The last time I saw him was just before he set off on his honeymoon, when he came to Mellie’s to say goodbye. It was the morning after his wedding and I was a wreck, but I let him take me in his arms and hold me tight, and I remember thinking,This is the last time I’ll ever hug him like this.
I’m not sure that I’m ready for him to sweep me up in his arms again, and yet, suddenly, here I am, cocooned in his fierce embrace. The top of my head is tucked beneath his square, stubble-free jaw and my cheek is pressed against his warm neck. My hands act of their own accord, sliding around his waist, and the warmth of his firm body seeps straight through his linen shirt and into my skin.
Being this close to him after believing that he was lost to me forever is too much, and yet I can’t seem to loosen my grip. He smells of summer, and unrequited love, and lost hope, and with that thought I tense up and, finally, he releases me.
He doesn’t allow me to stray far though. His hands come up to cup my face, his fingers slipping into my new, shorter locks and making my skin fizz and tingle. His eyes are a dappled mix of brown and green and they catch the light, like sun streaming through a canopy.
The air crackles between us as we stare at each other, and there it is, that spark of chemistry that we’ve always had, along with too many missed opportunities to count.
“It is so good to see you again,” he says in a voice so low that it’s almost a whisper.
He sounds reverential.
I snap into action, taking another step backward and pulling his hands down from my face.
He’s immediately discomfited. “Sorry,” he says, showing me his palms.
“What for?” The last thing I want is for this to be awkward.
“For, I don’t know…” He scratches the back of his head. “Being too…friendly?”
I can’t help but laugh. He flashes me a grin, relieved.
The truth is, I like how familiar he was with me just now, even if it’s confusing. A part of me wants us to slip back into the way we used to be: playful and tactile. I sense that’s what he might have been hoping for too.
But there have also been other times when the line has been blurred between friendship and something more. I wonder if there’s any part of him that wants to slip back into that version of us. Maybe he’s trying to figure that out as much as I am.
It’s a sobering thought. I don’t want to be at the mercy ofhisdecisions—not again.
“Let’s go and find our grandparents,” I suggest, needing reinforcements.
As soon as we walk into the living room, Albert springs up from the sofa. The last few times I’ve seen him, he’s been layered-up for cooler weather, but now he’s decked out for summer in salmon-pink shorts and a cream T-shirt. This is Albert making an effort, but the rest of us are overdressed in comparison. His feet are bare, but he’s clean-shaven and has combed his white hair—I’m more used to seeing it fresh out of the swimming pool, blown into a mess in the hot breeze. He’s the most unassuming businessman you could imagine and I love that about him. He still goes to work at the mineral-water bottling plant each day.
I’ve known him since I was six years old when I came here formy first summer. Mellie had moved here a year earlier and she and Albert were already firm friends—they’d met when he’d walked up the road to say hello to the rescue donkeys she’d just brought home from a sanctuary. He’d heard them braying and had been curious. I still remember how Mellie had laughed when she relayed seeing him for the first time. His hair was so wild and his clothes were so shabby. When he told her that he lived in the château that she’d been ogling, she could barely believe it. But he invited her for breakfast the next morning and sure enough, it was true.
Whenever I came to stay, he insisted that Mellie and I use his swimming pool as though it were our own. He often hung out with us too—he’s young at heart, just like my grandmother; full of joie de vivre.
During my second summer at Château Angèle, Jackson’s mother, Sandrine, brought him over from New York for the first time in four years. My connection with Jackson was instant. I’d been horribly homesick here the year before, but it helped having a kid my own age to play with. More than that, Jackson brought me out of my shell. I was quite shy as a young child, but after that first holiday with him, I went home with a bit more bounce. I looked forward to seeing him the following year—and every summer after.
“My little Gracie!” Albert cries, coming over to give me a hug followed by two enthusiastic cheek kisses. Like his grandson he towers over me, but there’s a lot less muscle on his bones. “At last you have joined the family business! What I have always wanted.”
“Don’t start that again,” Jackson chides with a good-natured eye roll.
When we were younger, Albert used to tease us that one day we’d grow up and get married and would unite his two favoritefamilies. He stopped joking about it when we were teenagers and it became embarrassing.
“She’s on holiday until the week after next, remember,” Mellie pipes up.
It’s true—I decided I needed a break before getting stuck in. It’s Thursday, so I have precisely eleven days.
“Hello, Jackson,” Mellie says, rising to her feet with a smile.
“Hello, Mellie,” he replies amiably, giving her a hug. “It’s been a while. You look well.”
“Thank you. As do you. I’m sorry to hear about you and Chloe. How are you?”
“Getting there,” Jackson replies.
“Champagne?” Albert asks me in an oddly conspiratorial voice, waggling his bushy eyebrows.
