The smell is the main thing I love about France.

It smells like Shere only warmer and sweeter, as though the fragrance of a hundred billion grapes being ripened over the landscape has infused with the air.  It smells distinctly French. Almost like you could get drunk on the air itself - though god knows I don't need any help with that. I get drunk quite easily from the wine and the heat alone.

The shop isn't far, about two miles max but mum doesn't trust French drivers and so she'd argued with me to take the car instead of the bike.  Dad and Nick had then accurately pointed out that the only person to be involved in a car accident on this particular road in the last ten years was her - and so she'd dropped her argument and flounced back out to the patio and left me to it.

To be honest I was using the bike to prolong the journey. I needed the quiet. Not to think about him, because that was forbidden during the day, but because spending a fortnight in a house with five other people was hard work - especially when they were your family.

I'd practically jumped at the opportunity at spending some much needed time on my own.  I welcomed the peace and quiet away from the noise of other people who knew nothing about the other louder noises that had been wailing through my head since that day. Since the day I knew I couldn't love him. 

Delmar's shop is somewhat bustling when I get there, as is always the case in summer - maybe because it's the only proper shop within about 10 miles or so from our house . I say bustling, it's rather small so with the seven or so people milling about right now it looks crowded.

"Ah Alex! Bonjour ma belle!" He shouts as I come in. Delmar  is about sixty I think, but looks a lot younger despite his weatherbeaten complexion and slightly reddened nose. I wave back at him feeling a little self conscious at the way several heads and pairs of eyes turn curiously in my direction and turn my attention back to the shelves.

Squeezing my way around the circumference of the shop, I place all the things mum asked me to get carefully into the blue plastic basket, as well as some things she never asked me to get: A copy of Vogue, a box of those macarons Nick liked and some lip balm for Tash because she'd been stealing mine since hers ran out a week ago.

By the time I'm done, the store has calmed a little and I make my way to the till where Delmar is chatting animatedly in French to a tall dark haired man. The fact that he's conversing with Delmar fluently indicates that he's French, but there's also something about the way he's using lots of hand gestures and the way he's holding himself that confirms he's a native.    I don't catch everything they're saying - my french isn't that fluent - but they appear to be talking about land and produce and weather which makes me think he might be a vintner. He doesn't look like a vintner though  - he looks more like a businessman than a grape farmer. An attractive businessman in fact - tall, broad shouldered and very smartly groomed.

I realise I'm staring at him a little too hard - Delmar notices too - and so I hastily turn my eyes away and move forward to place my basket up on the counter.

"Alex, this is Laurent. Laurent owns La Maison Jaune." Delmar tells me his thickly accented English. Delmar and I made a deal a long time ago that we would always converse in English whenever I came in, apparently because he found the English accent "charming" when 'spoken properly' - which apparently I did.

I nod in surprise and turn my eyes back to our neighbour, who regards me now with a smile that seems to be coming from just his eyes. His eyes are cornflower blue and stand out brightly against a healthy tan and the sprinkling of freckles peppered over his cheeks and nose.

When he smiles at me, revealing a row of perfect white teeth (notably no sharp ones on any side) I feel an unwelcome heat creep up the neckline of my yellow dress. "Bonjour Madame," he says softly, inclining his head slightly.

"Madamoiselle," Delmar corrects from my right.

When I whip my head round and give him a look, Delmar is smiling knowingly at us both, his eyes wide and full of mischief. Is he seriously doing what I think he's doing? Does he even know this man from Adam?  He's as bad as mum. When I look back at Laurent I find his eyes are a little wide now too as he regards me now with curiosity.

Still embarrassed, my good manners take over and I hold my right hand out to him. "Nice to meet you Laurent, I'm Alex." I tell him, and he takes my hand in his and shakes it gently.  "So, La Maison Jeune? That means you're our neighbour?  We live just down the hill from you."

He looks a little surprised as he releases my hand.  "Ahhh you have the house down there? How lovely.  The house is beautiful. I was admiring it only this morning." He nods. Yes clearly French, yet his English is very well pronounced, clear and confident and his voice low and warm.

"Well, I'll tell my parents you said so."

As Delmar starts to ring up my shopping, my eyes wander back to Laurent.  He's leaning casually on the glass countertop now, one hand stuffed deep in his pocket and the other scrolling through his phone.  I take a moment to inspect him - his profile is serious and his face framed in a dark thick stubble / almost beard.  He's dressed in a crisp white linen shirt with rolled up sleeves, and a pair of light brown almost orange chinos and brown dessert boots.   Finally, because I'm staring so hard no doubt, he senses my eyes on him and he lifts his head from his phone and smiles at me.  The heat creeps up my neck to my face.  Though he doesn't speak the entire time Delmar packs my items into my linen shopping bag , he continues to stare at me curiously and the blush on my neck and face holds strong.

As I take the shopping bag, I tell Delmar we'll be in to settle our account before we leave on Friday, if not before - to which he just waves his hand dismissively. We'd forgotten to come in and pay him once and mum had almost had a panic attack at the airport. As soon as she'd got home she'd sent a cheque and an apology card and a promise that it would never happen again. That was six years ago and she's still mortified about it any time we bring it up.
I say my goodbyes to both men and leave them to the farming conversation I'd barged in on.

Outside, I'm fiddling with the bagged items and trying to fit them securely into the basket on the bike, when the shop door dings and Laurent comes striding out, sliding dark ray bans over his eyes as he does. I'm momentarily distracted by the sight of him and it causes the bag to tip over in the bike basket and mums lemons and courgette come tumbling on to the ground and roll along the stone toward him.

"Crap," I mutter.

Before I reach them, Laurent bends down and picks up the lemon and courgette and holds them out to me in quite possibly the most ridiculous way possible. "I think these belong to you."

He's holding the courgette flat in the palm of his hand and the two lemon on either side of it.  It's pornographic. He manages to look at me seriously for a moment, but then he breaks into a soft (sexy) laugh and shakes his head. "I'm so sorry. That was very crude of me. I couldn't resist.." He says.

"It was a gift. I'd have thought less of you if you'd refused it." I smile, taking the items from him and placing them back in the bag. Laurent's eyes go to my bike and then come back to me. "Curious form of transport." He nods.

"The roads are actually really safe here, and wide too." I explain, though why I'm explaining this to him I've no idea - he's French, he knows what the roads are like here. 

He nods again, seemingly unphased by my commentary on France's road network. "Yes, I'm sure you're perfectly safe. But I would feel better if you would let me drive you back. We are going in the same direction after all." he smiles that smile again. The one that makes me feel odd, and like I'm doing something wrong just by having him smile at me like that.

He makes a fair point, and honestly, I wouldn't mind spending ten minutes in a car with him. Something doesn't feel right though and I realise immediately what it is. I haven't thought about him in about ten whole minutes. Since the minute Delmar introduced us, I've only had impure thoughts about the man standing in front of me. That was progress surely? Before I over analyse it I nod, probably a little too eagerly and hook the shopping bag over my shoulder.

"That would be very kind Laurent, thank you. You have room for the bike?" I glance over my shoulder.

"Oui. I think so." He turns his head to look across the street to where a huge black range rover is parked half on the kerb with it's hazard lights flashing.

He goes to the bike and guides it across the road to where his car is parked, and then with very little effort lifts it up and places it in the boot. I climb into the passenger seat and close the door, pull on my seat belt and settle the shopping bag on my lap, holding the straps together to ensure nothing else falls out. The seat is leather and it cools the back of my neck and legs. When Laurent gets in and starts the engine, the aircon starts immediately and settles comfortably over my hot skin. Although when Laurent turns to smile at me it definitely gets fractionally hotter - which was good. This was all good. It was progress.

Then it occurs to me - I literally know nothing about this man. He could be an axe murder for all I know. A French axe murderer? Is that even a thing? Surely it is. But then, Delmar knew him and where he lived - they seemed like old friends even, and so most likely I'm being overly paranoid. Calm down Alex. He isn't hiding a massive potentially life changing secret from you. They don't all do that.

"So, where too mademoiselle?" He says turning to face me.

"The house just past yours with the English rose bushes out front and the Union Jack flag on the roof please Monsieur - you really can't miss it." I tell him.

"Ah! Yes! I know the very one." He says, chuckling quietly before pulling out onto the very wide French road.

Neither of us speak for a few moments but then as is always the case, we both turn our heads round and go to speak together. I gesture for him to go on because quite honestly, I like hearing him talk - his voice is deep and male and I like that in a mans voice. It sort of reminds me a little of - stop it - but then actually it doesn't sound anything like his because Laurent's accent is thick and French. Not East end and rough. "I saw you riding." He says flashing me a wide smile. "On the way here. I thought I'd imagined you."

I smile. "You did?"

"Oui. It was an unexpected sight actually. Horses, yes, chickens, yes, grapes,yes. Pale women in yellow dresses on green bikes? Non." He shakes his head and turns to smile at me again - a smile which is definitely flirtatious now. It tightens something inside me.

"Yes well, I am very pale. It's a curse in summer." I turn to look out the passenger side window. He used to talk about how pale I was too. It feels odd discussing that with another man, though maybe I'm reading too much into that too. "Mais une femme sur un vélo dans le pays ne peut pas être inhabituelle sûrement ?" I muse quietly. Women on bikes can't be that rare, surely?

He laughs quietly. "Peut-être pas. Mais ils ne normalement vous ressemblent." he says. Maybe. But they don't normally look like you.

I smile and gaze down into the shopping bag for something to do with my eyes. Is he flirting? Am I? Am I flirting with someone who isn't him? I'm enjoying the company of a man who isn't him and so it feels like it might be. What does it mean that I'm enjoying Laurent's company?

He's driving slowly - too slowly. It's the way my dad drives. In the back of my mind I wonder if its on purpose, to prolong the ten minute journey to our house. Do I want it to be on purpose? I should try and make a decision about that along with whether I was flirting or not....

After fifteen minutes of small talk which alternates between French and English, we pull up at the bottom of the small gravel driveway leading up to our house. There are no rose bushes and no Union Jack flag outside but Laurent finds the house easily all the same. He gets out first and walks immediately around to the back of the car and pops open the boot, and I climb down from the passenger seat and hook the shopping bag over my shoulder and go meet him.

"Merci," I say as I take the handlebars from him. As I do, his fingers graze over mine and a weird flutter of something washes over me, like a shivering sensation accompanied by the feeling of some thing heavy being dislodged.

"Pas de problème. Mon plaisir." he says. No problems, my pleasure.

"My mother was convinced I'd be run off the road by some crazy French driver so she'll be very grateful to you." I smile.

He nods "Well, I only drive crazy in Paris. People expect it there." He says with a shrug and a small smile.

He's taken off his glasses now and has them hooked them into the collar of his shirt which is open at the neck. His eyes really are startlingly blue, azure and clear - they remind me of the water at the beach at Le Rus de Lis that I swam in yesterday.

"Alex, forgive me. I'm not sure if this is inappropriate... but I will ask anyway," he shrugs again. "Would you like to have dinner with me? Tonight? At my place?" He turns his head towards his yellow house up the slope on the hill.

As the words linger in the space between Laurent and I, I get an image of him. I see his face and his eyes, then his mouth and the sound of his voice when he told me that he loved me. Then I get an image of his face when I told him that he disgusted me and I couldn't love him. I feel the tears well up behind my eyes hot and heavy and I'm thankful I have on Tash's oversized sunglasses.

"Dinner would be nice." I hear myself say.

Nice.    Nice was what I needed. He was gone. He was gone and I couldn't love him and since he was gone then why not have dinner with my perfectly nice French neighbour? Dinner would be nice.

"Yes, I'd like to have dinner with you."

***

"Parles moi de lui." Laurent says quietly, staring at me over the rim of his glass. Tell me about him.

I stare back at him and let all the memories of Jake flood back into my mind freely. Nope.

Literally no way of stopping them now.  My chest constricts, my body begins to get hot, and my head begins to hurt. For a moment or two I let it all rush inside and to the front and then I shake my head.

"Il n'y a rien à dire." I reply as calmly as I can manage. Nothing to tell.

God that's funny even in my own head. Nothing to tell. More like nothing I could tell. Nothing I wanted to tell. Nothing to tell.

Laurent smiles deeply as though he knows it's funny too, then he lifts his glass to his mouth and takes a sip of rich dark wine. As he lowers his glass he gives me another slow seductive smile.  He was good at those, he'd given me several over the evening - they seem to have escalated since those he'd driven me home from town.

"Ah. So, he's that kind of nothing to tell."  The way Laurent slips from French to English is rather endearing I think.    He blows some air out through his lips and regards me shrewdly. The look makes I feel exposed, as though he can see everything - my naivety, my heartache, as well as my dark thoughts about taking Jake back. Or more accurately,  turning a blind eye to everything and taking him back. 

He's looking at me as though he knows me. It makes me regret coming now.  Why the hell did I agree to come?

Oh I remember. Because I hoped Laurent would make me forget about him. For one night at least. I shift uncomfortably in my chair, hot now under his knowing gaze. He doesn't know though. He can't, because no one does. Only Jake and I know...

Dropping my eyes, I take a long sip of the Languedoc 2008 and hope it looks nonchalant.  The wine is almost savoury, it tastes of summer and hot blackberries as I swirl it around my tongue. Laurent was quite proud of his wine cellar I'd found - he'd spent forty minutes showing me around it earlier - and since I liked wine I had found it fascinating - distracting. Him a little less so, but he was growing on me as the night had gone on.

"Je croyais que vous aviez promis de ne pas tester mon français ce soir?" I say pointedly. When I said yes to having dinner with him he had promised he wouldn't test my french all evening, a promise which he seemed to have forgotten.

"Pardon," he holds his hands up guiltily. "I did say I wouldn't test it. You're right. But I must say, I'm very impressed."

"Well thank you. But really, it's all about to crumble. One more of this," I hold up the glass.

"Ah but we must open another bottle soon. A Frenchman never wastes good wine or good company." He smiles charmingly. "Now go on. Tell me about this nothing to tell."

I shrug. "There really is nothing to tell. We barely knew each other. It was rather short-lived. He's not important." The words burn the back of my throat as they come out, as though they're angry at being used in vain. He smiles again, his eyes glittering in the dim candlelight. He really is quite handsome. Deep sparkling blue eyes, strong jaw peppered with long dark stubble and almost black hair which is long and hangs in a haphazard but stylishly way. He doesnt look typically French, though I'm not really sure what that even means.

"If you say so Alex." He says, his accent rolling over my name sensually, highlighting the 'i' and lingering on the 'x'.  He pronounces it: Alixx.

"I do say so."

He nods, his gaze intensifying. "I promise you I am not trying to pry. Your heartache is your own," he shrugs, an act which does make him look typically french.  "If you say he isn't important then who am I to disagree?"

His words seem to hang in the air, taunting me - defying me. Jake not important? The idea was almost laughable.

"So what do you do Laurent, for a living? When you aren't saving damsels in distress in the French countryside that is." I smile. A subject change was definitely more than overdue and it did seem strange we hadn't covered this one yet.

And even so, we hadn't been stuck for conversation this evening. It had flowed really well in fact - we'd spoken about France and the weather, the landscape out here and how it had changed so much in the last five years.  Then we'd spoken about London and the weather there too before moving on to films and music. But not once had our occupations came up.

He runs a hand through his hair, dishevelling the longish length a little. It had been smoothed back when I first met him, making him look suave and debonair. He looked a little tougher now, his shirt open at the collar, his sleeves rolled up and his cheeks flushed with wine. "I'm a producer. Television mainly, but I've done some small films. Terrible small films." He chuckles.

"Humble and French. How unusual." I giggle.

"Touché." He says, giving me another of his flirtatious smiles. "But I'm not being humble - they were awful." He says and we both laugh before he lifts his wine again. "What about you Alixx? What do you do?"

"Le Médecin généraliste. Nothing quite as exciting as the French Television industry I'm afraid." I tell him.

"Oh there's nothing exciting about the French Television Industry I assure you." He shakes his head dismissively. "So a doctor? You are quite young for a doctor no?" It's more of a statement than a question though.

"I'm 31. Not too young." I reply, sipping on my wine. It makes me wonder how old he is. Mid thirties probably? He has a youthful face but a mature reserved way about him, though maybe it's just because he's French? Suddenly he stands up from the table, and lifts the now empty bottle.

"Let me get another one. You like this one yes?" He asks and I nod, swallowing the last of my wine.

As Laurent disappears through the door that leads down to the cellar I take the opportunity to check my phone.   I'm not sure why.   I have no expectation that he'll have tried to contact me in the 20 minutes since I last checked it. Do I even want him to try and contact me? I hate myself more for not knowing the answer to that. It's been almost five weeks since I laid eyes on him and the need to hear his voice still hasn't lessened any. Five weeks since the confrontation in my kitchen and since I told him I couldn't love him. It feels like a lifetime ago.

There's nothing to display. Not a call or text.

"Now if I could get this land to produce grapes like these I could be a rich man and maybe I could stop making terribly movies." He says from behind me.   I slide my phone back into the pocket of my dress and turn to smile at him as he sits back down. 

As he opens the bottle deftly with the corkscrew I take the opportunity to focus on his hands. They're nice - smooth and tanned and strong looking - if a little hairy over the tops. Hairier than Jake's anyway. For a moment I lose myself in the image of his hands touching me and sliding over my skin and parting my thighs to find the sensitive spot between my legs.

Suddenly I want it. I want that. I want him.

Yes, being with another man is exactly what I need to get over this. I need to know that I can be with someone else and still feel something. Someone other than him.

As he bends forward to uncork the bottle his dark hair falls over his face and he uses his free hand to brush it back.

"So what made a television producer buy a run down vineyard in rural France?" I ask, clearing my throat. "Looking for a change of career? Ooh or is it a set for another terrible movie?" I lean forward and hold out my glass for him to refill. As he does I give him a smile I hope is flirtatious but not overly so.

Meeting my eyes, he smiles again, showing me his straight white teeth which are also nice to look at. "Unfortunately making a career out of producing wine is a lot harder to do in France than you might think. We have so many amazing wine producers and I don't have an ounce of the skill, or patience required to compete with them. I'll stick to producing terrible movies." Another smile as he looks around the room. "Actually, this place was my father's. He died a few months ago and so now it is mine."  He moves to refill his own glass before sitting back down in his chair. The aged wood strains quietly as he does.

His demeanour seems a little nostalgic now, or sad maybe. Probably because I just insulted him and made him think about his dead father. Great work Alixx.

"You grew up here?" I ask glancing around.

He shook his head. "No, not at all. I grew up just outside Lyon. This place was something he bought on..." he searches for the word. "...Impulse.. but never did anything with. He liked to own things just for the purpose of owning them." His tone lowers and his eyes avoid mine. "I came out here to see if there was any reason to keep it."    When he looks back at me he lets his stare sweep down over my body before meeting my eyes again. "Et je pense qu'il pourrait y en avoir une." He smiles. I think there might be.

The blush creeps across my neck and down and I dip my eyes to follow it. He's charming me. Which he really doesn't need to do because I'm already wishing he would make the first move and kiss me.

When I lift my eyes back to his I lick my bottom lip before biting down on it. "Really? And what might that be?" I ask quietly.

His mouth curls up into a knowing smile and he sits up and leans forward across the table so that he's very close to me.

"You're very beautiful Alex. I wanted you the moment I saw you pushing that godforsaken green bicycle this afternoon. A pale English rose in the French countryside. Of course I didn't know you were english until I heard you speak. I wanted you more then..." He says.

I don't truly believe that for a moment - French men just have a way with words which makes everything they say sound sensual and romantic and irresistible almost. But then, I used to know an English man who also had a certain way with words - an entirely different way mind you. He was also irresistible. Christ can I just stop thinking about him just for one bloody night? A few hours even? Try minutes Alixx.

Laurent moves forward and when his lips touch mine I moan softly. They're warm and soft and they stir something between my legs. Tasting of wine and seduction, his tongue begins to stroke mine deeply and when he tilts his head sideways to deepen the kiss I moan louder. This is nice. It feels more than nice actually.

It feels like... But it doesn't feel like.  Christ I need to stop this.  It's over. He's gone.  Laurent is here.  I want him...

So Jake hasn't ruined me completely - that's good to know. Laurent makes a noise in the back of his throat as he holds my head and our mouths mould together in soft wet kisses which taste of rich french wine.

"Alex..." he breathes, separating his mouth from mine. He takes my hand in his and brings it to his mouth to kiss each one of my fingers softly. "I want you to stay the night with me. I want to make love to you but I don't want you to have any regrets about it in the morning."

His words take me aback, and I almost feel a burn from them. "What makes you think I'd do anything I'd regret in the morning Laurent?" I ask, pulling away from him. "I'm a grown woman. You think I'd do something I'd regret later?" He thinks I'm drunk and stupid. Am I?

He shakes his head. "Non. I mean only..." he considers his words a moment. "Yes you're a grown woman. But a grown woman with a broken heart, which normally - to be honest - is something I would take advantage of." He drops his hands from me and sits back in his chair.

"Well then perhaps you would be the one with regrets in the morning then, not me?" I sit back too and lift my glass and take another deep sip of my wine. I feel irritable now.   I don't know if it's simply because he's ruined the moment or if it's because he seems to know exactly how I'd feel in the morning if I slept with him.  

Okay I probably would regret it. And I don't want or need any more regrets. But really, he barely knows me and the fact that he's figured me out so quickly makes me wonder if whether my naivety is so clear that it's visible from space. Is that how Jake saw me too?

"I have a remarkably light conscience Alex - it's a burden in itself. So trust me, I'd have absolutely no regrets about fucking you tonight."  He says looking extremely relaxed.  It only annoys me further.

"Well lucky you." I mutter, feeling the moment truly gone. The notion that I wanted Laurent, and that he was what I needed is gone too.  We sit in silence for a moment or two and then I down the rest of my drink.

"I think I should probably get going. Thank you for dinner and a pleasant evening Laurent." I say standing up from his large farmhouse style dining table. He stares up at me a long moment before letting out a long breath and standing up too. The look in his eye speaks of regret I think, but since I don't know him well enough I can't be sure.

"My pleasure Alex. I've enjoyed your company very much. I'll walk you down to the gate." He says with heat in his eyes. I'm not so ruined that I don't recognise when a man wants me. Laurent wants me. But all I want now is to go home.

"There's no need, honestly. I can navigate my way down - it's not far." I tell him. It's really not. Although the cobbled pathway from the edge of his property to ours is a little perilous. More so at night. Even more so in these slightly high wedged sandals I'm wearing.

"Nonsense. I'm escorting you. No debate." He says abruptly and lifts both our glasses and carries them to the sink. "I'm going to have to finish that entire bottle on my own now I hope you realise. Day old wine is not something I enjoy." He says giving me a playful frown.

"I'm sorry about that. It's getting late though and my parents will be wondering where I am." I smile.  

He chuckles, somewhat sexily I decide. He's sexy. God I really need to start being more decisive about what I want. I hate this about myself. You'd regret it in the morning. Go home.

Laurent holds my eye a moment too long and then moves past me toward the door and opens the latch, gesturing me through it. Once I'm out he reaches back - brushing close to me as he does - to fiddle with the latch on the door so that it doesn't lock behind him.    This close, he's warm to the touch and smells of spice and fruit and of something foreign  - how very apt.    I try not to think of how his smell isn't as comforting as Jakes or as drug like, and how it doesn't debilitate me like Jakes used to either.

That's not a bad thing though I suppose. To remain sensible around a man is never a bad thing. I was never sensible around Jake. I was stupid, naive and foolish. A coward too, don't forget coward. Coward.

We walk in silence around the side of the house to where the path leading downwards to our house starts. I say path, but really it's just some broken paving stones at uneven intervals down a slight slope, and I have to try my hardest to navigate my way over them in the dark while Laurent has no trouble walking gracefully and with ease to my left.

Laurent's property must be about 4 acres, with the retired vineyard to the back. His is on top of a hill giving him a nice vista of the valley below. Dad always thought it was an ugly house though. For years as it got into a worse state of disrepair he'd often said how he wished someone would come along and knock it down. Its yellow with a terracotta roof and its not the prettiest building in the area. Though personally, I think it has its own kind of charm. There are trees on our side which surround it and so it's not really that visible from our house.

After I stumble twice, I stop to take off my stupid sandals because I'd rather navigate the pebbled path barefoot that have Laurent see me fall over. He holds me steady while I unbuckle and remove my shoes and I thank him before we continue our way down the path.  

The stone beneath my feet is still warm from the sun and it's a balmy night - the smell of the French summertime filling my nose and brightening my heart as the wine flows through my blood.  I can see the lights on in our house as we get nearer the bottom of the grassy incline. No doubt Nick and Tash will still be awake and chatting into the night like they always do when we're here. I would be too except tonight I decided to have dinner with our french neighbour to try and take my mind off the man who broke my heart five weeks ago.

Mum and dad will have gone to bed, or mum will have while dad sleeps on his chair with his wine glass balanced perilously on his chest.

We make the short walk in relative silence until Laurent stops us, puts his hand on the small of my back and turns me south to point up at his favourite constellation. It's quite sweet and romantic and it makes me wonder, if whether I didn't have the Jake sized hole in my heart would I have fallen for it.  Even if it is a little clichéd. Tipsy on wine and wandering through countryside of southern France while looking up at the stars with an attractive Frenchman who wants to take me to bed. I could do a whole lot worse. A drug dealer / criminal was worse surely?

Immediately I feel guilty for thinking that. Jake wasn't worse, he was better - he was everything. I'd want to be here with him right now strolling through the french countryside after good food and good wine - if he drunk wine. What angers me most is that I could have been, if I'd been a different person, I could have been with him. If I'd been stronger and braver. I take a deep breath and shake my head to stop myself thinking anymore.

When we reach the gate that separates our properties we stop and I turn to face him. He smiles at me softly and whether on purpose or not I don't know, he wets his lips with his tongue - similar to the way Jake used to before he'd kiss me. My chest tightens and I have to look down away from Laurent.

"Serais tu restée plus longtemps si je ne t'avais pas embrassé?" He asks, taking me by surprise. If I hadn't kissed you would you have stayed longer? Through my wine haze I find the real answer.

"If you hadn't kissed me I would certainly have kissed you." I tell him in English. It's the truth. Twenty minutes ago I felt flirty and burden free and I wanted to kiss him. I must try and remember how I got to that place and try and navigate my way back there at some point. Preferably not whilst wearing wedged sandals.

"I'd like to see you again Alex. When do you leave?" His voice is soft and full of sincerity. He really is a very attractive man, the more time I spend in his presence the more I think it. I never came here to find an attractive man though. I came here to get away from the memory of one. That was ridiculous though actually - five weeks later and it was quite clear there's no getting away from that one.

"We leave on Thursday."

"So I have five days to get you into bed. I like a challenge." He says, with humour.

Though taken aback a little by his straightforwardness, I smile at him. "Well if you hadn't insisted on talking about my broken heart all evening then I'm sure you could have managed it tonight." I say. I feel brave and bold and maybe I need to do something brave and bold to dislodge Jake completely.

"Ah so you do have a broken heart? I knew it." He nods. "And like I inferred, lots of men would have taken advantage of that."

"Oh but not you?" I reply, raising an eyebrow. "You just wanted me to talk about it all evening."

"I like talking to you." He smiles.

"Yes. I'm a good listener. It's the Doctor in me." I say. Laurent reaches out, towards my hair or the side of my face - where Jake used to touch it - but the spot seems to be shrinking back from his touch, almost like it's reserved for someone else. Stupid pathetic face. Smiling, I turn my face away from his touch but try hard to make it appear as nonchalant as possible as I do. I don't want to offend him, I like him. He drops his hand casually but moves in a step closer, closing the distance between us once more. .

"Can I see you again before you go?" he asks. "We can talk in french all night? et je ne te poserais pas de questions au sujet de celui qui t'as briser le coeur.' and I wont ask you about the one that broke your heart. "We can forget about him." He adds, crossing his hand across his chest over his heart.

Another night with Laurent talking French and trying not to think or talk about Jake. Another night attempting to forget about Jake. God knows I needed help with it.

"Why don't you come to our house for dinner? My family would love to have you - and see who owns the yellow house on the hill. If that's not too strange for you?"

"Strange? No. Not at all. I'd love that. When?"

"How about Tuesday?"

"Perfect. I look forward to meeting your family Alex." He says and leans in very slowly and kisses my cheek. He pulls me into him as he leans across to kiss my other cheek.

"Goodnight Laurent. See you Tuesday. 8pm or thereabouts."

He smiles and nods. "À mardi Alex."

As I turn and fiddle with the metal gate and then slip through and down my parents' far more landscaped pathway, I hear the sound of his humming start up behind me. When I get to the break in the trees I turn to look back and see him leaning forward on the wall on his elbows watching me. There's lust in that stare and for the first time in five weeks I feel a kindle of something warm in my belly. Its small and barely noticeable in the dark dense forest that is my heartbreak, but its there.

I'm just not sure how welcome it is.