More Than Words
Page 32
Jessie smiled sweetly, tenderly, something sparkling in her mud-rimmed eyes. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that just yet. The officer said there’s a town about half an hour back down the road with an inn that should have a room available.”
I sighed. “An inn? Sounds … quaint.”
Jessie smiled. “I guess we’ll see, right?”
Yeah, I guess we’ll see. Despite Jessie’s hopeful tone, defeat settled in my chest, the feeling that this storm was a sign that I could make all the plans I wanted—try as hard as I could to make Jessie happy and meet her in her world—and something would still come along to remind me that it wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t enough.
And I never would be.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JESSICA
We followed the signs to the tiny town—more a village from the looks of it—and drove slowly through the center of what seemed to be the downtown area, if it could even be called that. It was really six ancient-looking buildings centered around a town square.
“Where do you think this inn is?” Callen mumbled, leaning forward and peering through the fogged-up windshield. The combination of the damp interior and the heat was making it almost impossible to keep the windows clear. It felt like we were in the dirtiest steam bath on the planet. My skin had begun itching from the mud almost immediately, but I was doing my best not to scratch. I didn’t want to make Callen feel any worse about the direction his perfectly planned day had taken. “I doubt there’ll be a flashing vacancy sign to look out for. And I … don’t read French.”
A part of me wanted to giggle again at this situation, at the absolute mess the two of us looked like, but Callen’s expression was a mixture of shattered and cranky, his tone defeated, and I thought it best not to dissolve into another fit of laughter right now. “No, there probably won’t be a flashing sign. It looks like a small enough village though. If we take a loop through, we’ll probably spot it. We’re looking for the word ‘auberge,’ or ‘hôtel,’ ‘résidence’ maybe …” I murmured, squinting out the rain-streaked glass.
We were literally the only car driving through the cobblestone streets, and though lights shone from some of the windows, it looked as if the entire populace of the town had gone indoors with the rain. “There,” I said, spotting a stone building with a hand-painted sign that read, NUIT DES RÊVES. Night of Dreams.
Callen parked the car across the street, where two other tiny European cars were parked, and we both got out, dried mud cracking and falling from my clothes as I stood up. Ugh.
I stared across the street at the pretty three-story building, window boxes at the top-floor windows featuring cheerful red geraniums. They made me smile. How perfectly French. The awning above the door was black and white striped, and the door itself was painted the same red as the flowers. I was instantly charmed. Callen joined me where I stood, our bags in hand, and we crossed the street, climbing the stairs and entering the inn.
It was dim inside and smelled of dusty ancient wood and some type of citrusy furniture polish. The entry was small but elegant, with a plush carpet of reds, purples, and golds. Damask patterned wallpaper on the walls clearly showed the seams but was otherwise in good shape. The counter had a large gilt-edged mirror above it reflecting a set of stairs that must lead to the rental rooms. We rang the bell and waited.
After a moment I heard a door open and close somewhere near the back, and a few seconds later an older woman wearing a white apron came bustling into the foyer. “Bonjour, bonjour,” she called, her words dying as she caught sight of us. I stood still, not wanting any mud to fall off me while she stared. I didn’t have to imagine the sight we made—the mirror behind the counter had already told me I looked as bad as, if not worse than, Callen. How embarrassing.
“Bonjour.” I gave the woman a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Please excuse our appearance. We, uh, got caught in a rain shower … There was mud and … We’d like to rent a room,” I said in French, figuring the woman would be more accommodating of our grime if I spoke in her native tongue.
She laughed, placing a hand on her round belly. “I’d say there was. My goodness! You poor things.” She glanced at Callen, who was looking around at the portraits on the wall. “Your husband does not speak French, oui?”
I hoped she couldn’t see the blush under all the grime streaking my face. “No. And he’s not my husband. We, ah, well …” I glanced at Callen, my eyes lingering on him for a moment as he looked around, unaware we were speaking of him. He was dirty and muddy, his hair stiff and sticking in every direction, and still he was the most handsome man in the world. “We are …”
She hummed as a smile appeared on her face. “Ah, but yes you are.” She sighed as if with affection and clasped her hands in front of her. “Oui, oui, I see perfectly.” She moved around the counter and began flipping through her book. After a moment she frowned. “I only have one room available. It’s our smallest one, but I hope that will be okay?”
Only one room available? The place seemed utterly deserted. “Oh, that’s … fine. As long as there’s a shower?”
“Ah, oui. But of course.”
I turned to Callen. “She has a room available, but it’s the smallest one.”
A look of confusion came over his face and he glanced around quickly, as if he were thinking about the deserted feel of the place just as I had moments before. “If that’s all she has.” He took his wallet out. “How much?”
“You don’t have to pay for everything—”
He gave me a disapproving look. “This weekend is on me, Jessie.”
I sighed and quoted the price to Callen, and he handed the money to the woman. She put it away in a drawer, from which she also removed a key. “Here you are. Room 301 at the top of the stairs. I’m Madame Leclaire. Just ring if you need me.”
“Merci, Madame Leclaire.” We turned and climbed the narrow set of stairs, passing the first floor and rising to the second and then the third. There was only one room on the top floor, and it appeared to be an attic room. Callen used the key and pushed the door open slowly, as we both peered inside. The room was tiny, but it looked clean and rather lovely. Callen closed the door behind us as I looked around. My eyes caught on the bed, and though it looked comfortable and inviting, the linens white and fresh, Callen and I would practically have to sleep on top of each other if we both slept there.
I swallowed. “Uh …”
“I can, ah, take the …” He looked around, but the room was so small there was barely even a place on the floor where he could comfortably lie down.
“No. That’s silly. We can make this work. Anyway, I’m more concerned with a shower.”
There was a closed door on the other side of the room, and I peeked my head in. The bathroom was cramped, too, but again, it looked clean, the white tile gleaming, thick towels hanging from the towel bars. There wasn’t a tub, but we couldn’t really take a bath in the state we were in anyway.
I turned back around and smiled. Callen was standing in the middle of the room looking sullen and awkward, and I had a brief flash of him as a boy. He’d worn that same look then—regularly—and it made my nerve endings tingle in recognition. We stared at each other, the silence between us growing heavier, the room around us seeming even smaller. Callen blinked, starting to run a hand through his hair in that familiar gesture. He cringed when his palm hit the stiff strands. “How about I take a really quick shower first and then try to find food while you get cleaned up?”
I nodded, a jerky self-conscious movement. Why did I feel so unbalanced all of a sudden? “That sounds good.” Now that I thought about it, I was hungry. I’d taken only a bite or two of what would have been an early dinner before the rain had come.
“Great, ah, I’ll just …” Callen moved toward me, indicating that he needed to get into the bathroom, and I realized I was blocking the door like an idiot. I scooted out of the way, the heat of his body moving past me before he closed the door. I heard the shower start and took the time to look at the room’s furnishings. As dirty as I was, I didn’t dare sit on anything. Other than the bed, there was only a wooden bureau of drawers, a night table, and an upholstered chair by the window. I leaned over the chair, pushing the curtain aside as I glanced out at the rainy street. From my vantage point, I could see that a few shops were open, but the town still looked quiet and mostly deserted. I was high enough to see that beyond the buildings, miles of French farmland stretched out around the town. I could see neat rows of orchard trees—apples maybe? Cows grazed, their forms dotting the rolling hills in the distance. What a beautiful, peaceful life.
I sighed. “An inn? Sounds … quaint.”
Jessie smiled. “I guess we’ll see, right?”
Yeah, I guess we’ll see. Despite Jessie’s hopeful tone, defeat settled in my chest, the feeling that this storm was a sign that I could make all the plans I wanted—try as hard as I could to make Jessie happy and meet her in her world—and something would still come along to remind me that it wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t enough.
And I never would be.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JESSICA
We followed the signs to the tiny town—more a village from the looks of it—and drove slowly through the center of what seemed to be the downtown area, if it could even be called that. It was really six ancient-looking buildings centered around a town square.
“Where do you think this inn is?” Callen mumbled, leaning forward and peering through the fogged-up windshield. The combination of the damp interior and the heat was making it almost impossible to keep the windows clear. It felt like we were in the dirtiest steam bath on the planet. My skin had begun itching from the mud almost immediately, but I was doing my best not to scratch. I didn’t want to make Callen feel any worse about the direction his perfectly planned day had taken. “I doubt there’ll be a flashing vacancy sign to look out for. And I … don’t read French.”
A part of me wanted to giggle again at this situation, at the absolute mess the two of us looked like, but Callen’s expression was a mixture of shattered and cranky, his tone defeated, and I thought it best not to dissolve into another fit of laughter right now. “No, there probably won’t be a flashing sign. It looks like a small enough village though. If we take a loop through, we’ll probably spot it. We’re looking for the word ‘auberge,’ or ‘hôtel,’ ‘résidence’ maybe …” I murmured, squinting out the rain-streaked glass.
We were literally the only car driving through the cobblestone streets, and though lights shone from some of the windows, it looked as if the entire populace of the town had gone indoors with the rain. “There,” I said, spotting a stone building with a hand-painted sign that read, NUIT DES RÊVES. Night of Dreams.
Callen parked the car across the street, where two other tiny European cars were parked, and we both got out, dried mud cracking and falling from my clothes as I stood up. Ugh.
I stared across the street at the pretty three-story building, window boxes at the top-floor windows featuring cheerful red geraniums. They made me smile. How perfectly French. The awning above the door was black and white striped, and the door itself was painted the same red as the flowers. I was instantly charmed. Callen joined me where I stood, our bags in hand, and we crossed the street, climbing the stairs and entering the inn.
It was dim inside and smelled of dusty ancient wood and some type of citrusy furniture polish. The entry was small but elegant, with a plush carpet of reds, purples, and golds. Damask patterned wallpaper on the walls clearly showed the seams but was otherwise in good shape. The counter had a large gilt-edged mirror above it reflecting a set of stairs that must lead to the rental rooms. We rang the bell and waited.
After a moment I heard a door open and close somewhere near the back, and a few seconds later an older woman wearing a white apron came bustling into the foyer. “Bonjour, bonjour,” she called, her words dying as she caught sight of us. I stood still, not wanting any mud to fall off me while she stared. I didn’t have to imagine the sight we made—the mirror behind the counter had already told me I looked as bad as, if not worse than, Callen. How embarrassing.
“Bonjour.” I gave the woman a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Please excuse our appearance. We, uh, got caught in a rain shower … There was mud and … We’d like to rent a room,” I said in French, figuring the woman would be more accommodating of our grime if I spoke in her native tongue.
She laughed, placing a hand on her round belly. “I’d say there was. My goodness! You poor things.” She glanced at Callen, who was looking around at the portraits on the wall. “Your husband does not speak French, oui?”
I hoped she couldn’t see the blush under all the grime streaking my face. “No. And he’s not my husband. We, ah, well …” I glanced at Callen, my eyes lingering on him for a moment as he looked around, unaware we were speaking of him. He was dirty and muddy, his hair stiff and sticking in every direction, and still he was the most handsome man in the world. “We are …”
She hummed as a smile appeared on her face. “Ah, but yes you are.” She sighed as if with affection and clasped her hands in front of her. “Oui, oui, I see perfectly.” She moved around the counter and began flipping through her book. After a moment she frowned. “I only have one room available. It’s our smallest one, but I hope that will be okay?”
Only one room available? The place seemed utterly deserted. “Oh, that’s … fine. As long as there’s a shower?”
“Ah, oui. But of course.”
I turned to Callen. “She has a room available, but it’s the smallest one.”
A look of confusion came over his face and he glanced around quickly, as if he were thinking about the deserted feel of the place just as I had moments before. “If that’s all she has.” He took his wallet out. “How much?”
“You don’t have to pay for everything—”
He gave me a disapproving look. “This weekend is on me, Jessie.”
I sighed and quoted the price to Callen, and he handed the money to the woman. She put it away in a drawer, from which she also removed a key. “Here you are. Room 301 at the top of the stairs. I’m Madame Leclaire. Just ring if you need me.”
“Merci, Madame Leclaire.” We turned and climbed the narrow set of stairs, passing the first floor and rising to the second and then the third. There was only one room on the top floor, and it appeared to be an attic room. Callen used the key and pushed the door open slowly, as we both peered inside. The room was tiny, but it looked clean and rather lovely. Callen closed the door behind us as I looked around. My eyes caught on the bed, and though it looked comfortable and inviting, the linens white and fresh, Callen and I would practically have to sleep on top of each other if we both slept there.
I swallowed. “Uh …”
“I can, ah, take the …” He looked around, but the room was so small there was barely even a place on the floor where he could comfortably lie down.
“No. That’s silly. We can make this work. Anyway, I’m more concerned with a shower.”
There was a closed door on the other side of the room, and I peeked my head in. The bathroom was cramped, too, but again, it looked clean, the white tile gleaming, thick towels hanging from the towel bars. There wasn’t a tub, but we couldn’t really take a bath in the state we were in anyway.
I turned back around and smiled. Callen was standing in the middle of the room looking sullen and awkward, and I had a brief flash of him as a boy. He’d worn that same look then—regularly—and it made my nerve endings tingle in recognition. We stared at each other, the silence between us growing heavier, the room around us seeming even smaller. Callen blinked, starting to run a hand through his hair in that familiar gesture. He cringed when his palm hit the stiff strands. “How about I take a really quick shower first and then try to find food while you get cleaned up?”
I nodded, a jerky self-conscious movement. Why did I feel so unbalanced all of a sudden? “That sounds good.” Now that I thought about it, I was hungry. I’d taken only a bite or two of what would have been an early dinner before the rain had come.
“Great, ah, I’ll just …” Callen moved toward me, indicating that he needed to get into the bathroom, and I realized I was blocking the door like an idiot. I scooted out of the way, the heat of his body moving past me before he closed the door. I heard the shower start and took the time to look at the room’s furnishings. As dirty as I was, I didn’t dare sit on anything. Other than the bed, there was only a wooden bureau of drawers, a night table, and an upholstered chair by the window. I leaned over the chair, pushing the curtain aside as I glanced out at the rainy street. From my vantage point, I could see that a few shops were open, but the town still looked quiet and mostly deserted. I was high enough to see that beyond the buildings, miles of French farmland stretched out around the town. I could see neat rows of orchard trees—apples maybe? Cows grazed, their forms dotting the rolling hills in the distance. What a beautiful, peaceful life.
