Love Story Next Door!: Cinderella on His Doorstep / Mr Right, Next Door! / Soldier on Her Doorstep

There were a few bills and letters from his colleagues in Bali, as well as his contacts in Louisiana. He would read them when he got back on the estate. As he finished cleaning out his mailbox, a postcard fell on the floor. He picked it up. The picture of Sanur gave away the name of the sender.

Martan—thank you for the postcard you sent with the big castle on it. One day I want to see it and the house your grandfather left you. I am working hard and am saving my money to come and visit. Maybe work for you one day in the States? Are the French women as hot as they say? How many have you had so far? Write soon, Sapto.

A smile broke out on Alex’s face. He walked around the corner to a tourist shop where he bought a postcard with a photograph of the Château de Chenonceau, Dana’s favorite. When he returned to the post office, he wrote a message on the back.

Hey, Sapto—I liked your card. It brought back many memories. I’m glad you’re working so hard. It’ll pay off. Maybe one day we’ll see each other again. The French women are definitely hot, but they can’t compare to the American woman staying at my château. I have plans for this one. Alex wrote the rest of his thoughts about her in Balinese and signed it, A. Martin.

After affixing a stamp, he mailed it, then left for home in his truck. Halfway to the estate it struck him that for the first time since being in France, he thought of it as home. Something was happening to him. Something profound.

Deep in thought about everything that had transpired last night, he almost didn’t hear his cell phone in time to answer it. Hoping it was Dana, he almost said her name when he clicked on.

“Monsieur Martin?” a man asked in French. Disappointment swamped him.

“Oui?”

“This is Honore Dumarre. Perhaps Mademoiselle Lofgren hasn’t had a chance to tell you about our meeting yesterday.”

Alex straightened in his seat. Dana had warned him the other man would be calling, but he hadn’t expected it this soon. “As a matter of fact, she presented me with an 1892 bottle of Belles Fleurs wine from your cellar last night.”

The man chuckled. “Technically it wasn’t from my wine cellar. I was just the keeper of it. Now I know why I held on to this one. It’s a great honor for me to know it is now in the hands of the rightful owner. Soyez le bien venu, monsieur. I am so pleased to know a Fleury is back among us after all these years.”

Something in Monsieur Dumarre’s nature caused Alex to warm to him. “Thank you, monsieur. I’m touched by your words. As you can imagine, it was such an incredible gift, I’m still overcome. I’d intended to phone you before the day was out and thank you for parting with it.”

“Mademoiselle Lofgren was so excited to give it to you, I couldn’t have done anything else. Once in a while life offers us something beyond price. I’m not only thinking about the wine, but the beautiful young woman herself. Her soul shines right out of those heavenly blue eyes, doesn’t it? What a prize she is.”

“Yes,” was all Alex could say because emotion had caught up to him.

“To think she’s Jan Lofgren’s daughter. His films are sheer genius.”

“I agree.”

“Did she tell you I’d like to host a party?” That was news. Dana probably would have told him if he’d given her half the chance. “All your vintner neighbors will want to meet you. I plan to invite the Lofgrens, too, and hope they can come.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Dumarre. I’m sure it will please them to be included.”

“Excellent. Call me Honore. My wife, Denise, and I were thinking Saturday, the twenty-eighth? Say seven o’clock? Would that be convenient?”

“I’ll look forward to it with great pleasure. And please, call me Alex.”

“Bon. It will be an evening everyone will look forward to.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Not at all. À bientôt, Alex.”

“À la prochaine, Honore.”

On Monday morning Dana left the château early to meet with her father. She’d called him ahead of time to let him know she was coming. When she knocked on the hotel room door, he answered in his robe still drinking a cup of coffee.

“Hi, Dad.” She moved inside, taking a glance around his messy room. “I’m here to run you to the hospital in Angers for your blood check. While I’m waiting for you, I’ll do your wash with mine.” She’d brought a laundry bag with her and started gathering up his things.

“I thought you’d forgotten.”

How did he dare say that to her? It just proved how unconscious he was where she was concerned. “Have I ever forgotten anything?”

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