His mum had already lived well beyond the average life expectancy for someone with ALS, but Étienne had been optimistic about how much time she might have. I’m saddened to think that only six months after we parted ways, his hopes were shattered.
“Is that why you moved out of the river house? It looked deserted when I went back there.”
He nods. “I went to stay with my uncle for a while and then I came here. Actually, there,” he corrects himself, pointing with the hand holding his bottle at the white wall that he was leaning against earlier.
There’s a door, barely visible, flush to the wall.
“That’s an apartment?”
“A small one.”
“You must have an amazing view.”
“I do.”
“Can I see?”
“It’s dark outside.”
I smile at him. “I know that, but can I see your place anyway? I’m nosy.”
He shrugs and leads the way, unlocking the door with a key from his pocket. He holds it open for me to pass through before flicking on a light switch.
Aside from the partition wall separating this space from the showroom, the inside walls, high ceiling, and floor are all formed of the same raw concrete as elsewhere, but in here, the brutalist architecture is softened by the furnishings. On the right is a battered brown leather sofa and a coffee table sitting on a dark greenrug facing a wall of Crittall-style glass. On the left is a small kitchen with a modern island and bar stools, and above it is a mezzanine level with a short spiral staircase going up to what I’m guessing is his bedroom.
Étienne pulls the door closed behind us.
“Careful,” I warn, and he freezes, still clutching the handle. “Jackson already thinks that I want to have a holiday romance with a hot bartender. If he realizes I’ve come in here alone with you, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“He called me a hot bartender?” he asks doubtfully.
“Well, okay, that might have been my description,” I admit, blushing.
He smirks. “I’m not a bartender, I was just helping Lise out.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I can leave the door open, I just didn’t want anyone else to follow us in. This place is off-limits.”
“You know what? Let him wonder where I am. Keep him on his toes.”
He looks amused. “If that’s the game you want to play, let’s go back to the party this way.”
His giant window has a back door seamlessly integrated into the design. I follow him outside and into the warm night air and we walk along a patio running the length of the building. Through the glass panels in the garage doors, I catch sight of Jackson standing with Lise and a couple other people in the room with the Renault 5. He’s holding two cups. I’m hit with a pang of guilt—he went and got a drink for me and then I just upped and left him.
“You never told him about me.” I jump at the sound of Étienne’s voice. He’s come to a stop beside me.
I shake my head, still looking in at Jackson. It’s too light inside for anyone to see us out here in the relative darkness.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure about that, Grace?”
A shiver runs down my spine at the sound of my name being spoken in that low, deep tone of his.
“I came to your place to escape from Jackson and Chloe, not to bring the memory of them with me,” I reply.
