The Billionaire's Secret by Ava Miles Page A

French…”
    “I will call him and draw you a little map to the church.” He immediately took his phone out and called Father Charles. She was catching more words in French, but he was speaking so fast. Her brain felt like it was ready to explode, especially after all she’d learned today.
    “He said to ring the bell to his residence. It’s a small gray stone house with a blue door, off to the right of the church. If you feel so called, ma petite, give him four of the loaves. Keep one for you and your man. And then take the remaining one and lay it at the feet of the Madonna in the courtyard behind the church. Even though St. Honore is the patron saint of bakers, our Lady loves those of us who make bread as well.”
    Margie had never grown up in organized religion, but she felt oddly moved. While in Mexico, she’d been surrounded by the rituals and faith of the people there. She’d never felt a part of it, being an outsider, but she’d respected the reverence people had for Mary and the saints.
    “There’s a patron saint of bakers?”
    Andre laughed. “There’s a patron saint for everything, and while I’m no regular church goer anymore, the roots of the old traditions still run through my veins like they run through all of Paris. If you know where to look, you will see this everywhere. The Green Man. Various gods and goddesses. Jesus. The saints. Angels. Paris has been around longer than the Catholic church.”
    She remembered Evan mentioning how an Egyptian goddess had been honored on the site where Notre Dame was now built. “I will have to pay more attention.”
    “Sometimes you don’t have to pay attention, ma petite. What wants your attention will always find a way to capture it. This town has magic. I hope you will allow it to feed your soul.”
    Rare tears popped into her eyes. She was holding the loaves she’d made in her arms like they were her children. It was only the first day of her apprenticeship, and she already felt transformed by the experience.
    “Andre…I don’t have the words to thank you. This apprenticeship and you…”
    “Come now, ma petite,” he said thickly. “You will make me cry too. I share with you all I know because it was shared with me. And now you will share it with others. And we will feed the world from the love we have for the bread, as we are meant to do. Now go. All this emotion is making me long to head to the park with my family so Belle and I can watch our children play.”
    The others had left the shop after it closed at three, but Andre had insisted Margie spend just one more hour there so he could show her his grandmother’s hand-written recipes. The cards had yellowed with age, and the ink was smeared in places from a stray drop of water here and there. She’d felt honored Andre would show her these prized treasures. Recipes were magical time capsules, and one day, Margie decided, she wanted to give her hand-written recipes to her children after teaching them how to make bread. It would be another part of this new legacy she was a part of.
    After collecting her purse, she stepped outside with him and watched him lock the shop. People were walking on the street, chatting in French. Laughter reached her ears, and she turned to see a young girl skipping with a red balloon in her hand next to her mother. The charming sight brought a smile to her lips, and she nodded to them as they passed by.
    Andre kissed her on both cheeks. “I will see you at three, ma petite. Enjoy your time with the Madonna. And your man.”
    “But you start at two!” she protested.
    “You are still adjusting to baker’s hours and the time change. The extra hour will allow me the time to get some things started so I can give you more of my attention. Don’t frown, ma petite. I want to give you my attention. Ask Belle. I love to hear myself speak.”
    She laughed. “All right then. I will see you at three, not two.”
    “Now go left and follow the directions I gave you,” he