12. Alistair

12

ALISTAIR

“ T hese few streets surrounding the church and the castle ruins are all there is to the town. I think less than a thousand people live here.”

Winnie leaned on the handlebars of the red bicycle he’d pulled from Francoise’s shed. “Cool. So it’ll be a short ride around the block.”

I wrinkled my nose, glancing skyward in the hopes this outing might be sidetracked by a sudden torrential rainstorm. Sadly, the weather was not going to save me. The sun glittered through autumnal leaves while a flock of birds chirped merrily.

“Right. But wouldn’t you rather go on to Versailles? It dwarfs every chateau you’ve seen so far. The grounds are incredible and?—”

“You don’t know how to ride a bike,” he intercepted dryly.

“Of course, I know how to ride one. It’s just…been a while.”

Winnie’s grin was unfettered and mischievous. “How long?”

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “Thirty-five years, give or take.”

“Thirty-five—no way.”

“Way. ”

He put the kickstand up and marched to my side. “I’ll teach you. Trust me, I’m good at this. You’ll be riding hands-free within an hour.”

“Thanks, but I don’t require a lesson. And neither of us is riding a bicycle hands-free,” I added grumpily.

“If you say so, papi,” he singsonged with a wink, hiking a thumb toward the shed. “I’ll take the bike with the basket for Beau, and you can have the red one.”

I glanced at the tiny, stout mutt napping on the stoop nearby. “Why is Beau coming? Francoise and Jacques will be home any moment now, and?—”

“Don’t be mean. We bonded over cheese and bread crust last night. I can’t abandon him now. Can I, Beau-low baby boy?” Winnie cooed.

Oh, dear.

It was true, though. Beau had sat at Winnie’s feet while we’d warmed up the stew Francoise had left for us, and had curled into a ball on his lap in front of the fireplace later. We’d opened a second bottle of Cabernet Franc and sat with our legs entwined, chatting about French food, thick socks, and places we’d visited that started with the letter P.

By the way, the only P places he’d been that he remembered were Pasadena, Palm Springs, Petaluma, and of course, Paris.

Don’t ask. This was Winnie, after all. There was no rhyme or reason to his methods. He was a free spirit to the nth degree. He shared his thoughts on every topic that popped into his head—crusty, warm bread was the best, Martians definitely existed millions of years ago—and told hilarious stories about Sunday drag brunches with his friends.

He painted a picture with words of sunshine, ocean breezes, bottomless pitchers of margaritas, and big-bosomed drag queens with beehive wigs and gorgeous sequined gowns who sang Judy Garland songs like the diva herself, then pumped up her breasts and asked random patrons to check her jiggle. I laughed till my cheeks hurt, idly caressing his feet as I filed nuances of Winnie into the ever-growing compartment he’d claimed in my brain.

That sounded barmy, I knew. Nonetheless, it was true. He’d broken through every barrier and carved his initials in walls I’d thought were untouchable.

Winnie was bright and beautiful, funny and silly, and utterly charming. He was the king of hyperbole, over-the-top expressions, and outlandish euphemisms. I’d never met anyone like him. Ever. We belonged to very different worlds.

Yet Winnie seemed equally fascinated by me.

He peppered me with questions about the castle ruins down the street and didn’t run for cover when I explained that the site was previously a Merovingian necropolis.

“What the fuck is that?” he’d asked, petting the snoring dog in his lap.

“The ancient burial ground of the ruling family of the Franks.”

“How ancient?”

“Two thousand years old,” I’d replied.

Winnie’s mouth had dropped open. “Shut the front door. That’s creepy as fuck and also…super interesting.”

And that was it in a nutshell. Winnie made me feel…interesting.

Me.

Go figure.

Look, I knew who I was, and I’d long ago accepted that the subjects that captivated me had a very small audience. Winnie didn’t fit the description of a budding Egyptologist, and I wasn’t the date he’d choose to bring to a West Hollywood pool party. We were polar opposites, but for reasons that made absolutely no sense whatsoever, we fit .

For now, not for always.

Not to worry…I understood. And that was why I trudged to the shed to unearth the second bicycle, mumbling under my breath, “ Do not fall. Do not bloody well fall .”

After a shaky start with precarious wobbling and a minor drop into a shallow ditch, we were on our way.

We rode to the castle and made a loop around the keep. I pointed out the towers and the moat, and because I was me, I gave a brief history lesson about medieval architecture.

“The moat was the first line of defense, but you also had high towers, battlements, a drawbridge, arrow slits, and more.”

“Amazing. I call the round tower, top floors for the views, please. How about you?”

“I’ll take the next one over.”

Winnie beamed. “We can knock the wall down in between and put up a huge flat-screen.”

Rather than point out the difficulties involved in removing a castle wall, not to mention that this one was a UNESCO World Heritage site, or that I rarely watched television, I nodded solemnly. “Brilliant idea. I’m going to want a life-sized chess set.”

“Only if I can have a bowling alley.”

I pretended to consider his request. “Deal.”

I rode ahead of him, snickering as he whooped with glee behind me.

We continued along a single-lane road, passing fields with grazing cows and horses and modest homes partially hidden by enormous trees. The next village over was sorely lacking in medieval castles, but it had a boulangerie, a pizzeria, a post office, a market, and a few boutiques. It was also very dog friendly.

We left the bikes at the rack in front of the post office, put Beau on a leash, and set off to explore. I’d figured Winnie would lose interest quickly. There was nothing flashy or exciting here. This was a quiet provincial dot on a map where only a handful of residents spoke English. Winnie loved it.

“ Enchanté, enchanté, enchanté !” He pivoted on the sidewalk, one hand on his hip. “I could live here.”

“And what would you do for a living?”

“Cut hair. There’s no barber shop. They need me, and I’m easy, honey. They can pay me in cheese, bread, and wine. C’mon, you can tell me all about chalets while we check it out.”

“ Chateaus ,” I corrected, smiling the same silly smile I’d been sporting for days as he sashayed down the street like a runway model.

Winnie waited for me at the corner with his hand outstretched and a beguiling come-hither look on his face. For me. And yes, I was the one who was enchanted now. Utterly enchanted.

We strolled hand in hand through stores stocked with Eiffel Tower tees, felt berets, and kitschy Impressionist prints. Nothing high-end or fashionable, but better quality than at some of the tourist traps in the city. And the last boutique on the street sold colorful clothing that Winnie declared was magnifique.

“Alistair, they have your color. I swear this is it. This is you,” he commented, flattening a jumper against my chest.

“It’s blue.”

“No, no. It’s not plain ol’ blue. It’s sky blue and cornflower blue and…Egyptian blue.” Winnie arched a brow in challenge. “See, I listen. Try it on for me. Please.”

The salesperson descended on cue, and she understood enough English to insist that my friend was right. I figured it was easiest to go along with them. I pulled the wool-blend fabric over my head, chuckling at Winnie’s theatrical gasp.

“ C’est parfait !” the woman gushed.

“ Oui !” Winnie agreed. “It’s par-fay ! It’s the perfect hopper. ”

“Jumper?” I snickered as I pulled it off. “Thanks, but it’s not my taste. It’s too…colorful.”

He waggled his brows. “Trust me on this one. This color is your friend, honey.”

I glanced from the salesperson to Winnie to Beau, who was busy licking his balls, then shrugged. Why not?

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

Win flashed a radiant grin that made me feel like I was ten feet tall with a mega penis and a winning lottery ticket. Who was I?

Honestly, I didn’t recognize this version of myself. I’d ridden a bicycle, held hands with a man in public, and parted with cash for a jumper that would clash wildly with everything in my wardrobe. And I had zero regrets. In fact, my smile was too broad and my shoulders were set with a confidence I didn’t usually feel whilst dealing with everyday people in the real world.

This was the Winnie effect. My whirling technicolor dervish of a lover cast a spell everywhere he went, charming shopkeepers, waiters, seasoned archeologists, and anyone lucky enough to fall into his orbit.

Like me.

We returned to pack up our belongings and deliver Beau to his owners. I’d expected Francoise to be home now, but we’d missed her. She’d left a note on the kitchen table with instructions to leave Beau in the house as Jacques would be back within the hour.

The note was in French of course, and filled with nosy questions about my new friend along with the usual “It was nice to see you, don’t be a stranger” sentiments. She’d signed her name with a flourishing F, a heart on the I, and “ Bonne chance .”

I scribbled a quick thank you on the flip side of her note, no hearts, assuring her I’d hoped to visit again soon. I…not we. I ce rtainly didn’t respond to her queries regarding Winnie. For obvious reasons. I couldn’t explain what I didn’t understand.

I glanced at the man showering a stranger’s dog with nonsensical gibberish till Beau rolled belly up, tongue out, begging for more. Winnie delivered, slowly straightening and peering over my shoulder.

“ Bonne chance . Why is she wishing you good luck?”

“She knows I’m giving a speech or two at the conference. Small world, remember?”

Winnie pushed a strand of hair from my eyes and fussed with my shirt collar. “You don’t need luck. You’re going to be amazing.”

I could have scoffed and assured him that words like luck and amazing didn’t apply. I knew the material too well to falter. A few speeches in front of a crowd of likeminded scientists and historians was a walk in the park. It was the socializing I didn’t enjoy.

But Winnie was here now, and I couldn’t help thinking everything was going to be okay.