Page 71 of Mail Order Valentine (Hawthorne Billionaire 2)

“Who’s your favorite?” I called out to Gunner.

“Wait a minute.” Imogen stopped me. “You told me your favorite country singer. Who’s your favorite, favorite singer?”

“Which question am I answering?” Gunner asked over his shoulder.

“Bond, tell us your favorite country singer first,” Imogen said, sliding over to the divider “Then we’ll do all-time favorite.”

“I’m not much of a country music person, but if I had to pick one, I’d go with Alan Jackson,” Gunner said back to us. “The best artist of all time, though, is Billy Joel.”

“Billy Joel? No way,” Imogen argued. “Best of all time has to be someone like Elvis, doesn’t it?”

“No, I think it could be a group. I would say Aerosmith for a group for all time,” I added, sliding to the front next to Imogen.

“Aerosmith is a good pick, but these are all old singers and groups,” she said. “I mean, my grandpa would be happy to hear these choices since he made sure I knew all of them, but what about current artist?”

“You didn’t say current artist. You said favorite of all time,” I argued. “If you need a current, then I’d say Dave Matthews.”

“We’re going to need to come back to this debate because we’re here, and there’s an elderly couple waving to us.” Gunner pulled into a parking spot.

“This looks like someone’s house. It’s beautiful.” Imogen said. “How do you know about this place?”

“It’s a bed and breakfast. I found it years ago when I was out sightseeing.” I stepped out of the car and helped Imogen out.

“What does Dubois Amour mean on the sign?” Imogen whispered to me.

“Dubois is their last name and Amour means love,” I translated for her.

Mr. and Mrs. Dubois were waiting to greet us. I’d called ahead to let them know I’d be bringing my fiancée, and as usual they had a huge breakfast buffet, mostly for their other guests, but I had happened upon this place one time and had been coming back every time I was in Paris.

“I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Imogen, and this big guy is Gunner, our driver.” We shared hugs. “I told them both how great your food is, and we’re starving.”

“Enchanté. Let us not waste another moment. Come, let’s eat.” Mrs. Dubois waved us inside. “I made your favorite, crepes.”

The meal and the company were enjoyable and relaxed. Mr. Dubois told stories about the making of their farm and how they decided to have a bed and breakfast. Imogen and Mrs. Dubois carried an easy conversation throughout the meal. I heard bits and pieces about cooking and marriage. Gunner ended up being the spoiler when he reminded us we had appointments to get to in the city.

“Thank you so much for the amazing food. I’d love to come back some time,” Imogen said, and hugged them both.

“Au revoir ma chérie,” Mrs. Dubois said. “Visit Dubois Amour again.”

Gunner had the car running when we finished saying our goodbyes. Imogen was so animated about the quaint little bed and breakfast. She went on and on about Mr. and Mrs. Dubois and their fifty years of marriage. I sat back, watching her talk about them, until the moment she stopped and looked to me with the face of someone with an idea.

Chapter 53

IMOGEN

Inearly bounced on the seat in the limo. The bed and breakfast was like a dream, it was so quaint. I loved it more than the Hawthorne fancy hotels. It was without a doubt the best place I’d been to. While I was going on about everything, driving Asher nuts, I thought of a great idea.

“Why don’t we get married at Dubois Amour?” I asked excitedly. “It would be so perfect there. Of course, I’d have to fly my parents here.”

“Imogen, I love the enthusiasm but I’m not sure if we can get married in Paris,” Asher said apologetically. “I have a lot of family in the States and I would be disowned if I didn’t get married there, not to mention the press.”

“Yeah, I guess Paris is back of bourke. That’s too bad.” I sat back in the seat feeling deflated. “Well then, I guess we will just have to visit again before we get nicked.”

I heard a quiet chuckle at first, then all out laughter, coming from the other side of the limo. Asher was shaking his head at me and laughing.

“Are you laughing at me, Mr. Hawthorne?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Don’t be silly. I would never laugh at you,” he said, joining me on my side of the limo. “I was laughing at the slang you use, especially when you’re mad or excited.”

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