My long dark hair whips around me as I get out of my rental car and gaze at the house in front of me. The sky is grey, but it gives everything a romantic cast rather than being dreary.

Nestled in amongst the maritime pines and lush greenery is my grandmother's cottage. White with grey blocks of stone around the windows and doors and large French windows with bright blue shutters. And a veranda on one side of the house that overlooks the coastline. I notice a path leading straight from the cottage down to the rocky beach. The roar of the waves is so close I want to traipse down that path right away to dip my feet in the ocean. But after an eleven-hour flight and an hour's drive from the nearest airport, I'm exhausted.

Gratefully taking a deep breath of salty ocean air, I lug my bags to the front porch. I can't help but smile as I step inside Mémé's home; it immediately feels like her. Beautiful tiled flooring, plush furnishings, a smattering of antiques, and gauzy white curtains in every window. It's homey but elegant. And amazingly it still smells like her - floral and warm with hints of lavender. Probably because no one has lived here in the years since she passed. Which reminds me that I need to contact the caretaker of the estate in the morning and let him know I've arrived.

After touring the house, I choose the first-floor bedroom to settle in. It's peaceful with its white linens and different shades of blue accents. And as expected, pieces of Larimar throughout. A lone easel stands near the French doors at one end of the bedroom, no canvas or surrounding it, just the easel. It's as if it was waiting for me – as if Mémé knew it was time for me to take up my paintbrush again.

With a smile, I move the linen curtains aside and open the doors to let the salty ocean air in. There's a small terrace attached to this room, and it will be the perfect spot to sit with a cup of coffee in the morning. Or café I say to myself - I need to start using my French while I'm here.

I snap a selfie with the rocky coastline in the background and send it to Jade. *Just arrived. Safe and sound,* I text.

I automatically tap on the picture to send it to Jake as well but decide against it since I still haven't heard from him. I chew my lip wondering if he's been thinking about the kiss as much as I have. Or maybe in the last week he has found someone else to kiss. A lot can change in a week. Maybe he's already met someone in London. My stomach clenches at the thought.

Not wanting to explore what that jealous pang means, I blame it on hunger. Plopping on the bed I call Jade, hoping she hasn't left for work yet.

"Lar! I got your pic, I'm so glad you found it ok. How was the flight? Is it amazing there? Tell me all about it!"

I laugh. "Slow down Jade! One question at a time."

"Sorry! Ok, so you just arrived. What are you going to do now?"

"That's why I'm calling. What's that place Mom recommended? She said it was Mémé's favorite local place. I'm starving and don't have it in me to randomly choose a place to eat."

"Oh yeah wait a sec. She texted it to me." She goes silent for a minute. "Here it is. It's the restaurant for the Hotel Du Port. Looks charming sis!"

"Cool, thanks. Part of me just wants to curl up on this bed right now and go to sleep. But I have no food for breakfast either and I'll probably pass out from hunger."

"You don't want to make it all that way just to die before your adventure begins!"

I shake my head. "Jade I think you're romanticizing this a bit. I think I'll have a nice relaxing two weeks by the ocean, and then I'll return to reality and figure out how to handle my future. And how to handle Brett. I'm not going to let him get away with this."

"Ok, sis I hear you. But just remember you never know what will happen! New surroundings often bring new opportunities! Just stay open to whatever the Universe has in store for you right now."

I smile fondly. Jade has always been the spiritual one in the family.

"So, have you heard from Jake?" she asks hesitantly.

"No, I sure haven't. Truthfully, I wish it hadn't happened. I just want my friend back. I never imagined us being in completely different countries and not communicating at all. It feels weird."

"Hmmm..."

"What? What's 'hmmm?'"

"I don't know Lar. I just always thought you two would be great together. I mean back in the day I knew you were all moony-eyed over Brett, but I thought that would pass and you and Jake would get a chance."

My mouth gapes open at my sister's confession. "And you're just now telling me this?"

"Well, would it have mattered if I had said it sooner?"

I realize she's right. I think back to all those years I had with Brett. No matter what anyone had said, I had always wanted it to work with him. I was infatuated beyond the point of seeing what was there - really seeing him for who he was. And that's no one's fault but my own. I had fallen in love with the idea of someone while ignoring who was right in front of me.

"No, it wouldn't have. But I don't know about Jake. We friend-zoned each other. That's hard to get past."

"Well ok, forget about all that. Put on a dress and your red lipstick I helped you pick out and take yourself to dinner! Who knows, maybe you'll meet a sexy Frenchman who will convince you to stay in France forever. Then you'll live happily ever after! And I'll be forced to move to France too."

I laugh heartily. I don't know how my sister has an endless supply of optimism, but she does.

We hang up and I flip open my suitcase and gaze at all my wrinkled clothing. I choose the least wrinkled item, a fitted knit dress with a floral pattern against a black background. Pulling on my black leather jacket I decide to do as my sister suggested and swipe on some red lipstick before heading out the door.

Mapping the distance, I realize the restaurant is only a short walk. It's chilly but the night air feels good, and the streets in this small town seem safe. Many families are out for an evening stroll, chattering amongst themselves, children laughing.

Suddenly soft music floats through the night air, and after turning a corner the cutest ivy-covered restaurant appears. It's adorably picturesque with an outdoor open seating area, complete with string lights. The sign above the entrance reads Hotel Du Port.

Entering the restaurant all eyes turn with brazen curiosity at the newcomer who has wandered into their small village. I stand awkwardly for a moment before remembering what I read on some travel blog - in France you seat yourself. Since all the tables are taken, I settle in a quiet corner seat at the bar.

A hostess soon appears on the other side of the bar.

"Bonsoir Madame," she says, placing a menu before me.

"Bonsoir," I answer, "Er...du vin?" It's not exactly the way one says 'I'd like a glass of wine' but it's close enough.

She nods and brings out the wine menu. Scanning it, I point to a Bordeaux with an apologetic smile for my lack of speech. She nods again and disappears. I look over the rest of the menu, wondering how I can order a hamburger. There will be plenty of time to be explorative with food on this trip, but after traveling, my go-to has always been a hamburger.

I pull up Google translate on my phone, and speak into it quietly, "I would like to order a hamburger." Grimacing at my phone's response I shake my head. "No not a hamster."

Upon returning the hostess sets my glass of wine before me and asks, "You are American no?"

She has a thick French accent but I'm relieved to hear her speak English. A thick blond braid falls over one shoulder and her face is devoid of makeup except for some mascara and lipstick. She's very striking.

"And dinner? What would you like?" she asks.

"Ummm..." I hesitate. The whole menu is in French and I don't recognize any of the titles. "Is there a hamburger on the menu?"

She smiles with humor in her eyes. "Prévisible."

Predictable is what I believe she said.

"No hamburger on the menu," she answers, "But for you, we will make."

That is very kind of her. "Are you sure? I don't want to be too much trouble."

"It is no problem." She asks how I want the burger cooked, and disappears to the kitchen.

Grabbing my phone, I occupy myself with catching up on email and Instagram. No emails yet from my mother's lawyers, but it has only been a couple of days since I last spoke to them. Switching over to Instagram I see right away that Jake has posted a story. I bite my lip and tap on it.

It's a picture of him surrounded by unfamiliar people and looks like they're at a bar. There's a couple of guys beside Jake and one red-headed girl standing right next to him, her arm around his waist. He looks like he hasn't shaved recently, and the stubble looks good. Sexy even.

Slamming my phone back into my handbag, I wonder what the hell has gotten into me. One kiss and I'm suddenly turned into a starry-eyed schoolgirl with a crush? Do I need to get laid that bad? I do the math in my head and surmise that yes, I do actually. I've gone on exactly one date since my marriage ended, and that evening ended with the most sloppy and awkward kiss. Followed by a handshake. I cringe at the memory and take a large sip of my wine. Oh! That is delicious, I think. No wonder France is known for its wine.

My food arrives and I wait patiently until I'm alone before I devour it. I'm so hungry I can't be held responsible for the mess I'm creating.

The woman with the blond braid returns after a bit and refills my wine glass. I try to stop her with a smile and a wave of my hand since I had chosen the pricier wine option.

"No problem. It is how you say.... on the house. You are visiting?"

"Oh well in that case thank you. And yes. I'm staying at my grand-mère's," I answer, using the French word for grandmother. "By myself. I just inherited her cottage not far from here."

She nods with a smile. "Welcome."

"Do you live here as well?"

"Down the street. Yes."

"Did you know an Elise Bissett?"

She pauses and thinks for a moment. "Hmmm no. Your grand-mère?"

I nod. It has been six years since Mémé passed. I wonder if I'll run into anyone that knew her.

"You will stay for a long time?" she asks.

"For a couple of weeks."

A patron down the bar motions for help, but before she leaves, she adds, "I'm Juliette. If you need anything, let me know."

She scribbles her phone number on her notepad and hands me the slip of paper. "We are neighbors now."

I smile, grateful for how nice she's been. "I'm Lara. And thank you so much. Merci."

She nods her head and moves down the bar. I leave enough euros for my meal and make my way outside with a small wave of goodbye to Juliette.

That night I curl up in Mémé's soft quilts and let the ocean waves lull me to sleep. Even though I'm in a strange place, being here makes me feel close to her. It's comforting and safe and I sleep more soundly than I have in a long time.

~*~

The next morning upon waking it takes me a moment to remember where I am. But once I do I can't help the smile that spreads over my face. I have the entire day before me with no demands. I can do absolutely whatever I want - the feeling is exhilarating.

After making the coffee and eggs I picked up at the market on the way home last night, I eat my breakfast on the covered terrace that overlooks the ocean. Waves crash mercilessly on outcroppings close to shore, seagulls cry overhead, and the sky reflects the same cerulean as the water. I could get used to this, I think while taking a sip of coffee.

After breakfast the first item of the day is a beach stroll; I can't wait to dip my toes in the surf. The path down from the house is rocky, but closer to the water there's a strip of smooth cold sand to walk on since the tide is out. The air is cool and refreshing, and even though the water will be cold I can't help but take off my flats and dip my feet in. Small waves lap at my feet, and I jump back quickly at how freezing it is.

Taking a deep breath, I let the fresh sea air fill every inch of my lungs. There's always been something about the ocean that makes me feel more grounded. More whole. After Dad died, I ran away from everyone and everything to the Oregon coast. I cocooned myself at an Airbnb till Brett came and got me and made me come home. Hugging my sweater around me, I relish the fact that this time there was no one to drag me away.

Having enough of the cold water, I head back to the house to warm up. Suddenly, a man appears at the beginning of the pathway near the cottage. Nervously I look around but no one else is here on the beach. It's probably a friendly neighbor come to say hello, I tell myself, but still approach with caution.

"Bonjour!" I call out.

"Bonjour," he greets me when I'm close enough. "You are the American that has come here to stay?"

His accent is French, and he's very handsome, tan with dark hair that waves past his ears.

"I am. This home used to be my grandmother's. She left it to me."

"Ah, Madame Bisset's granddaughter. Enchanté. My name is Philippe. I'm the caretaker of your grand-mère's estate. Er, your estate," he corrects himself with a charming smile.

"Nice to meet you." I hadn't even had the chance to call him yet, so I'm surprised he's here already.

As if he can read my mind he says, "I usually come on Saturdays to take care of the property. Since you are here, I would like to know what you would like? Any changes to the landscaping? The garden?"

I realize I haven't even seen the garden yet. "To be honest I just arrived last night and am still getting my bearings. For now, whatever you usually do is fine."

"Very good, I will start then." He turns with a nod and makes his way back up the path to the house.

Following him, I shake my head with a wry smile. I was not expecting such a fine-looking estate caretaker. I move my hand instinctively up to my hair which I'm sure is a mess from the wind. I scurry inside and take a moment to make myself presentable. Changing out of my pajama shirt and sweater, I brush my hair and put on a bit of makeup.

Making my way to the kitchen I make another cup of coffee for myself and one for Philippe. I'm halfway out to the door with the two cups when I almost drop them at the sight I see out the front window.

Lord have mercy! He got to work alright - shirtless. And what a sight to behold. Recovering the perilous coffee cups before they spill, I dart behind the curtains, suddenly wishing they weren't so see-through. Peaking around I'm thankful to see his back is to me now.

With a click of my tongue, I admonish myself, "Get a hold of yourself Lara! You've seen chiseled abs before." But not quite like these I have to admit, and not so up close and personal....

I rouse myself with a shake of my head and move out the door balancing the coffee cups. "Hi! Would you like a coffee?"

Philippe sets some branches on the ground and makes his way over, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans. He smiles with a twinkle in his eye. "Merci, thank you."

Handing him a cup, we stand silently side by side sipping the hot liquid.

"The view it is beautiful this morning, no?" he says after a moment.

I stop myself from choking on my coffee. He didn't see me spying, did he? With a blush, I glance over at him to see him wearing a small smirk, but his gaze is looking out past the yard to the shore.

I nod in agreement. "Hmmm.... yes, it sure is."