“You’re not going to try to stop her?” I ask with surprise, feeling a small stab of sympathy for Sandrine.
He shakes his head. “Not this time. Space will be good. I will try to smooth things over before she leaves.” He reaches across and covers Étienne’s hand with his. “At some point we each need to let go of the past and enjoy the time we have left.”
“Grace said a similar thing,” Étienne replies, swiping my hand with his free one and lifting it to his lips. He presses a gentle kiss to my knuckles.
We smile at each other. When I return my gaze to Albert, he gives me a meaningful look.
“Does Jackson know?” He indicates Étienne.
“He does,” I confirm quietly.
He nods with acceptance, but his features are tinged with sadness.
I wasn’t aware that Albert knew of my history with Jackson—our near misses rather than our friendship. But it’s clear that he’s been a silent spectator all along, watching things play out over the years.
All of a sudden, his face breaks into a grin and he perks up. “At least we still keep it in the family, right?” He waggles his bushy eyebrows for effect.
I can’t help but laugh.
He leaves us to it eventually, claiming that he should probably go home and speak to his daughter, but he asks if he can visit Étienne at his garage sometime. He’s keen to see the ex-competition rally car Étienne bought recently and I wouldn’t be surprised if he, Étienne, and Mellie all ended up watching WRCtogether at some point. After seeing the Michèle Mouton documentary, I’m keen to watch a few stages myself.
Étienne and I stand on the doorstep and watch Albert drive away. He sticks his hand out of his window and waves vigorously until he disappears from sight. Étienne and I wave back at him and then drop our hands, laughing at each other.
“Do you like him?” I already know the answer, but I want to hear him say it.
He nods. “I do.”
“At least you won’t feel sick when you see him around town now. Or me, for that matter,” I add with a grimace.
His expression sobers. “I’m sorry I said that.” He pulls me into his arms. “I used to hate that you were the link between me and them, but now I’m glad that you’ve brought us together.”
“Like a stepping stone,” I say with a grin, standing on my tiptoes and pressing my nose to his.
He laughs and kisses me. “Swim,” he says firmly as he breaks away.
“All right, bossy.”
The sun has disappeared behind the mountains, but the river is warm. I’m standing up to my waist in water with my arms around Étienne’s neck. Goose bumps rush over my skin as we kiss each other, deep and slow.
My heart is full tonight.
I hope that, for the first time in a long while, his is too.
40
I’ve never seen Sainte-Églantine-les-Bains lookmore beautiful. It’s the launch party, and after spending all summer working toward this day, there’s a chance I might actually enjoy it. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks, but I think we’ve managed to pull everything together.
Festoon lights hang from the trees in the newly landscaped parkland opposite the factory, casting the pavilion in warm light. Inside the pretty cylindrical building is the first of our two yellow-neon-light installations. It hangs down from the domed ceiling, illuminating Estelle’s artwork perfectly, but all you can see from the outside is a golden glow. We’ve also lit up the Sainte Églantine on the wall of the restaurant with a spotlight and we even got permission to do the same with the mini painting on the bridge.
I’ve hired the band that usually plays on market nights and the whole place has a summer carnival feel about it. A marquee has been erected on the grass and I’ve lined up some vendors from the market to do the catering. I’m hopeful that the connections I’ve made will help to pave the way for future consultancy work.Jackson and Albert have encouraged me to carry on using the office at Château Angèle—I’ve agreed to manage Eau de Sainte Églantine’s social media accounts for the foreseeable future, but they’ve also insisted that I use the office as a base for my freelance work.
Jackson has to concentrate on the distribution side of the business now and will begin targeting new accounts, so he’s flying back to New York next week, but he’ll return before long and we’ll stay in touch—as colleaguesandas friends.
I teased him on Tuesday when he was asking me to run an errand that I absolutely did not have time for. He was looking up at me, his hands pressed together in a prayer.
“Don’t you bat your pretty eyes at me, Jackson Cole. I’m over it.”
He burst out laughing—it broke the ice.
