Ma is back from her vacation, cooking a homecoming dinner.

Celine, Frau Lotte, and Lorenzo are also in the kitchen, supposedly giving Ma a hand, but are really just sipping wine and talking about organic fertilizers. That is, Celine is doing most of the talking and the others are doing most of the sipping.

I can hear everyone’s voices very distinctly from the computer room where I’m toiling with an endless EU questionnaire. Ma never touches them, but one day she’s going to have to sit down and learn. I hate paperwork as much as she does, so it’s only fair that we take turns.

After Anne-Chantal freed us yesterday morning, Rissa said she needed to go home for a few hours. She had her own car and didn’t need me to give her a lift. Once she left, I tried to pressure Ma’s chum to confess to jamming the lock.

She folded her arms across her generous bosom. “Someone had to do something. It was becoming unbearable to watch you waste away like that.”

“So, you confess—”

“I confess to nothing at all.” She lifted her chin to the locksmith working on the door. “He’ll confirm it was a malfunction.”

I rolled my eyes, not bothering to ask Marcel, our village locksmith and Anne-Chantal’s dear husband, for confirmation.

Before I left the Grotto, I discreetly placed my phone under the bench, next to an eyeglasses case that must have fallen out of Rissa’s handbag. With a bit of luck, she’d be the one to find it when she came looking for her glasses. That would give her a pretext to get in touch.

Still under the spell of our intimacy in the cave, I was hopeful, almost certain she’d show up last night. Or at least reach out via Anne-Chantal, inviting me to come by and collect my phone.

But she didn’t.

Not last night, nor this morning before work. And now, with a rainstorm howling outside, bending trees and threatening to blow roofs away, there’s no way she’ll turn up.

The doorbell rings.

I open the door, expecting Lorenzo’s girlfriend Paola, who always arrives at least twenty minutes late.

Except it isn’t Paola—it’s Rissa.

“Your phone,” she says, handing me the device.

“Thank you.”

We stare at each other.

“I better go,” she begins.

“Stay.” I clear my throat. “Ma is cooking boeuf bourguignon tonight, her specialty. We have a few people over for dinner.”

She hesitates. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t be daft.” I point to the uproar outside. “It’ll be safer to drive back in a couple of hours when the storm quiets down.”

She glances at the sky, at her car, and then back at me. “OK. Thank you.”

When we enter the kitchen, four pairs of eyes zero in on her and shift to me.

“Hi everyone,” she says, giving them a timid little smile.

Well done, Rissa!

If I were in her place now, with Celine, Lorenzo and—especially—Ma eyeballing me like that, I think I’d just go into a stupor.

They all greet her.

“This is Clarissa,” I say. “I invited her to join us for dinner.”

Celine jumps up and puts an extra plate, glass and silverware on the table.

Respect, she mouths to me when Rissa isn’t looking.

Lorenzo fills her glass. Ma stirs the brew on the stove with her back to us. I wonder what she’s thinking.

The doorbell rings again, and this time it’s Paola.

Ma announces that the food is ready and can everyone please sit down.

I serve.

“If I knew we had a special guest tonight, I would’ve laid the table in the dining room,” Ma says, taking her serving of fragrant bourguignon from me.

Celine pats her hand. “Your kitchen is just as presentable, Brigitte.”

“I know,” Ma says. “But still.”

Paola turns to Rissa. “Are you a local farmer, too?”

Celine snorts.

“I’m an archeologist,” Rissa says with a smile. “I curate the museum at the Darcy Grotto near Auxerre.”

Lorenzo perks up. “We were planning to go there next weekend!”

The conversation flows smoothly, mostly between the volunteers, Celine, and Rissa. I keep silent, listening and staring at Rissa.

So does Ma.

When Lorenzo, Frau Lotte and I finish our second servings, Ma ushers everyone to the TV room for tea and cookies.

Rissa giggles over something Celine whispers in her ear. I swallow my cookie and scoot closer on the couch to where Rissa is sitting.

“What about the public library in Auxerre?” she asks Celine.

My friend sighs. “All female stuff.”

“Have you tried your luck in Dijon?” Rissa asks. “It has several libraries.”

Oh, I see. Celine has told her about her hot nerd fetish.

“I have,” she says. “And I even spotted there two adorkable guys who were totally my type and weren’t wearing wedding rings.”

“And?” Rissa leans forward, bright-eyed.

Celine shrugs. “And, crickets. Both made it clear they weren’t interested.”

“Um… Have you considered tweaking your look a little bit?” Rissa asks her.

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s the combination of cropped hair, lumberjack shirt, roomy jeans, Doc Martens, and posture.” Rissa smiles softly. “It might be giving the men who don’t know you the wrong idea.”

“Which is?”

“That you’re into women.”

Frau Lotte, who seems to have overheard Rissa’s last remark, turns to Celine, disappointment and shock in her eyes. “You’re not?”

Celine blinks, flabbergasted.

Frau Lotte mutters something that sounds like a curse under her breath.

“Jeez, I had no idea.” Celine looks at Rissa and at Frau Lotte. “Really?”

Both women nod.

“But I love my lumberjack shirts!” Celine says. “They’re part of who I am. And you can’t expect me to wear heels on a farm!”

“Of course not,” Rissa says.

Celine puffs, stands, and carries her plate to the kitchen. When she reappears in the TV room, her expression is determined.

“Thank you, Brigitte, for the delicious dinner,” she says to Ma. “So happy we met, Clarissa! Night, everyone. I’m turning in early so I can process this… revelation.”

“I’ll be happy to paint your nails and teach you how to use makeup,” Paola offers.

Celine nods a thank-you and marches out the door.

One after another, the volunteers retreat to their sleeping quarters. Ma yawns, declares she’s too knackered to stay up and heads to her bedroom upstairs.

Rissa and I are the last ones left in the room.

My heart pounds in my chest.

If she didn’t mean to spend the night with me, she would’ve left by now. Right?

I stare at her lips.

She stares at mine.

Suddenly, she stands. “Thank you, Nathan. I had a wonderful evening.”

“Want to have a look at my cottage before you drive off?” I blurt.

“You don’t live in the farmhouse?”

I shake my head and stand. “Follow me.”

The moment we enter the cottage and I pull the door closed, I’m kissing her. She kisses me back, opening her mouth to let me in. I thrust in my tongue deep and hard, while my hands tug at her coat.

She lets me remove it.

I’m so impatient my hands are shaking as I throw it over a chair. Her hands are just as unsteady when she pulls on the sides of my jacket.

I shrug it off.

We kiss and kiss, starved for each other, drinking each other in. My mouth latches to her soft lips with an almost bruising ferocity I’ve never known before and a need I’m unable to control. This woman was made for me. I know it in my bones.

Just like I know she’ll let me take her tonight.

That’s why she’s here.

She’s going to give it her best shot despite her misgivings and fears that she’s too small for me.

I let go of her mouth.

She gasps, eyes glazed with lust.

“I’ll be gentle,” I whisper near her ear. “I won’t give you more than you can take.”

She nods once, her nod a profession of trust.

As my hand grips her waist and pulls her to me, my other hand unzips her silky black pants. They fall to the floor and she steps out of them. Slipping a hand inside her panties, I press two fingers to her cleft and rub. She moans. When I plunge them inside her, her moans turn into whimpers.

I kiss her again, pushing my tongue deep, fucking her mouth with it. She grows unsteady on her feet, leaning against me for support. A few more thrusts of my tongue and fingers and she collapses against me.

“Aah,” she groans raggedly into my mouth.

My cock is so hard it threatens to make a hole through my jeans or burst them at the seams.

That’s it, I’m taking her within the next five minutes or I’ll explode.

I pick her up and carry her to the bedroom. We yank on each other’s clothes and underwear until we’re naked. I open a condom. She helps me roll it on.

I nudge her to lie on her back and rake my gaze over her. “So beautiful. I’m going to kiss you absolutely everywhere, but right now I need to be inside you.”

“I need you inside me.”

Her face is flushed with an almost desperate longing, and she’s dripping wet from my earlier caresses.

It’s now or never, Nathan.

Positioning my tip at her entrance, I rub it against her wet curls and push in just a notch. Slowly, her opening begins to stretch, adjusting to me.

She lifts her head, propping herself on her elbows. “I want to watch you enter me.”

Another small thrust, then another. More stretching. My gaze travels between her pussy and her face looking out for signs of discomfort. But there are none. Encouraged by that, I thrust again, this time harder.

A throaty gasp escapes Rissa’s lips and she arches her back.

Still no sign of pain.

With another push, I’m so deep in her I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to go any farther.

I withdraw slowly and thrust again, careful not to hit her womb. “How’s this?”

“It’s wonderful,” she says. “Absolutely fucking wonderful.”

Dropping her head back to the pillow, she grips my neck and wraps her legs around my waste.

As I pump in and out, pleasure builds, held back only by my promise not to give her more than she can take.

“Faster,” she commands.

I increase the cadence, and soon we’re moving against each other fast and hard like a well-oiled machine. Given how happy she looks and sounds, I’m tempted to push deeper still, but I rein in that urge.

As things stand, I don’t know if I’ll see her again. But if I hurt her, even inadvertently, I can be sure as hell that I won’t.

Closing my eyes, I thrust, faster and faster. She writhes beneath me, completely open, throbbing around me, trusting me to give her what she craves.

A few more thrusts, and her pussy begins to spasm. I burn again to push a little deeper while she’s riding her orgasm, but I deny myself. This will have to do. This is already so much more than I could hope for.

Crying out my name, Rissa shudders. A tremor shakes her legs and her body, while her mouth opens, forming a beautiful o.

The sight of her abandon sends me over the edge.

With each spurt of my seed, the pressure subsides, making room for joy, and a flying sensation that lifts my hard body as if it were a feather.

Afterward, we cuddle in the soft glow of the night-light.

“Turns out I’m roomier than I thought,” she says with that deliciously sly smile of hers.

“Told ya.”

“Was it good for you? If it was at least half as good as it was for me, I can die happy, and be really, really proud of myself.”

I frown in mock concern. “Please don’t die just yet. Now that I got a taste, I need more.”

She smiles, but gives no promises. Then she looks away.

Not good.

“Did you ever envision selling the farm and the land?” she asks, turning back to me.

“It isn’t mine to sell—well, half of it at least. It’s Ma’s.”

“Of course,” she says. “And, from what you told me, she’ll hold on to it until her last breath.”

I nod.

Something infinitely sad flashes in her eyes before she turns away again.

I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss the inside of her wrist. “Farming may not be the most profitable occupation these days, but the land here in Burgundy—and we own a good chunk of it—increases in value every year. That said, Ma’s attachment to this land and to this farm is purely sentimental. It was Pop’s whole life.”

“Is it your whole life, too?”

“Good question.” I scratch my head. “I don’t know any other life to compare it to.”

“So, you have no idea if you’d enjoy doing something else more than operating a dairy farm?”

“I don’t think I would.”

We lie in silence for a long moment. This conversation isn’t about farming, of course. It’s about us. It’s about the possibility of us being together.

“Do you think you could enjoy living on a farm?” I ask.

She laughs. “I’d be the most ridiculous farmer in the world!”

“I said live on a farm, not operate one.”

She shakes her head. “In fact, I’m going back to Paris in two weeks, to be part of an extensive research team in one of the capital’s best museums.”

“What?” I turn on my side and peer at her. “Why? You’ve only been here a few months!”

“Almost two years, actually,” she says. “You only discovered me a few months ago.”

What do I say to that? That I’d do anything to turn back the time and discover her earlier, much earlier? That I’d give a hand to have Anne-Chantal stop by and give me a ticket to a guided tour of the Grotto on Rissa’s very first day as its curator? It would be the truth. But there’s no point saying it now.

We hug each other.

As I drift away, my body light from the lovemaking and my heart filled to the brim, a heavy, dreamless slumber swallows me up.

* * *

Rissa wakes up at dawn and sneaks out while I pretend to be asleep.

The moment she’s out the door, I begin to ache for her.

I tell myself it’s just my body. My cock, my hands, every limb, and muscle on me.

But not my heart.

It can’t be my heart.

Because it takes more than two nights to fall in love.

I must’ve read that in one of Ma’s psychology magazines when I was bored and out of other reading material.

The irony of the situation is that I know Rissa wants me as much as I want her.

But Dr. Penelope Muller wants something else.

And, unfortunately for me, she wins.