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Dordogne, France

November 5

A fter a quiet dinner at the kitchen table, Miles found Reynard on the terrace. Unfolding the cashmere throw, he spread it over Reynard’s lap. “There’s a chill tonight.”

“I barely remember autumn. Now winter is here. It goes fast, my son.”

Miles turned a patio chair and sat beside his old friend. “I have something to ask you.”

Reynard smiled, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. “I was hoping.”

“She’s mine, Reynard. She always had been. I’m going to marry Clara. I’d like your blessing.”

Reynard turned his wheelchair slightly and met Miles’s gaze. “I’ve known it for so long and waited patiently for your paths to merge. You were so far apart at the beginning. Now you walk side by side.”

“Yes,” Miles replied. “We do.”

Reynard coughed as he chuckled. “I don’t know that a blessing from an old crook means much.”

Miles squeezed the old man’s forearm. “It means everything. To both of us.”

Reynard patted his hand. “You’ll protect her.”

It wasn’t a question, but Miles answered just the same. “With my life.”

“You have my blessing and my love.” Reynard turned the chair and moved to the doors. “You two are the best of me. It has truly been my honor.”

T wo days later, Reynard died peacefully with Clara and Miles at his bedside.