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“To do what?”
“You’ll see.”
Something in his enigmatic tone sent off warning bells in her head. She pulled up short, tugging her hand free of his. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me where we’re going.”
He scowled at her. “Damn, baby girl. Why can’t you just go with the flow?”
“Quentin,” she said warningly.
He heaved a short, frustrated breath. “I’m taking you on a hot-air balloon ride.”
“What?” The blood drained from Lexi’s head. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“It’ll be fun. Flying over the region, getting an aerial view.”
She swallowed dryly. “It’s too cold.”
He gave her a knowing look. “We’ve been walking around for hours, and you haven’t complained about the weather once.”
“Yeah, but going thousands of feet into the air—”
“Ever heard of heat rising?”
“Actually, that’s a myth. Nice try, though.”
He groaned. “Come on, Lex. You can’t visit Burgundy without taking a hot-air balloon ride.”
“Why not? I’m sure plenty of other people do.”
“They’re not you,” he countered. “The woman I know experiences life to the fullest. Always has.”
She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t, Quentin.”
“Tell me why.”
She exhaled a deep breath and met his direct gaze. “You know I’m afraid of heights.”
“I know.”
Of course he does. “So why are you pressuring me to do this?”
His gaze gentled, his hazel eyes plumbing the depths of hers. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She gave a grim, shaky laugh. “If the balloon malfunctioned, Q, there’d be nothing you could do about it.”
“Do you trust me?”
She searched his solemn face and had the uncanny feeling that he was referring to more than the balloon ride.
“Of course I trust you,” she said quietly. “You’re my best friend.”
“Then fly with me.”
She stared at him for a prolonged moment, then swallowed hard and nodded, taking the plunge. “Okay,” she whispered.
“You’ll do it?”
“Yes.” She shot him a surly glance. “But if something goes wrong and we plunge to our deaths, just know that my ghost will haunt yours for all eternity.”
Quentin laughed, kissing her forehead. “I’ll take my chances.”
The ballooning company was located along the Burgundy Canal. The friendly, English-speaking pilot introduced himself, went over some housekeeping rules and explained their flight itinerary. And then, before Lexi could change her mind, they were boarding the hot-air balloon. The interior was divided into compartments that separated the pilot from the passengers, giving them a sense of privacy. The basket was lined with cushion and seemed sturdier than Lexi had feared.
But minutes later when the balloon lifted off, her stomach pitched sickeningly. She clung to Quentin, closing her eyes and burying her face in the cool, battered leather of his jacket. He wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking his hand up and down her back and whispering to her the way he might soothe a frightened child.
She could feel the balloon rising higher into the air, soaring toward the sky. Her heart galloped into her throat. A clammy sweat broke out over her skin and she shivered uncontrollably. Quentin opened his jacket and she shamelessly burrowed against his broad chest, taking refuge in the masculine heat and strength that enveloped her.
“You’re going to be okay,” Quentin murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. “Just take slow, deep breaths.”
Lexi did as he told her. She hated this irrational fear of hers, hated that it made her so vulnerable. So pathetic.
She didn’t know how much time passed. At some point the gripping panic receded, giving way to a sense of calm that made her feel stronger, more in control of herself.
“Lex,” Quentin said softly. “Look what you’re missing.”
She cracked one eye open, then another.
Her breath escaped her in a soft gasp.
They were floating—floating!—over Burgundy.
A spectacular kaleidoscope of shapes and colors bombarded her at once. She could see every shade of green covering the slopes of the vineyards. The shiny roofs of châteaus and castles glistened under the late afternoon sun. Clusters of cottages and ancient stone churches were scattered across picturesque villages. The dark ribbon of a canal meandered lazily through forests. The lush beauty of the Saône river valley beckoned, and a rich palette of brown and gold identified the fields of Cote-d’Or.
Lexi stared out in rapt fascination. “Oh, my God, Quentin,” she breathed. “This is… I’m speechless.”
Quentin grinned down at her. “That doesn’t happen very often.”
“Very funny,” she retorted, barely sparing him a glance. She was afraid the stunning vistas would disappear if she so much as blinked.
Keeping one arm securely around her waist, Quentin shifted so that they stood side by side.
Lexi raised her face to the azure sky, soaking up the sun and wind as the balloon glided smoothly through the air. It was absolutely exhilarating. A feast for the senses.
Over the next hour she and Quentin took in the sights, mostly communicating without words. When Lexi excitedly pointed something out to him, he’d nod and smile in shared appreciation. The pilot rarely interrupted to narrate, leaving his two passengers cocooned in their own private world of enjoyment.
When Quentin left her side, Lexi murmured softly, “Hurry back.”
A moment later, she was startled by the sound of a bottle being uncorked.
Turning, she watched as Quentin poured champagne into two glasses and handed one to her. Surprised, she arched a brow at him. “I thought the champagne toast is traditionally done after the safe landing.”
“I asked them to make an exception this time.” A crooked grin curved his mouth. “I’d figured at some point during the flight, you’d appreciate some alcohol to help calm your nerves.”
Lexi chuckled. “Good looking out.”
“Always.” Sobering after a moment, Quentin raised his glass in a toast to her, his eyes glowing with warm pride. “Here’s to you. For bravely conquering your fear of heights.”
Lexi smiled shyly. “I don’t know if I’ve completely conquered it.”
“You’re up here, aren’t you?”
Her smile turned quiet and grateful. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Quentin.”
His gaze softened. “We make a good team.”
“Always.”
Their glasses clinked musically and they drank, smiling at each other.
After a few moments, Lexi sighed contentedly. “What an amazing day this has been. I almost wish we didn’t have to go back home on Monday.”
“Me too,” Quentin murmured.
“I’d love to have dinner tonight in one of those Michelin-rated French restaurants.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
“We can’t,” she reminded him with a rueful smile. “Asha’s chef is preparing a special New Year’s Day dinner. Besides, we don’t have reservations.”
“Then we’ll come back tomorrow night.”
“Mmm. Sounds like a plan.”
“Good.” Quentin reached out, his fingertips brushing her cheek as he gently pushed her windswept hair off her face.
Their gazes caught and held. A strange, intoxicating dizziness swept through Lexi.
Altitude, she told herself. Or too much wine in one day.
But she knew better.
The winds of change were upon her and Quentin. That stolen kiss on the balcony had set something in motion between them. Something that had sent them hurtling into the unknown.
Where they landed, only time would tell.
Chapter 4
“How was your trip?”
Lexi jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice, which had snapped her out of her deep reverie. She’d been daydreaming about Burgundy.
And Quentin.
Turning from the kitchen sink, where she’d just finished washing dishes, she saw her mother standing in the doorway, puffing on a cigarette. Carlene Austin had been on the phone when Lexi had arrived at the house half an hour ago. She’d greeted her daughter with a distracted wave and returned to her conversation while Lexi headed into the kitchen. At the sight of dirty dishes piled into the sink, she’d sighed in resignation, then rolled up her sleeves and gotten right to work. Old habits died hard.
Carlene shuffled into the small kitchen. “Thanks for taking care of that for me. The dishwasher’s acting up again.”
“I figured. Have you called someone?”
“No point. I can’t afford the repairs.” After thirty years in civil service, Carlene still complained of earning barely enough to make ends meet.
“It’s just as well,” Lexi said, twisting off the water faucet. “The dishwasher’s old. No sense in sinking more money into it. We can go shopping to get you a new one this weekend.”
“You buying?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, baby.” Carlene sat down at the oak breakfast table, tapping her cigarette into an ashtray already bristling with butts. She’d once been beautiful, with a smooth caramel complexion and long, glossy black hair that she’d meticulously maintained. But time and bitterness, compounded with an unhealthy nicotine habit, had taken their toll. Now there was a hard edge to her features, dark circles rimmed her eyes, her hair and skin had lost their sheen, and the shapely figure she’d once flaunted had withered away to the gaunt frame now swallowed up in a chenille robe.
Averting her troubled gaze, Lexi vigorously wiped down the countertops. She could see through the alcove into the living room that the heavy curtains were drawn closed, plunging the room into gloomy darkness. The worn, outdated furniture reeked of every cigarette Carlene had ever smoked. The whole house did.
Shaking off the depressing thought, Lexi dropped the dishrag into the sink and joined her mother at the table.
“When do you go back to work?” Carlene asked.
“Tomorrow.” A chef instructor at Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts, Lexi couldn’t wait to tell her students all about her trip to Burgundy.
Carlene drew on her cigarette and shot twin streams of smoke through her nostrils. “You gonna keep working after your cookbook comes out?”
“Of course. You know I love teaching.”
Her mother grunted noncommittally. The idea of enjoying one’s livelihood was a foreign concept to her. She’d never reaped personal fulfillment from her government job. It had been a means to an end, a way to feed and clothe her three young children after her philandering husband had walked out on them. His desertion, followed by a string of failed relationships over the years, had turned Carlene into a miserable, embittered woman.
As Lexi stared at the glowing red tip of her mother’s cigarette, she had a flashback to the time when she was fourteen and Carlene had burst into her bedroom late one night, screaming at the top of her lungs because Lexi had forgotten to wash the dishes before going to bed. Trailing cigarette ashes, Carlene had stormed across the room and snatched the covers off her daughter’s body, cursing at her to get up. Shaken and disoriented, Lexi hadn’t moved fast enough. The next thing she knew, her mother was leaning over her and viciously stabbing the butt of her cigarette into Lexi’s thigh. The searing, excruciating pain had wrenched an agonized wail from her that brought her two younger siblings running from their bedroom.
The sound of their confused, frightened sobs had penetrated Carlene’s black rage. Her horrified gaze had swept over Lexi, writhing in pain on the floor. As the enormity of what she’d done sank in, Carlene had backed out of the room and fled from the apartment, leaving Lexi behind to console her distraught siblings before she could tend to her own wound.
The next morning, it was a humble, contrite Carlene who’d entered her daughter’s bedroom carrying a breakfast tray. Lexi had lain there, silent and unmoving, as her mother gently applied a salve to her burn and dressed it with gauze, assuring her that the scar would eventually fade. It had, but the memory of that harrowing night had lingered for years, as raw and painful as ever.
As Lexi watched now, ashes crumbled off the butt of her mother’s cigarette and landed on the table. Carlene didn’t seem to notice or care.
Frowning, Lexi got up to retrieve the dishrag. Returning to the table, she wiped away the ashes, wishing she could erase her memories just as easily.
“I thought you were trying to quit,” she told her mother.
