More Than Words by Author

Author:Author
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

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 ‘ h ô tel,’ ‘ 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.

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