Page 2 of Catching Trouble

I fought a smile. I knewallof those.

We both turned to the barista. He scowled back, then at the machine, before storming off, sucking his finger.

“He might need medical help,” I said to the woman.

She threw up her arms. “How do you treat a bruised ego?”

I huffed a laugh. “Probably not with cold water or ice cubes.”

The edges of her lips quivered, threatening a smile.

I turned toward the beach, ready to leave. I could survive a delayed caffeine hit. “I’ll leave you to it,” I called over my shoulder. “Nice machine. If you want to get rid of the steam, turn off the tap on the far left.”

Working in countless cafes around the world had its upsides. I knew coffee machines like an accountant knew spreadsheets.

The hiss of the steam lessened, and the woman’s voice rangout behind me, her thick French accent clinging to her words. “Go to the end of the beach. You’ll find some rocks. Climb over, and you’ll see a hidden cove. It’s perfect for a morning swim.”

I turned and grinned. “Merci. I’ll come back for a coffee later.”

She gave me a nod, then returned to work.

Me? I stared at the water again—its glittering glory singing to me like a siren. One good thing about being on the road for so long? With the slightest chance of visiting the coast on a hot day, I dressed for action, wearing a bikini under my outfit.

Yes, sir. I was armed, dangerous, and ready to snorkel.

With a spring in my flip-flops, I hopped onto the beach, heading to the end of the cove and the promise of a cool swim. The pebbles crunched and slipped under my feet as I made my way to the shade of some umbrella pines. The fishermen on the rocks waved and I returned the gesture.

Had I died and gone to heaven? Perfect beach and perfectly lovely locals.

My phone rang, and I glanced at the screen, leaning against the warm rocks. Seeing the caller’s name, my stomach dropped.

I let Mum go to voicemail, hoping the act wouldn’t land me on the naughty-list at Christmas.

Her call would be the usual well-intentioned inquisition.“What are you doing? When are you coming home?”Followed by the inevitable,“When are you going to settle down with a nice man and die of boredom?”

I chuckled. Okay, maybe Mum wouldn’t put it like that, butIwould. I didn’t have a problem with falling in love—at least in principle. It was everything that came along with it that terrified me. The stability. The safety. The forever stuff.

All my single friends dreamed about was true love and weddings.But I’d always been a little different. I craved excitement. New scenery. New faces. I was only in my early thirties.Settling down would be like clipping a bird’s wings. I wasn’t ready to be caged.

Stepping into the sun, I came to the end of the beach. It afforded me two choices. Either I could climb over the rocks as the lady at the club suggested, or I could climb the stone steps disappearing up the hillside.

I studied their path. The cliff was as tall as a skyscraper and little cottage-like villas—pink, white, blue—perched along its face. Bright flowers spilled from their gardens. As a result, the cove looked like someone had attacked it with an ice cream scoop, then added sprinkles.

With only an early breakfast baguette fuelling my body, those steps looked steep. Nope, I’d stick to the rocks.

As I moved off, my phone vibrated again. This time it was Iris. I picked up her call with a grin.

“Tell me you got there safely,” she said, her voice a little breathy. “Luc’s still furious you didn’t take the jet.”

I smiled. My best friend had a private plane on permanent standby—and a husband who clearly worshipped her. She’d obviously done something wonderful in a former life.

“Is he there?” I asked.

“No. He’s up in his tower, painting as usual.”

Luc wasn’t just a billionaire, but a very successful artist.

“But he wanted to know if you’d met Maxime yet.”