He’s finally home.
He can’t sleep or he’ll suffer from jet lag the entire weekend, so Julien gives himself another minute to enjoy being home before forcing himself upright and over to his drawers.
They’re blessedly full, and he thanks his past self for doing laundry before the season started. No matter how often he washed the gym clothes he lugged from country to country, they never felt truly clean.
Fresh shorts, fresh shirt, trainers, earphones—let’s go.
As Julien jogs down the uneven street, his blood stirs awake and his excitement grows.
For the first time in over a month, he knows his route. He knows which uneven slabs of pavement to watch for, and he knows how long any path will take.
Every familiar stone grounds him better than a hotel treadmill ever could.
Julien aims for the marina. The city is devoid of tourists so early in the morning and he longs for sea air to fill his lungs. One street, then another, then another. It takes Julien a while before he can spot the water, but when he does, he pushes himself faster.
The yachts seem larger than normal. Either his memory is getting worse or the visitors in town for the race have significantly more money than the usual inhabitants.
Considering the usual inhabitants have yachts, that's really saying something.
Julien doesn’t usually exert too much energy during a race week, but what’s the point of reaching the marina if he doesn’t run alongside the boats? His legs burn, but it’s a welcome ache—something bone-deep that assures him he’ll be a better man tomorrow than he is today.
Curious faces turn as he dodges pedestrians. That’s new. Usually the locals ignore the odd jogger. Then again, Julien has been in the press more often lately.
His music pauses, and Julien slows to a stop as his phone rings. Fumbling, he retrieves the device, slightly disappointed to see it’s his mother calling.
Well, who else was he expecting?“Allô?”
“Were you not going to tell me you flew in this morning?”
“I just landed.”
They've only just started the conversation, but Julien can already tell this is going to be a whole thing. He shuffles over to a covered bench and collapses on the seat.
“Thomas said he’s already at the hotel.”
Of course Thomas tattled on him. Nothing ever changes.
“I’m not with Thomas. I’m staying at my apartment.”
“And you didn't invite him to stay with you?”
Julien gapes. “I only have one bed!” He isn’t some fancy full-time driver with mansions and private suites to stow people in. He can’t even afford a couch with both apartment leases sucking his account dry.
“It’s only polite.”
“Maybe next time.” Never, but it’s better just to concede and move on. “Well, I’m in town. Is that all? Will I see you at the track?”
“Of course that is not all.”Of course.“Will you be bringing a guest tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“For dinner at the house.”
Did Julien know about this? Maybe his invitation got lost in the mail. “A guest?”
“Matthieu needs to know how many people to cook for. It was Thomas’s idea—he said there was someone special he’d like everyone to meet.”Everyone but Julien, apparently.“Will you be bringing someone as well?”
Someone special?
