These Tangled Vines(39)

She didn’t want to fall asleep until he came home, so she rose from the bed and sat down at the kitchen table with a bottle of nail polish. As she dipped the brush into the bottle and painted a light-pink color on her nails, her thoughts wandered to a memory of the dinner table under the grape arbor. She recalled the sound of everyone’s laughter when Domenico told a story about his dog, Nacho, who had once lapped up a puddle of red wine that had leaked out of a fermentation barrel in the winery. Nacho—just a puppy at the time—had staggered outside and fallen into a bunch of empty flowerpots. Poor Nacho had to be carried up to the villa to sleep it off.

Lillian had just finished a second coat of nail polish when car headlights shone through the window and swept across the wall. She stood and hurried to the door, letting out a breath of relief when Freddie got out of the car that Anton had loaned to them. He ran up the steps with his backpack slung over his shoulder and walked in.

“You’re still up,” he said, brushing past her. “I had an amazing day. I wrote seven pages after exploring a neighborhood where my characters get into some trouble.”

It was obvious that he was pleased and excited. Lillian was happy for him, of course, but for the first time in their relationship, she was excited by something of her own: a fulfilling day, both professionally and personally. She had received high praise from her employer, learned all sorts of new things about wine, met the most amazing group of people, and tasted food that was surely sent from heaven.

“Is there anything to eat?” Freddie asked. “I’m starving.”

He opened the fridge while Lillian shut the door behind him and locked it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t cook anything. I just got back myself.”

“Really?” He found canned soup in a small pot, left over from the night before. “I’ll just have this.” He passed it to her, and she placed it on the stove to reheat it.

“Did you have to work late?” he asked, removing his coiled notebook from his backpack and opening it to look at something he had written. He became instantly distracted.

“Yes, I did. The boss came to watch my tour, and I did really well, even though I was nervous. I felt like I was on a stage, performing a soliloquy.”

Freddie sat down at the kitchen table and flipped the page. “Yeah?”

She poured him a glass of milk. “Yes, and then I had a private wine tasting lesson with Mr. Clark himself, and he invited me to dinner at the villa. He invited us both, actually. I called you, but you weren’t here.”

“I was writing,” Freddie said.

“I figured.” Lillian put the milk back in the fridge. “I wish you could have seen it. It was a gorgeous table outside under an arbor of grapevines and mini lights, and they eat like that every night, with wine and good conversation. The food was incredible.”

Lillian stirred the soup on the stove, then served it up and placed the bowl in front of Freddie, but he ignored it. His attention was focused on something in the notebook.

When he didn’t ask her anything more about the dinner, she picked up her bottle of nail polish and went to the bathroom to put it back in the medicine cabinet. When she returned to the kitchen, he had closed the notebook and was eating his soup.

“They invited both of us to dinner again tomorrow night,” Lillian said. “Do you want to come? They usually eat around eight.”

Freddie grimaced apologetically. “Ah, Lil, I wish I could. It sounds amazing, but I hit a roadblock today, and I need to do some extra research. That’s what I want to talk to you about, actually.” He paused and sat back. “This might sound crazy, but I’d like to go to Paris.”

Lillian blinked a few times in astonishment. “Paris?”

“Yeah. I know, it’s not what we planned, but I’m on a roll, and I really think the rest of the story needs to happen there. We could leave first thing in the morning.”

She drew back, as if he had just thrown a glass of cold water in her face. “Tomorrow.”

“I know, it’s short notice. But my characters are going to take the train there to follow the killer, but I don’t want to tell you anything else about what happens when they get there. I just want to write it, and then I want you to read it without knowing what’s coming so that you can give me good feedback. I think you’re going to like it.”

She sat down at the table. “Wow. Paris.”

“It’s really not that far from here,” he said. “So could you come? I hate the idea of traveling alone, trying to figure out the trains on my own. You’re so much better at that than I am.”

She frowned a little and spoke gently. “Freddie, I don’t think I can. I only just started here. It wouldn’t feel right to ask for time off so soon after my first day, and besides that, we can’t really afford for me not to be working. I need to keep making the minimum payments on the credit card, and if you need extra money for travel . . .”

He chewed on his bottom lip and looked away. “Yeah, I get it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.

“Can you at least help me figure out the train?” he asked, looking up again.

“Of course. How long will you be gone?”

“Just a few days,” he replied. “A week at the most. What I need to do is soak up the atmosphere and visit a few of the locations I have in mind.” He thought about it for a moment. “I’m going to have to find a hostel to stay in, something that won’t cost too much.”