Free French Kisses by Jan Ellis Page B

poured them each a coffee. “Oh dear – was the sofa really uncomfortable?”
    Paul accepted the mug gratefully and pulled out a chair. “No. Once the cognac kicked in I was fine.”
    “Sorry – I should have given you one of the guest rooms.”
    He gave her a rueful grin. “It was fine. Really. I never sleep well in a strange place.”
    “Can I make it up to you with an FEB?”
    “A ‘nefeebie’?”
    “FEB – ‘full English breakfast’. Speciality of the house.”
    He shook his head and smiled. “That would be very nice, but I have to get back and open up the shop.” He put down his empty coffee mug and stood up. “Thanks for supper and everything. It was fun.”
    “You’re welcome.” She chewed her lip, thinking that she really wanted to see him again. “And if you could help me finish the website, I would be ever so grateful. You’ve seen how useless I am with computers.”
    “Of course. But perhaps we could do it at my place? If you don’t mind the spiders, of course.”
    She laughed nervously. Had he sussed her out? “Whatever suits you best,” she said, leading the way to the front door. In the doorway, she wasn’t sure how formal to be with a man she had seen in his boxers just half an hour before. Paul ignored the hand she extended, grasping her lightly by the shoulders and kissing her on both cheeks.
    “Why don’t you come over to the shop on Friday evening and we’ll finish everything off?”
    “Perfect,” said Rachel, making an effort to remain reasonably business-like. “I have to drop the kids off at their father’s, so I’ll come over after that.”
    Halfway to his van, Paul stopped and turned to face her. “If you’re free all evening, perhaps you’d like to have dinner with me?”
    Rachel could still feel the pleasant sensation of his stubble tickling her cheeks, and did her best not to beam from ear to ear. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
    “Good.” Paul nodded, and got into the van. “See you on Friday, then.”
    Rachel stood in the doorway until the van was out of sight. If Paul had looked back, he would have seen a 30-something woman in a green dress dancing a jig around the courtyard.
    The fact that there was an attractive new man in her sights was just one reason for Rachel to be in a pretty good mood. Project Guest House was going well. The Big End had been cleared, anything that didn’t work had been mended or replaced and all the new prints were up.
    Jilly had announced that she was coming over mid-morning to help Rachel put the final touches to the rooms. “It’s called ‘styling’,” said Jilly after coffee, “and it makes all the difference.”
    Laden with an armful of scatter cushions, Rachel followed her friend through the house as Jilly plumped and tweaked pillows, and draped throws artfully over the backs of armchairs. Irina followed behind muttering darkly about dust mites.
    When they were done, Rachel walked her friend down the drive towards the village. Turning back, Jilly looked at the front of the house and pulled a face. “Perhaps you need to call Philippe. Those pots look rather tatty.”
    The courtyard had been neglected recently and the flower beds and planters suffered frequent assaults from the chickens who liked to dig in them.
    “Hmm, you’re right,” said Rachel, looking at her watch. “I’ll give him a call and see if he can do a mercy dash this afternoon.”
    Philippe had offered to come over one day when the florist’s was closed to assist where needed. Mid-afternoon, he arrived with his van laden with pot plants and miniature shrubs. Rachel waved as he arrived and was surprised to see Margot emerge from the passenger seat. “Since when have you taken up gardening?” she asked, after greeting her friends.
    “Darling, you know that grubbing around in the soil is not my thing, but I happened to be passing when Philippe was loading up his vehicle, so I offered my help.”
    “An offer that I obviously declined,”