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maybe try to sleep.
    “You’re not hungry?”
    I shook my head. My stomach had withered—eating was a nuisance, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a solid meal, or wanted one.
    “We’ll have wine,” he said, attempting to entice me. “From the vineyard. You won’t be disappointed.”
    “Maybe,” I said, though I had no intention of going. I saw him to the door and closed it after him. Grabbing my suitcases, I went up to the bedroom, and I could feel the warmth of the fire from downstairs.
    I set my bags down on the double bed and opened them, staring at my clothes as if I didn’t know how they’d gotten there. I shoved them into drawers of the dresser, not caring that everything was jumbled.
    Dipping out into the hallway, I walked a few feet to the bathroom. In the linen closet, I found a set of faded blue towels that had seen many washings. Some things managed to last through time, no matter how tattered and faded they became. It made me wonder about people. How many tragedies did it take to tarnish them like old pennies?
    I placed the towel that smelled like jasmine and mint on the counter and examined the tub. It was a porcelain claw foot and for some reason it made me weep.
    I turned on the faucet and the sound drowned out my sobs. I don’t know how long I sat on the edge of the tub, crying for nothing and everything, but eventually the tears subsided. Stripping off all my clothes, I sank into the scalding water, hoping it would do something for the chill that lived in my bones.

Chapter 7

    Sage

    The next morning, incessant knocking dragged me from a drugged sleep. Rising from the bed, I swiped a hand across my parched lips. I shivered as I pulled on sweats. Winter in the Loire Valley was not temperate.
    I trudged down the stairs, noting the embers in the hearth. I had fallen asleep with the warmth of a raging fire, but now I was cold once again. I opened the door to Celia standing on the steps, holding a cup of coffee.
    I let her in. Without a word, she handed me the mug and went to stoke the fire. As the flames came back to life, I shuddered with relief.
    “You didn’t make it over for dinner.”
    “Jet lag.”
    “I figured.”
    I sat on the couch and leaned my head back against the cushion. “What the hell am I doing?” I said, more to myself than to Celia.
    Without hesitation, she sat and wrapped her arms around me. Burying my head in her shoulder, I began to sob. She made soothing noises against my hair, but then I realized it was the sound of Celia’s own crying; we grieved together. When the storm of emotion passed, I pulled back and dried my face. She did the same and smiled in self-conscious understanding.
    “You don’t have to have anything figured out. Right now, all you have to do is come over and let me make you pancakes. Think you can do that?”

    •••

    I sat at the table, drinking another cup of coffee and taking small dainty bites of fluffy pancakes. In my state of grief, everything was muted; colors, tastes, smells. All my senses were drowning in an ocean of anguish.
    “So, I run the bed and breakfast,” Celia said, taking a seat. “Man the desk, cook, set up tours that sort of thing. Luc and my husband handle the vineyard. When you’re feeling situated, would you be interested in helping? Might give you something to do.”
    “Sure.” I stood up. “I need to send an email. May I use your computer?”
    Celia led me to the front desk and logged on before stepping away to give me privacy, though I hardly needed it. Opening my inbox, I filtered through the junk mail, disregarding Connor’s emails, pleas for me to return to him and my sanity.
    I typed a message to Jules that read simply, Arrived . I pressed send and logged out. It wouldn’t hold her at bay forever, but it would give me a momentary reprieve.
    “I was thinking Luc could show you around Tours ?”
    “What can I do?” Luc asked, strolling into the room.
    “Show Sage the town.”
    Luc looked