Chirp(69)

Odette removed a sheet of paper from the top of a French antique two-drawer chest and handed it to Blaze. “I’ll leave you alone to fill out the application. I had chocolate croissants for breakfast. Would you like one with a glass of champagne?”

Apparently Blaze’s new identity made her look old enough to drink, but it was one o’clock in the afternoon. However, those pastries sounded good. “I’d love a croissant, and water is fine.”

Her hostess flapped a hand in the air as if swatting flies and rattled in her native tongue.

Blaze had not spoken French since she was fifteen, so the only thing she understood from the rant was absolutely not! She’d have to brush up on the language.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I slip into my language from time to time. You can’t drink water with pastry. I’ll bring you some fresh-squeezed orange juice. Oui?”

Blaze nodded. “Yes, thank you.” Once alone, she made short work of the application. As she stared down at the blank lines, her hope sank. No chance of being approved. She glanced around the room again. A painting of sunflowers in a blue vase resting on an easel caught her eye. She walked to the canvas and squinted to read the signature. “O. Fontaine.” If she played her cards right, she’d close this deal.

When the woman returned, she placed a silver tray on a small ottoman.

Blaze passed the paper and took her first bite. After nothing but peanut butter crackers and an apple, the pastry shocked her taste buds. As she ate, Mrs. Fontaine studied the application.

“So, I see you have no credit cards. No bank account. No job. No references. No former employment. You list a previous landlady—deceased. Your parents, as well.”

She looked up at Blaze as if waiting for an explanation.

And she had none. “I don’t have any pets. I don’t party. I’m not messy. I can pay six months’ rent in advance, if you’ll accept cash.”

Lacing her fingers together, Mrs. Fontaine relaxed back in her chair. “With no job history, I’m forced to wonder where your money comes from.”

Blaze could have listed Over the Rainbow, but she’d decided it was better to keep as many secrets as possible. “I inherited it.” The woman’s pinched expression said she was about to send Blaze packing, but she couldn’t let that happen. “All I want is a nice quiet place to concentrate on painting.”

That got Odette’s attention. She leaned forward with renewed interest. “You’re an artist?”

“Struggling.”

“Do you have anything I may see?”

“Rough sketches.”

“Show me.”

Blaze unzipped her bag, removed the pad, and handed it over. At first Odette turned the pages quickly, then more slowly. Suddenly her eyes popped so wide, Blaze thought they might shoot from their sockets. “Well, hello there,” Odette said to the drawing, then held out the sketch and pointed. “This man. Your lover? Oui?”

In her excitement, Blaze had forgotten to take that picture out. Rance. Every inch of him. “Yes.”

She raised a brow. “Ah. More than that. You are in love with him. Oui?”

Blaze’s throat thickened. She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

“But he doesn’t love you?”

This wasn’t going the way she’d planned. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Rance and remember how it felt to run her hands over his beautiful body. She bit back tears. “No.”

Odette shook her head, said something in French, then corrected herself. “Oh, sorry, chérie. I said men give us their cocks, and we give them our hearts. He broke yours, and this is why you want solitude. Oui?”

Blaze nodded again.

“When can you move in?”

“Now. This bag is all I have.”

Mrs. Fontaine returned the drawings and motioned for her to follow. “I’ll show you the place, and if you approve, it’s yours.”

Blaze couldn’t help but smile. As soon as she began to paint, she’d forget all about Rance and the rest of her problems.

Her new landlady spoke again. “Where are your painting supplies?”

“I need to buy some.”

“Not necessary. I have many. I can no longer hold a brush. Arthritis.” She slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out a key. “I thought it an old person’s disease. I am only fifty. Still young, but yet I suffer with the affliction. So unfair.”

Inside the apartment, Blaze turned in a circle. The online pictures didn’t do the place justice. Marble countertops. Dark wooden cabinets. Stainless appliances. Natural light poured through the windows. Eight months here would be a dream come true. She couldn’t wait to get started on her first canvas.

“I love it. I promise I will be the best tenant you’ve ever had.”

The proprietor laughed. “No doubt, because you’re my first. This was my studio, but once I accepted I’d never paint again, I hated to waste the space. You, my dear, were sent to me as an angel. Watching you create what I no longer can will be my joy. Perhaps you will let me teach you.”

“Yes. I would like that very much.”

She cocked her head. “This lover. He was good?”

Blaze’s cheeks heated. She hadn’t expected the question.

“Oh, chérie. I’m sorry. I have embarrassed you. It’s just from his endowment, I assumed he was.”