“I thought it was more about finding a quick shag.”
I splutter up my coffee.
“There, there,” she says with a chuckle, patting my back. “I just mean that a kind, clever, beautiful girl like you could snap a man up in a heartbeat.”
“Sadly, I have too many friends of that description who are still single.”
She huffs disbelievingly and changes the subject. “So what are we doing today? Sitting around the pool?”
“I haven’t been swimming at Château Angèle for years.” Not since I stopped coming in summer—the pool’s not heated.
But I don’t really feel comfortable going there when Jackson and Albert are out, not for the first time; I’d feel like I was trespassing.
“I actually wondered if you might like to throw some pottery with me this morning, before it gets too hot?” I suggest.
Her whole body perks up. “I’ve been working on a new range. Do you want to see?”
I beam at her. “I’d love to.”
5
Mellie and Albert are goingto the theater tonight on a trip they booked ages ago, so Jackson asks if I want to have dinner with him in town. I know it’s not a date, but it’s Friday night and I dress for the part anyway, styling my new shorter blond hair in tousled waves before choosing one of the prettiest items from my revamped wardrobe: a long turquoise pencil dress with a V-shaped neckline and buttons all down the front.
It cinches me in at the waist and hugs my thighs, but it’s a bugger to walk in and I say as much upon arriving at Château Angèle.
“Why don’t you jump on my back and I’ll give you a piggyback ride the rest of the way?” Jackson suggests with a grin.
I scoff. “What are we, ten? Anyway, if I try to wrap my legs around you in this, all my buttons will pop off.”
The look he gives me after raking his eyes over my outfit makes me feel suddenly hot, and I’m intensely aware of his presence right behind me as we make our way down the steep footpath into town.
We go to La Terrasse by the river and sit at an outdoor table under the trellis. The air is humid and scented with citronella from the large candles in terracotta pots on the ground that have been lit to ward off mosquitoes, and above our heads, fairy lights peek out from between the large green grapevine leaves.
To my left is the river, and to my right, on the other side of the road, is Thermalisme, Albert’s five-star thermal spa hotel. Sainte-Églantine’s mineral water was already renowned for its qualities when Jackson’s great-grandparents started bottling, selling, and distributing it, but the town only really thrived as a tourist attraction after Albert built Thermalisme.
It’s an architectural masterpiece, with interesting angles and gorgeous vertical dark-wood cladding, an improvement on the original drab building I remember from when I was younger. Sandrine got her hands on it about fifteen years ago and she’s still invested in the running of it from afar.
Every generation of the family has brought something new to the business, and now it’s Jackson’s turn.
I’m trying not to think too much about the pressure on his shoulders—or on mine.
“Do you think your mum would ever move here permanently?” I ask as Jackson rests his toned forearms on the wooden tabletop and smiles at me.
She flies back and forth, but the family has an office in New York with a team that handles distribution so she and Jackson are mostly based there.
He shakes his head. “She’s a New Yorker now.”
I smile. “She seems pretty French to me.”
“She’s actually interested in expanding Thermalisme, so that might bring her over here more often.”
A middle-aged waitress appears at our table. “Can I get you something to drink?” She’s French, but she asks in English.
“Shall we go for a bottle?” Jackson suggests to me as he takes one of the menus from her.
“Sure,” I reply. We walked, after all.
“Red, white, or rosé?”
