells seemed to have fled, leaving me stammering like a teenager.