“Wait. Haven’t you made that for me before?”
She smiled. “Several times.”
Quentin gazed at the passing herd of cattle with newfound respect. “God bless each and every one of y’all.”
When Lexi laughed, he grinned at her. And just like that, the awkwardness between them was gone. For good, Lexi hoped, though somehow she knew better.
Soon they arrived in Dijon, a gorgeous city characterized by historic buildings and cathedrals, art galleries and museums, upscale boutiques, antiques shops and medieval half-timbered houses nestled along cobbled streets. There were restaurants and cafés with terraces on every corner, offering gastronomic delights to please any palate.
Lexi took in the amazing sights, sounds and smells with the excited wonder of a child, tugging Quentin from one place to the next. The regal Palace of the Dukes of Burgundy was closed for the holiday, but they were able to explore the courtyards and climb up the Philippe le Bon Tower, which offered a wonderful view of Dijon and the surrounding countryside.
Next they visited the church of Notre Dame, an architecturally beautiful gothic building famous for the unusual gargoyles that covered its facade. There was an owl sculpted into one of the stone walls. In keeping with local custom, Lexi and Quentin took turns placing their left hands on the carving to make a wish.
As they started away, Quentin asked, “What’d you wish for?”
She smiled enigmatically. “If I tell you, it might not come true.”
And that can’t happen, she silently added. She hadn’t wished for fame and fortune upon the release of her first cookbook next month. She hadn’t even wished for a better relationship with her mother. Instead, she’d offered up a simple but heartfelt prayer that she and Quentin would always remain the best of friends. Because she couldn’t bear the thought of ever losing him.
After stopping at a sidewalk café to enjoy a local favorite—kir, a white wine and cassis apéritif—they headed to an open-air market that specialized in breads, cheeses, wines, spices and sauces. Lexi had only intended to browse, but as they wandered through the bustling stalls, she found herself reaching for one item after another, her mind racing with ideas for different recipes.
Without being asked, Quentin retrieved a basket for her, a soft, indulgent smile quirking his lips as he watched her shop. “Don’t forget what Asha said.”
Mulling over a wedge of Epoisses cheese that she could serve with a bottle of Chablis, Lexi asked absently, “What’d she say?”
“You and Mike are her guests this weekend, so you’re not allowed to step foot inside her kitchen to cook.”
Lexi groaned. “It’s so unfair. Asking a chef not to cook while in France is like asking a NASCAR driver to remain in neutral on the racetrack.” She scowled. “Damn that woman.”
Quentin laughed. “Tell you what, sweetness. If you don’t want all these ingredients going to waste,” he said, holding up the overflowing basket, “you can cook something for me when we get back home in two days.”
Lexi brightened at once. “That’s an excellent idea.”
He grinned. “Just doing my part,” he said gallantly, as if he were making the ultimate sacrifice by allowing her to prepare a meal for him. But the truth was that he loved her cooking as much as she loved cooking for him. Nothing pleased Lexi more than watching Quentin devour her food. And the more praise he heaped on her, the more she wanted to cater to him.
After depositing the groceries in the chauffeured car, they decided to go for a quick wine tasting. Since Asha’s sommelier had already promised to give everyone a guided tour of the château’s cellars and vineyards tomorrow, Lexi and Quentin stopped by an indoor market operated by a local family of winemakers. The large tasting room lured passersby to venture inside to sample some of the region’s finest pinot noirs and chardonnays.
The place was crowded with holiday tourists. After receiving glossy brochures and a breathless greeting from the harried young woman at the entrance, Lexi and Quentin were pretty much on their own.
At the first tasting table, Lexi showed Quentin the proper way to “nose” wine.
“To really appreciate the flavor of a wine,” she explained, “you sniff it before tasting. The proper technique is to hold the stem of the glass, stick your nose into the bowl and let the scent rise up.” As she demonstrated, she cautioned him, “Don’t try to inhale the scent, or you’ll mostly get alcohol fumes. Here, try it.”
Of course Quentin inhaled, then gasped as the pungent fumes shot up his nose. He took a hasty gulp of wine that went down the wrong way and sent him into a violent coughing paroxysm.
Alarmed, Lexi took the glass from his hand, set it down and pounded him on the back as he wheezed and choked.
“Are you all right, sweetie?” she asked worriedly as several curious heads turned in their direction.
Quentin staggered back a step, his eyes rolling up in his head.
Lexi swept a panicked glance over the crowd. She was about to call out for a doctor when she saw the mischievous grin on Quentin’s face.
“Gotcha!”
Torn between relief and fury, Lexi punched him on the arm. “Idiot! I thought you were choking to death!”
He laughed. “From inhaling wine?”
She skewered him with a glare. “You play too damn much, Quentin.”
As she turned and stalked out of the market, he caught her from behind, engulfing her as he draped his long arms around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
“Come on, Lex,” he cajoled. “Don’t be mad. I was just having some fun with you. I love it when you kick into professor mode. You’re so serious and adorable.”
“Don’t call me adorable,” Lexi grumbled darkly. “Not when I’m seriously contemplating how to kick your ass.”
Quentin laughed, the deep, rumbling sound sending heat from the base of her skull to the bottom of her spine. Although his legs were much longer than hers, he effortlessly matched her stride, step for step. As though it were as natural to him as his own heartbeat.
“I’m sorry I scared you, Lex. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
She frowned. “One of these days you’re going to push me too far, and I’m not going to forgive you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d break my heart.”
“It’d serve you right.” But she was smiling now. She couldn’t help it. He was downright irresistible when he said things like that to her. And he knew it.
“Hold up.” He drew her to a stop. “Stay right there.”
Puzzled, Lexi turned and watched as he sauntered over to a street vendor selling flowers. He exchanged a few words with the woman in his adorably rudimentary French, which Lexi had been teaching him. When he flashed his killer grin, the vendor blushed and beamed at him.
Lexi sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. Another one bites the dust.
A group of tourists strolled by, blocking her view of Quentin. She stood on tiptoe, wishing, not for the first time, that she were taller. Her height, topping out at five-two, had been the bane of her existence for as long as she could remember.
Which was why she hated supermodels.
Like Giselle.
Moments later Quentin reappeared, his arms tucked behind his back.
Lexi shook her head at him. “I don’t care how pretty—”