He reached for her hand and she stepped down the path with him, pushing thoughts of Ben and Ty and Emily, plus anyone else who wanted to interfere in her life and her feelings, to the side. It was easy for people to judge from the side-lines. To want everything to go back to normal because it suited them. The only one who had even a tiny bit of a right to feel that way was Ty – she ached for any hurt she might be causing him. But she had every right to happiness, and was going to embrace it fully.
The restaurant was a short drive away, down a seemingly empty country road, which eventually opened out to reveal a stone building set on its own, with a few cars scattered in an enormous parking area behind. A sign – ‘Le Bistro’ – hung in carved wood over the entrance was the only indication that this was anything other than an old farmhouse, half-forgotten in its isolated position.
She climbed out of the car, her heels sinking slightly into the soft ground and, gratefully taking Frédérique’s hand, made her way to the entrance.
Once they were seated at a small mahogany table next to a window, a woman in a white shirt and jeans came over with a menu. They were one of just three couples in the small room, and the venue felt intimate and charming – the sort of place that tourists would never stumble across; authentic and rustic and ridiculously French.
Frédérique looked at the menu, his eyes flitting back and forth, and she waited patiently for it to be passed to her.
But to her surprise, before she’d even been able to glance at the starters, he clicked his fingers in the air – something that seemed rude, but that she assumed was a custom in France – to summon the waitress. Then, in rapid French, he said something about steak and frites and red wine and bread. It was straightforward, but the speed of the language meant she was only able to grasp on to the edges of the meaning. Was he asking what cuts they had? Or for the wine menu?
She waited patiently, then was surprised when the waitress thanked him and walked away with the menu in her hand.
‘Is something the matter?’ she asked, once the waitress was out of earshot.
‘Bah, non?’ Frédérique said, his brow furrowing. ‘Pourquoi – why do you think this?’
‘It’s just… she took the menu. Did she do it by accident? Or is there a different one or something? When do we get to order?’
‘Non, tout va bien!’ he replied. ‘I ’ave ordered you the steak, oui? It is the best.’ He performed a chef’s kiss with a flourish and smiled at her.
Lily felt a bit affronted at his ordering on her behalf. She tried to tell herself that he wanted to treat her, to show her the best the restaurant had to offer. But it was difficult for a moment to smile. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Ah, you are welcome!’ he said, completely missing any change in tone and fixing her in his gaze. The gaze had the desired effect and she was soon melting into his green eyes, all offence forgotten. After all, his motive had clearly been to ensure she had the best meal – there was nothing wrong with that.
The steak arrived more quickly than she could have anticipated and her stomach growled hungrily – luckily not loudly enough for anyone else to hear. The cut was thick, seared and smelled delicious. The frites were chunky and home cut, and they’d added a tiny salad in a bowl with vinaigrette in a nod towards making it healthy.
‘Mm,’ she said, as the waitress placed the laden plate in front of her. ‘Délicieux!’
‘Oui,’ said Frédérique. ‘Zey do the steak to perfection ’ere.’
She picked up her knife and cut into the dark-brown meat, only to find it yield easily beneath the blade. Blood began to seep out of its red interior onto the plate.
She’d tried a steak rare before, but this was something else entirely. Other than its browned crust, the inch-thick chunk of meat was entirely raw. ‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Is something le matter?’
‘Yes… well, no, but I prefer my steak a little more cooked.’ Or actually cooked at all.
Frédérique looked momentarily surprised, but before she could tell him not to make a fuss, clicked for the waitress who appeared instantly at his side. He said something to her in low tones, as if discussing something delicate or troubling. The waitress snorted briefly then, with a glare, snatched Lily’s plate away.
‘Is everything OK?’ Lily asked, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
‘Mais oui!’ he said. ‘She weel cook it more for you!’