Page 121 of Never Too Late
‘Was that when you left?’
He dropped his head. ‘I didn’t want… didn’t need to hear any more.’
I thumped him on the arm. ‘You idiot.’
The bark of laughter he emitted startled a nearby owl who flew off with an indignant hoot.
‘Merci pour ça.’
‘You missed the good bit.’
He shifted around, his thigh brushing mine now. ‘There was a good bit? I thought… I assumed…’
‘Hasn’t life taught you anything? You can never assume, Tomas. What’s the point of getting older if you never get any wiser?’ I teased, knowing he could hear the smile in my voice even if his shadow hid my features from the light of the moon.
‘So what else did I miss?’ His hand found mine. ‘Apart from the fact that you’re not leaving?’ Excitement and relief tangled themselves within his words.
‘Well, your sister is officially going to be Sash’s godmother.’
‘Vraiment?’ he asked, emotion sliding him once more back into his native tongue.
‘Yes!’
Joyous laughter rang out in the still night. ‘She must be overjoyed. She and her ex chose not to have children but she’s always been desperate to be an aunt. Obviously, I let her down on that part.’
‘You didn’t let anyone down, Tomas. That’s just how life played out. And this way, she got to choose her own godchild.’
‘That is a very good way of looking at it.’
I squeezed his hand. ‘It’s the only way of looking at it. And you’re also missing the best bottles of plonk Benoit could find. Which means you’re making me miss them, which is even worse.’
He gave a low chuckle. ‘Then we’d better rectify that, sooner rather than later if my sister is celebrating.’
‘I hardly think the supply is going to run out!’
‘That is a very good point.’
‘Although… perhaps best to be safe.’ I pushed myself up from the bench, but Tomas’s hand stilled me.
‘What is it?’
He stood and I tilted my chin up to his face as he looked down at me in the moonlight.
‘When you said you’re not leaving, did you only mean tonight?’
‘Yes, I meant tonight.’
I felt the tension return to his body.
‘But I’m open to discussion on the rest.’
And then his arms were under my knees, mine around his neck as he swept me up and spun us both around in the moonlight.
EPILOGUE
TWO MONTHS LATER
The thought of getting married again had never crossed my mind. But then, neither had the possibility of ever seeing Tomas Bertholle again. Coming to Paris was meant to lay ghosts to rest. To make new memories of Paris. And I had most certainly done so. Very happy ones. Happier still because they included the people I’d made those first treasured ones with and now that the painful ones were vanquished, washed away by happy tears and joyful laughter, I could look back on the rest with an easier eye and share them with my daughter.
