“You once told me that I needed to know when to walk away,” I point out.
“This is not one of those times. Trust me.”
I drag myfeet all the way to Château Angèle. I’m dreading seeing Jackson. It’s going to be so awkward.
It occurs to me that he might choose to go to the factory today—he probably wants to avoid seeing me too. The tiny spark of hope I feel is snuffed out when I round the corner and see him sitting on the wide stone steps, his right elbow propped on his thigh, his cheek resting on his palm. His face is already turned toward me. He would have heard me walking along the gravel drive—I’m fifteen minutes late.
He gives me a small smile, and yes, he looks uncomfortable.
But more than that, he looks sad.
My heart goes out to him.
Neither of us says a word as I walk over. He watches me until I sit down on the step beside him and then he faces forward, resting both forearms on his thighs. We stare at the fountain on the lawn directly in front of us.
He’s hunched over, but after a while he straightens up with a quiet sigh. The motion brings us closer, but I lean into him so our arms are fully pressed together. He moves his head slightly toward mine, his gaze directed downward. He’s looking at my leg as he speaks.
“I meant it.”
“Jackson…” My tone is plaintive.
He raises his chin and as his eyes lock with mine they send a shock wave coursing through my body.
“I’ve always loved you,” he says.
I rest my forehead on his shoulder—I can’t look at the pain racking his face for a second longer. I so wanted to hold all the cards, but there’s no joy in this. I hate seeing him suffer.
“We could give it a shot,” he murmurs.
His cheek is touching the top of my head. We’re practically breathing the same air. When I lift my face again, we’re inches apart.
“I’ve always loved you too,” I say with regret and his eyes cloud at my tone. “But that’s not the same as being in love.”
“Are you in love with him?” he asks reluctantly.
“I might be.”
His brow creases with agony as he averts his gaze.
“You don’t look at me the way he does,” I say, trying to explain. “You never have. And you don’t even come close to looking at me the way you looked at Chloe.”
“Grace, what I feel for you is much deeper than just a physical attraction.” He meets my eyes again. “Is it possible that’s all it is with Étienne?”
I swallow. “Not from my perspective.”
“I’m worried about him,” he says in a low voice. “About his motives. Please be careful.”
His sincerity gives me pause. It’s not sour grapes: he’s genuinely concerned.
Why has Étienne been trying to make Jackson jealous? He does seem to get a strange kick out of it. Is it because he’s competitive? Or could it be personal, as Jackson seems to believe?
Is it possible that Étienne bears a grudge like his uncle? Everytime I mention Jackson or his family or even Eau de Sainte Églantine, his expression darkens.
But then, why would he sign the contract? If he really wanted to screw Jackson over, he could have let us proceed with the design and pulled out at the last minute. It doesn’t make sense.
Maybe it’s as simple as Étienne feeling as though he lost out to Jackson ten years ago. He was upset enough to ghost me back then, after all.
When it comes down to it, I wouldn’t change a thing about the path I’ve taken this summer. I quit the job I didn’t want, decided to spend more time in a place I love, and I’m establishing a career that I’m already incredibly proud of. I have so much to be thankful for.
