I didn’t find her funny.
“So you want to try this friend thing?” I continued. “It’s been a while since I had a shopping partner.” I strained to make it sound more appealing than being my friend actually was. Brooke was by no stretch my first choice either, but she was all I had, and it was better than nothing. Well, maybe it was better than nothing. I wasn’t quite sure.
She must have felt the same way as she replied, with a lack of enthusiasm, “Well, we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere together so we might as well make the best of it. Plus it couldn’t be worse than listening to Ruadhan waffle about the Cathars.”
“The who?”
“Don’t ask.” Standing up and taking out her massive sunglasses, she placed them over the ridge of her perfectly upturned nose.
Jonah appeared moments later, though he was so fast I didn’t see him come through the sliding doors at the side of the kitchen. “Boiled, fried, or scrambled?” he asked, juggling three eggs in his hands.
“Soft boiled with soldiers?” I answered.
He peered at Brooke, who merely shrugged her shoulders in reply before dashing out of the kitchen, I assumed to change.
“It must just be an English thing,” I said. “You boil, I’ll do the bread.”
I made my way over to the work surface and fumbled about creating some neat slices. As I began buttering I couldn’t help glancing over. Jonah was wearing his usual dark jeans and white polo shirt combination. Today, however, he’d added a layer in the form of a fitted sweatshirt, the bright orange wearing him. It clung to his washboard stomach and broad shoulders. I tried to cast my wandering eyes back to the butter before he saw, but Jonah never missed a trick.
“You seem to like color. I thought I’d take the opportunity to be bold.”
“Suits you,” I lied.
Sitting at the large table, he watched me dunk my bread into the yolk with some interest. “I don’t get why you call the bread ‘soldiers.’”
I grinned. “’Cause if you cut them and line them up, they resemble a formation of soldiers.”
As I moved the bread into an ordered formation on my plate, my bottom lip began to quiver and I was brought back down to the inescapability of my situation. “How many of us will see past the final stand in this battle?” I wondered aloud.
I thought back to Michael. I felt responsible for his demise. I could only hope the others wouldn’t come to such an end because of me.
I threw down the last piece of bread, my appetite suddenly disappearing. I scraped my chair against the floor; it made a nails-against-chalkboard squeal. I continued my way to the basement to wash and change.
* * *
MIREPOIX WAS A THIRTY-MINUTE DRIVE, but of course, we did it in fifteen minutes. The sun was strong, with a clear blue sky as its peaceful backdrop as the clock struck ten. But it was cold, very cold.
I had showered and for once taken the time to blow dry my hair so that I wouldn’t catch a cold. Brooke had insisted on French-braiding the top half of my hair and folding it neatly with gold bobby pins, allowing the length to dangle down to my waist, upturned where the loose curls hung. She had also taken it upon herself to dress me for shopping. I had tried to remind her that we were not in Paris, but she seemed to enjoy playing dress-up with me, like I was the Barbie doll she never had; though I suspected she had probably possessed the largest collection of all her friends as a child.
She’d put me in a lace blouse with cap sleeves, tucked into a high-waisted, turquoise pencil skirt, finished off with a tan leather belt, which she wrapped around the top of my skirt. I had refused the Alexander McQueen heels and she just about let me off with pointy tan flats from Topshop instead. I did my best to hide my scar while I had changed. Finally, a tote bag made of tweed was flung at me—essential, apparently, for the markets. It was only due to my insistence that she let me wear a light jacket over the top. She may have thought the outfit was compromised by a coat, but the weather strongly disagreed.
We pulled up to a small parking lot and I stepped out, ready to absorb my new surroundings. “It’s quite a bit windier here,” I observed as my hair blew in what felt like all directions.
“Ah, yes, it’s always a few degrees chillier here, I’m not sure why,” Ruadhan answered as he clicked the automatic lock to the sedan.
“It’s down there, I can see people!” Brooke began excitedly, tipping her giant sunglasses and pacing ahead. Ruadhan caught her up, redirecting her down a narrow cobbled street.
Jonah met me at my side, extending his arm out for me to walk with him. Smirking, he said, “Brooke dressed you, I see?”
“Hey, you’re the one who resembles a pumpkin right now!” I giggled, slapping him gently on his chest. “Crikey!” I yelped, shaking my hand out; his chest was rock hard.
He winked and said, “Careful, I’m pretty ripe!”
“Hmm, you don’t say.” Removing my arm from his, I cracked my knuckles back and forth. “Anyway, I have it on good authority that this is acceptable wear for shopping in a quaint market. Such is the world according to Brooke.”
“You look very … refined,” he replied softly, the hazel in his eyes softening as his black pupils widened.
Pacing a few feet or so behind Brooke and Ruadhan, I took the time to appreciate the sweet terraced town houses with their brightly colored shutters. In fact, I was slightly too engrossed—
“Watch out!” Jonah reached for my waist and hoisted me from off the ground, into his protective arms, saving me from being knocked over by a speeding bicyclist. Caught off guard, and surprised by the sudden closeness, I took a second to catch my breath before I peered up to meet his eyes.
“Careful, Cinderella,” he murmured.
“Cinderella?” I repeated in a whisper.
“Well, given this pumpkin just turned into your carriage—”
I shook my head in disdain and said, “If you’re going to promote yourself, you should aim a little higher than a carriage.” I pointed to the ground, signaling for him to place me back down.
Obediently Jonah did as I asked, but he pulled me in next to him tightly, cradling my hip with his hand. I didn’t want to get run over so I didn’t protest; it felt nice and secure.
“Nothing wrong with the carriage. The carriage gets Cinderella safely to her destination.” Jonah flashed me a cheeky grin.