Page 52 of My Best French Wedding

THREE DAYS BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING

TAMNIÈS, France—According to anaww-inducing note in the wedding program, today’s entertainment,Un Jour à la Campagne, was an homage to Robbie’s favorite elementary school event, a daylong celebration of physical challenges in the great outdoors. Instead of Popsicles and water balloons and three-legged races, the wedding guests would take part in slightly more elevated activities that paid homage to local culture.

Hildy thought it was nice they’d carved out a little time on the itinerary for something Robbie-centric, even if grown-up Field Day wouldn’t have been her first choice so soon after washing her hair. A lot of weddings gave the groom less airtime than the DJ. The fact that Fiona was willing to share the spotlight tracked with her observations about the two of them as a genuinely sweet couple. Reason number infinity she needed to nail this story—once she establishedLife, Styled’s exclusive coverage rights.

A frisson of unease tried to hijack her thoughts, but Hildy kicked it aside. She had a plan for the day, and she was going to follow it. Step one: a little first-person immersion in current events.

When the bus delivered them to the open pasture outside the hotel village where most of the games would take place, sheimmediately looked for the archery area. Due to a mild Robin Hood fixation in childhood, Hildy had always suspected she might be a secret prodigy with a bow and arrow.

“Are you picturing me with an apple on my head?” Walter asked when she was standing in line for her turn.

“I wasn’t thinking about you at all.” For once it was true. Her thoughts had been fully occupied with a vision of herself in head-to-toe leather, supple and fawn-brown, not shiny and black like a divorced dad in a bomber jacket psyching himself up to “get back out there” on the dating scene.

“Bold choice,” Walter continued his unsolicited commentary.

Her first thought was that he was questioning her ability to pull off leather pants. Then she remembered he couldn’t actually read her mind, despite how often it felt that way. She executed a slow turn, like she was barely interested enough to spare the energy. “What is?”

“You. Shooting a bow.”

“You don’t think I can do it?” Her temper was at a low simmer, standing by to see how far he pushed it.

Walter rubbed the pads of his fingers together. “You might get blisters. Especially with those soft hands.”

“I’m touched by your concern.” Even though the soft hands bit was almost certainly a dig about her background.

“Don’t let me stop you. It’s no skin off my nose if you can’t type.”

“Since when are you an archery expert?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

Hildy took her time looking him over, focusing on Walter’s upper body. Her memories of the coatroom incident were a mix of foggy and blade-sharp, but she did recall the firmness of his shoulders, and how easily he’d supported her weight while simultaneously crushing her against him.

“Not really,” she admitted.

Walter seemed surprised, as if he’d been bracing for a fight. Some of the tension left his posture. “I covered the MacCormack-McKissack wedding. Medieval theme. You weren’t at that one.”

“No. We did the Manion-O’Neills that weekend. In Newport.”

“With the regatta?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

“It was.” Look at her, agreeing with Walter Burns! For a moment, they were two colleagues talking shop. It was a dynamic Hildy had never imagined—neutral, casual,mild—instead of their usual all or nothing. She tried to picture the two of them as polite acquaintances. The prospect was strangely deflating.

Hildy stepped out of line. “I changed my mind.” She glanced at her manicure as if that was the issue. Better for Walter to think she was a prima donna than watch her try something she might not be good at.

With a smile that was supposed to meanbuh-bye, she headed toward the paint-your-own-pottery station. That was a skill Hildy knew she could perform even after several glasses of pinot.

“Can I help you?” she asked, when Walter fell in beside her.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to try canoeing.”

“You really think we could paddle in sync?” Hildy had a vivid mental picture of the two of them turning in circles for hours until they finally capsized from exhaustion. She stopped walking in order to glare more effectively. “Are you planning to follow me all day?”

“Yes, Hildy. I’m trying to copy off your paper.”