He’d slowed down, all right, almost to the point of permanently stopping. When they’d heard he was sick, George and Frank first offered to fly to the hospital in Thailand to collect him. When that hadn’t been necessary, they threatened to confiscate his passport so he couldn’t leave France until George’s sister’s wedding.
George, Frank and Jack had met going to university in New York and had set up a nice bachelor pad for themselves when George’s parents tragically died in a car crash back in their small country Vinciguerra, on the Italian peninsula. George’s distraught twelve-year-old sister, Stefania, had come to live with them, along with a no-nonsense housekeeper.
End of their bachelor pad, but the beginning of the best time of his life. Stevie became one of the gang and the sister he’d never had. And now she was getting married.
Jack hoped she and her German fiancé looked at each other like the young guitar player and his girlfriend.
“Earth to Jack.” Lily peered into his face and waved a croissant. “You still hungry? You put away that chocolate roll pretty fast.”
He looked down into his lap. A small pile of crumbs was all that remained. Maybe the fresh air and quiet greenery was helping his appetite, but he didn’t want to push his luck. “You want to know about the real France?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Who doesn’t?”
“Many people. For them, we are France-Land, a giant amusement theme park for them to visit. See the Eiffel, look at the Mona Lisa, hear the bells rung by the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and voilà! You have experienced the true France.”
She gave him a peeved look. “I don’t agree with that at all, and you have a pretty low opinion of tourists for a guy who’s backpacking his way around the country. Or is it just a low opinion of American tourists?”
“Well…”
“Aha. You, monsieur, are a snob. And see, I know that is a French word, too.”
“I am not a snob.” He was acquainted with many snobs and he wasn’t one, was he?
“When you lived in New York, did you go to the Statue of Liberty?”
“Of course. A gift from my country to yours.” Stevie had loved the green lady. If she hadn’t been Princess of Vinciguerra, Jack often thought, she would have become an American citizen.
“And the Metropolitan Museum of Art? And the Empire State Building?”
“Yes to all of those.”
“So why can’t we enjoy the Eiffel Tower, the Mona Lisa and the bells at Notre Dame Cathedral?”
He gave her a nod of apology. “Again, you have caught me without my manners. We are notably proud of those three things in Paris, and many more, of course.”
“So since I have already visited all those places, tell me where I should go next to get a sense of the real France.”
Jack made a split-second decision. His other belongings were safely stashed in a locker at the hostel for the day and he hadn’t made any firm plans to leave for Provence. What was one more day? The trains were always running to the south of France. “Why don’t I show you?”
Her pretty brow wrinkled again. “Show me what?”
“One of the most beautiful parks in Paris that only the locals know about. You like to hike?”
“I love it,” she promptly replied. “The Appalachian Trail runs through Pennsylvania, and I’ve hiked several parts of it.”
“Good, this will be easy for you. Do you have a Métro card?”
“All set.” She stood and dumped her empty cup into a nearby trash can. “Allons! Let’s go.”
Jack smiled. Her dreadful accent was starting to seem rather cute. He immediately put the brakes on that idea. Lily was a tourist, and he was going back to Provence to sit in the sun, eat and regain his strength.
He grimaced. Kind of like the mangy stray cat his Provençal housekeeper Marthe-Louise had taken in and fattened up last winter. Ah, well, she’d be happy to do the same for him.
3
“I CAN’T believe this is in the middle of the city.” Lily gazed around the park in rapture. Fashionable young mothers in silk T-shirts and slim Capri cargo pants pushed babies in strollers, their gladiator sandals slapping the pavement. Older men strolled along the paths, conversing with enough upper body movement to qualify for a cardiovascular workout. She was the only tourist in sight. “How do you say the name again? The sign says Butts, but that can’t be right.”
“No, we have no ‘butts’ here.”
Lily sneaked a look at his, but those baggy shorts made it impossible to tell. Probably as lean as the rest of him. Rats! He caught her peeking. She fought a blush, and she hadn’t even seen anything. He was kind of cute with his warm brown eyes.
“You would pronounce it ‘Boot show-mon.’”
Lily never would have guessed that from the sign that read Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. “What does it mean?”
“Buttes are hills and Chaumont probably means ‘bald mountain.’ And parc means—”
She elbowed him, interrupting his chuckle. “Yes, thank you, I figured that out for myself.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a brief squeeze and then dropped it. “I am just teasing you, Lily. I admire your courage in coming by yourself to a country where you do not speak the language.”
“I wouldn’t have been on my own if my cousin hadn’t had wonderful news.” She found herself telling him about Sarah’s past problems having a baby, and he nodded as if he knew what she was talking about.
“Yes, yes, it was wise for her to stay at home. Pregnancy can be difficult in the first trimester, especially with a history of complications.” He cleared his throat. “But of course I am not an obstetrician.”
She laughed. He looked as little like any ob-gyn she’d ever met. She pulled out her camera and took a few shots of Parisians enjoying the fine summer day. “Come on, let’s walk.” She followed the path into the park and was surprised to find herself in almost a forest. “Wow, Jack, look at all these trees.”
“Yes, the park was commissioned by Napoleon III in the mid-1800s. Many of the trees were planted then.” Jack pointed to a curve. “Ah, turn here.”
All the noise of Paris had fallen away as they passed a red brick mansion in the park and crossed a terra-cotta-tiled bridge. “Down the steps?” Lily peered down a dark, cool tunnel.
“Exactement.” Jack went down a couple steep steps and extended his hand. “Watch your step. The rock can be slippery.”
Lily took his strong, warm hand. As they descended, she was grateful for his steady grip and her sturdy hiking boots. “How on earth did they ever make this park?”
“They shaped it from an old quarry and it took several years to finish.”
She concentrated on keeping her footing and only looked up when they emerged onto a long, narrow suspension bridge. It was as if they were in a misty watercolor illustration of a fantasy novel heavy with wizards and princesses. She couldn’t resist taking more photos, this time one-handed.
The bridge towered over a serene lake that reflected up the greens, yellows and reds of the surrounding trees. She realized they were still holding hands, but didn’t let go. She’d enjoyed Paris, but missed Sarah badly. Sightseeing by herself wasn’t as much fun as with someone else. A travel buddy gave her the chance to say, Wow, look at that, or even spotting something funny and giving