Her heart ached for him. She was still reeling, but also hopeful. “You should have told me. You’re my father. You’re the best father in the world. You deserve to know what love feels like.” She paused. “The kind of love that made Jace sacrifice himself to save me.”

“This is why Michel and I wanted to tell you. So that ‘never’ would change to ‘now.’”

She looked at his handsome face, his tearstained cheeks, his smiling mouth. She still saw the father she had known all her life, but there was something new about him. Something different. A lightness. A clarity.

“I don’t know what more to say,” she said.

His mouth formed a tremulous smile. “You don’t have to say anything. The way you’re looking at me right this moment tells me everything.”

Cousin Petra was a trip, thought Finn. She talked the whole way from Marseille, but it was all about her lawyer husband, her cranky mother who had lived with them until she passed away at the age of ninety-eight, the heat wave that was sweeping over the region, the unfortunate state of the Church these days, and the shifting political landscape of the EU. By the time he got her to Sauveterre, he was ready for a beer. He left the old lady with Camille and Julie and went to the kitchen to find a cold brew. When he turned around, there stood Camille’s father.

“Is there another?” Henry asked.

“Here you go. Blanc de Belges—my favorite summer beverage.”

“I’d like to have a word with you, and words always go better when paired with a cold beer.”

Great, thought Finn. A word. After you’d been banging a guy’s daughter, the guy usually wanted to have more than a word. Finn opened the bottles and lifted his. “Cheers. What’s on your mind?”

“My daughter, Camille. She—”

“Sir, I know how this must look to you,” Finn said, wishing he’d initiated the conversation sooner. But his feelings for Camille had exploded with such swiftness and intensity that he’d barely had time to draw breath, much less have a serious conversation with her dad. “Henry, I’m sorry I haven’t said anything yet. I should have told you from the start how much I care for Camille. She’s amazing, and I never expected to feel this way. It probably seems sudden to you, and it’s early days, but I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with her. I want to be part of her future. Hell, I want to be the best thing that ever happened to her. That’s my hope, anyway.” After that awkward stream of nervous talk, he downed half the beer in one go.

Henry took off his glasses and polished the lenses with his handkerchief. His expression was bemused. “Then we have even more to talk about than I realized.”

“Oh, you mean this wasn’t about—” Finn was in new territory. He had been since the day he’d met Camille. But it wasn’t just Camille. She had a daughter. Finn had lain awake at night, mulling it over. Did he want to take this on? A widow with a teenager? “Look, if you’re worried about Julie—”

“I intended to speak of something else,” said Henry. “However, it’s good to hear that you think so highly of Camille and Julie.”

Finn felt a beat of concern. If this was something else . . . He knew how much she worried about her dad. Shit, maybe his illness had taken a turn for the worse. “Are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” said Henry, putting his glasses back on. “I came out to her today.”

There were speechless moments, and then there were speechless moments. Finn’s brain stopped working as he tried to figure out how to react. Finally, he gave up trying to think and simply guzzled the rest of his beer. Setting the bottle on the counter, he said, “Okay, cool.”

Henry burst out laughing. “Just so you know, you are not doing such a good job at acting cool.”

Crap. Whatever. “Sorry. You caught me by surprise.”

His laughter subsided. “No need to apologize. It’s a relief to be able to laugh about it. I confess that for the first time in my life, I know what it feels like to be falling, the way you’re falling for Camille.”

“Okay, so . . . wow. Cool.” Finn put his beer bottle in the recycle bin.

“Camille and I will tell Julie together,” Henry said. “Ah, my two girls. Perhaps I waited longer than I should have to come out, but my life unfolded exactly as it should have. Camille and Julie have been everything to me. Every breath I take. Every beat of my heart.”

“Sir, they’re both special. I realized that the first time I met Camille.” Then he remembered his anger about the ruined film. “Okay, maybe the second time.”

Henry sipped his beer. “I wish I could stay with them longer.”

Damn. “Are you all right? Listen, if you’re not well, we need to get you to a doctor.”

“No, you listen. There will be time enough for that conversation, and the time is not now. However, I am a realist. I know I won’t always be here for her.”

“I will.” Finn blurted the words, yet they felt as true as any statement he’d ever made. “I won’t mess her up. That’s a promise.”

Henry studied him briefly, then held out his hand to shake Finn’s. “I choose to believe you. And I already suspect you’ve won her heart. Now you must win her trust.”

“I assure you, this is perfectly safe,” Finn said to Petra, helping her into the ATV for a tour of the estate.

Camille watched the old lady being hoisted into the open conveyance. Finn was being particularly gallant, and Petra was a surprise, to say the least. She seemed a good deal younger than eighty-two, healthy and reasonably spry, with milky-blue eyes and white hair in a pinned-up braid. Best of all, she had not hesitated to offer her recollections to Papa’s story. Today, she wanted to take a ride to the far vineyards, because she remembered it was the site of Lisette’s daily walks.

With Finn driving the four-wheeler and Petra in the front seat, Camille climbed into the back. Wearing a bonnet tied in place with a bright ribbon, the old lady scanned the sunlit landscape as they drove to the uplands, where the Clairette and Marsanne grapes grew. During the war years, those vineyards had been abandoned, yet according to Petra, Lisette seemed drawn to them.

“It is nice to be back,” she said. “I’m glad for this chance to see little Henri again. That is what he was called—little Henri. He was a lovely child, and I feel terrible about the way he was treated, like a servant in his own household, ruled with an iron fist by my mother.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Not to mention the way the kids at school treated him. I wish I had been kinder. More protective. But when he was in school, I was a typical self-absorbed teenager, though that’s no excuse.”

“Do you remember Didier at all?” asked Camille.

“Certainly. Uncle Didier was very proud and quite vain. He used to stand at the mirror in the front hall and strike poses. Maman said he was loyal to his family and a good steward of Sauveterre. He did have a mean streak and I learned to keep my distance.” Her expression softened, and she added, “I was fond of Tante Lisette and her parents, Monsieur and Madame Galli. Lisette was young and so pretty. She had a way of finding the fun in everyday things. She taught me to make a crown of flowers, for example, and to sing songs. Her favorite was ‘Dis-moi, Janette.’”

“That’s one of Papa’s favorites, too. All these little details bring Lisette to life.”

“She always seemed to be writing letters as well as taking pictures.”

“Who was she writing to?” Finn asked. “Any ideas?”

“No, but since your discovery about Henri, I imagine the letters were to the man who fathered him. Is that terribly romantic of me? I would hate to think that she’d been forced by one of the soldiers. Some women were.”

They stopped at a vineyard that was bordered by the woods and stream; Petra claimed this had been Lisette’s favorite place for long, solitary walks. They walked amid the vines, which were vibrant and already heavy with grapes. Petra brought them to a pile of unmortared stone. “This was destroyed by a bomb the day the Allies came,” she said. “It was the only thing Sauveterre lost in the war. My friends and I used to play among the rubble here. Come, I’ll show you a mysterious thing we found, if it’s still here.”