As my unease dies away, I realize that whatever happens, I’ll survive.
“If things don’t work out with Étienne, I think I’ll be okay,” I say.
“I’ll be here for you, either way,” Jackson replies.
35
Jackson and I are gentlewith each other over the next couple of days, but then we have to throw ourselves back into work—it’s early August and the launch is in three and a half weeks.
Étienne has gone to check out an ex-competition rally car with Dion in Toulouse and I figure it’s probably a good thing that I have some space to process everything. I can’t deny that Jackson’s fears about his motives have been playing on my mind. But if Mellie is right, and Étienne is holding back because of my feelings for Jackson, I somehow need to convey that he has nothing to worry about.
On Thursday night, I’m standing outside Mellie’s stall at the market when a strong arm wraps around me from behind. I squeal as Étienne pulls me against his chest and lifts me off my feet.
“I’m stealing her away!” he jokily calls to Mellie as he walks backward a few paces.
Mellie and I are both laughing as he sets me on my feet. I spinaround and he grins and plants a kiss on my lips, his hands on my waist.
“That reminded me of when we went swimming ten years ago,” I say with a smile. “Do you remember acting out rescuing me?”
“Oui,” he replies. “And I rememberyoudoing the same withme. It was very hard to stay still,” he says with meaning.
“When did you get back?”
“Yesterday,” he replies. “I saw you from over there.” He nods toward the outdoor café behind the bandstand.
He saw me throughthiscrowd? That takes the sting out of him not telling me that he was home.
He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone, seeming a little hesitant. “Can you come with me for a bit?”
“Where to?”
“Margot and François have just got engaged.” François is his graphic designer friend who’s been working on our online graphics. “We’re celebrating. Join us for a drink?”
“I’d love to.”
“I’ll just say hi to Mellie.” He breaks away and jogs over to her stall. I hear her call out a warm “Bonsoir, Étienne!” and as I watch he ducks behind the counter to say a proper hello. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Mellie’s eyes are dancing as she smiles up at him. She directs this smile toward me as Étienne jogs back over and snatches my hand.
The festoon lights strung from the branches of the plane trees are bright over our heads and the band is playing its usual repertoire of traditional French music as we weave through the market toward the café. Étienne’s friends are spread out around a few small tables and as soon as Dion spots me he’s on his feet and giving up his red plastic chair, hunting another out for himself. Everyone elserises to greet me with kisses, and François and Margot both accept warm hugs as I congratulate them. As I sit down, I can’t help but think that if this was such a casual thing between Étienne and me, why would he keep bringing me into his circle of friends?
The love he has for his “brothers,” as he calls them, is strong. He and his friends live by the motto of France:Liberté,Égalité,Fraternité.Liberty, Equality, Fraternity.
If Étienne feels love for his friends, and he counts me as a friend too, surely he’s capable of loving me?
It’s Sunday justover a week later. We stayed at Les Saules last night for the first time together. Étienne had arranged for a new double bed to be delivered to replace his childhood single.
He’s still asleep, but I’ve been trawling through the pictures Léo has sent me, trying to figure out how best to curate Garage du Rallye’s Instagram account. Would it work better to feature each car restoration as a single project on the grid? Or should it be a bit more haphazard so that he can include other things that interest him too? I imagine photographs of his rows of Michelin Men, vintage posters and old ceramic signs, as well as close-ups of the faded painted advertisements on the outside walls. This is going to look so cool.
We forgot to close the shutters last night—actually, we didn’t forget, we just had other more pressing things to do—but now I glance out of the window and see that the foothills are bathed in light. The sun hasn’t reached the house yet so it’s still relatively cool.
I look across at Étienne, assuming that he’s still sleeping peacefully, but I’m surprised to see that his eyes are open andthere are small furrows between his brows as he stares out of the window.
“Good morning,” I say.
He starts and turns toward me. “Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
