“I don’t want another relationship.”
“Étienne,” I say. I’m surprised by how much it sounds like a plea.
“Don’t fall for me.” His voice is low and serious and my heart drops like a stone.
I feel as though I’m standing at the threshold of his door. If I accept what he’s saying, he’ll let me come inside. If I don’t, it will close in my face.
“I hear you.” I try to sound airy as I sit up and reach for my bra. I’m not ready to let him go yet. “We’re keeping it causal. Don’t worry.” I throw him a smile over my shoulder when he doesn’t answer. “It’s what we said from the beginning.”
He sits up and grabs his T-shirt. I don’t know what to make of his expression as he disappears from sight.
33
The problem is, Idohave feelings for Étienne. And now I have to hide them or risk scaring him away.
I keep thinking of Lise’s predator-in-a-cage analogy, imagining him pacing back and forth, looking out at me warily, wondering how I’m going to hurt him.
Turns outI’mthe one in the cage.
What’sreallyfunny—not funny at all, actually—is that Jackson is suddenly being incredibly attentive. When I drove away from Les Saules yesterday, three texts buzzed in from him as I regained reception. The first was asking me if I was still free, the second reminded me that I said I’d come over for a swim, and the third was just my name with a question mark. Then I realized that he’d left a voicemail too:Just calling to check you’re okay…Ring me back.
I hadn’t felt like seeing him after how distant Étienne was when he’d dropped me back to Mellie’s—I left her car at the garage so Léo could do her tires today—so I declined his invitation, but this morning at work, he answered the front door to me himself.Usually it’s Patricia, but he’d obviously been waiting. The hug he swept me up in was brief but heartfelt.
All day he’s tried to make casual conversation, coming with me to the kitchen to make tea and coffee and occasionally laying a hand on my shoulder when I’m sitting at my desk and he’s passing to get something from the filing cabinets.
We haven’t brought up the conversation we had at La Terrasse on Saturday night—about him knowing that he broke my heart—but his actions are making it clear that he’s been thinking about it.
“Do you want to stick around for a swim?” he asks at the end of the day, just as my phone begins to vibrate with an incoming call.
“Hang on.” I flip it over to check the caller ID and my heart leaps:ÉTIENNE FOURNIER.
I’d added his surname to his contact details after his last garage party—it felt like one small way to lock down another piece of him.
“Mellie’s car is ready if you want to come get it,” he says when I answer. “Or I could drop it back to her if you prefer?”
“I’ll come get it,” I reply quickly, checking my watch. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“D’accord.”Okay.
He ends the call.
“Sorry, I can’t stay for a swim,” I tell Jackson as I begin packing away my things. “I’ve got to go and collect Mellie’s car from Étienne.”
“She goes tohisgarage now?” he asks with a frown.
I turn to see that he’s reclining in his chair, unfolding a paper clip.
“Yep.” I nod. “Another reason to tell your mum to keepher hands off it,” I say in a teasing tone that still has a bit of bite to it.
“We’re going to take a look at the hotel on Wednesday,” he reveals, looking down at what he’s doing and hastily putting the mangled piece of metal to one side. “If she likes it, he’ll be off the hook.”
“Well, either way, she’d better find something else,” I warn, slipping my laptop into my bag.
“I’ll make it clear,” he promises.
“Thanks,” I reply, noting his sincere expression.
He launches forward as though to say something, just as I get up from my chair.
