Page 107 of My Best French Wedding

“Seriously, Walter! What is this?”

“I thought we were making plans?”

She huffed in frustration. “Why are you being so agreeable?”

“I’m showing you we don’t always have to fight.”

“Yeah, except I’m starting to get twitchy, so the clock is ticking. Also, your case is flimsy as hell. Need I remind you that you can’t write a trend piece based on one example?”

“I can think of other times we weren’t mean to each other.” He waited until she glanced at him, not quite able to hide her interest. “Those minutes behind the coatrack come to mind.”

She turned away, but the side view only made the pink of her cheeks more apparent.

“I better go.” He stood, taking a few slow steps across the plush rug until he was standing in front of her. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Her chin lifted in defiance. “I’m totally relaxed.”

“Glad to hear it.” Walter extended an arm, knowing she’d take it as a dare.

Hildy reluctantly placed her smooth, slender hand in his. He wrapped his fingers around hers, enjoying the sensation of skin against skin for several stuttering heartbeats before shaking her hand.

“Go, team,” he said quietly.

“Yes.” She yanked her hand free, hiding it behind her back as if she feared he might lunge for it. “I’ll talk to Fiona,” she said briskly. “I already have a bunch more arguments lined up.”

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about this whole time?”

“Maybe.” It would have been more convincing if she’d managed to meet his eyes.

“Top secret intel?” he guessed.

Her mouth worked like she was trying to force out the words. “I’m going to remind her about her sister’s business. This would be a huge boost for Maude’s retreat center. Whereas if the wedding doesn’t happen, it’ll have the taint of failure.” She hesitated. “Does that sound like emotional blackmail?”

Walter pondered for a moment, so Hildy wouldn’t think he was being glib. “Only if you’re getting Fiona to act against her own interests.”

“No, I honestly believe she’ll be much happier in the long run if she goes through with the extra wedding.”

“Then I guess I’ll talk to Robbie.”

“What’s your angle?”

“I was going to mention the fire-eaters and the roasted pig.”

“Everything flame-related,” Hildy translated.

Walter gave a solemn nod. “That and the horses, obviously. Man stuff.”

She’d find out about the rest soon enough.

Walter finally caught up with Robbie at the hotel restaurant midmorning. Fiona’s fiancé was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses like he was trying to go incognito, but the effort was undermined by the faded letters on the back of his old jersey spelling out his last name.

“Hey, Robbie.”

He jumped, spilling coffee on his plate of melon slices and smoked duck. “Scared me,” Robbie said. “I thought you were Fiona’s dad. Or my dad. Or one of my uncles. Or the pastor.”

Walter was beginning to wonder how long this list would go on when Robbie shook himself, mustering a pale shadow of his usual grin.

“That’s just how it is, right? Everybody means well.”