“I know! Right, are we ready to move on to the pavilion?”
“Yep, all good,” Lise replies.
I turn and bump into Jackson. “Back up.” I give him a push.
“You’re too tiny to be a battering ram, Gracie,” he says with a chuckle, allowing me to maneuver him out of the tunnel.
He’s roped in a couple of factory workers to help at the pavilion—Lise gets a few shots of them removing the hoarding. As Estelle’s artwork is revealed, panel by panel, my mind turns to Étienne. He should be here to see this. Late-afternoon sunshine is streaming in from one side, making the colors seem extra vibrant. Lise works fast to capture the light before it disappears behind the nearby apartment blocks. This side of the river is always cast in shadow first—the mountains, if not the buildings, see to it.
I take a couple of shots myself and send them to Étienne, even though they won’t be a patch on what Lise will be able to show him in about half an hour.
I wish you were here, I write.
He replies:Yeah. Me too.
My urge to see him, to share this with him, is strong. My fingers move on autopilot.
I could come back with you later?I offer, even though I know that it won’t look the same without sunlight.
The minutes tick by without a reply.
“How about a drink?” Lise asks as she packs away her camera.
“Sounds good,” Jackson says. “Where are you thinking?”
“La Terrasse, of course,” Lise replies, pocketing her phone. “Étienne is saving us stools at the bar.”
I’m instantly nervy. Why didn’t he reply tomytext?
“I need to grab my stuff and drop the floodlights back,” Jackson says as we approach the factory. He didn’t leave them at the grotto as they’re a trip hazard. “You two go ahead. I’ll catch you up.”
Lise and I carry on alone.
She breaks the silence as we turn up the high street. “Sorry, but I’ve got to ask: what’s going on with you two?”
“Who? Jackson and me?”
“No, you and Étienne. He said he’s trying to help you make Jackson jealous.”
I feel a stab of betrayal. Hetoldher?
“I don’t know what he’s playing at,” she mutters, hoisting the strap of her camera bag farther up her inked shoulder. “But please be careful. He’s been through a lot.”
“What, you think—”
“Just be careful,” she repeats, flashing me a serious look.
I’m not used to someone I hardly know being this direct.
“He told me that Eve was his girlfriend,” I reveal as we step out of the way of some oncoming tourists.
She looks heartbroken. “Yeah, he trained her.”
He helped her win bronze? “I didn’t know he was a professional coach.”
“He’s not. But they started going out on the water together and he turned out to be a natural.”
“Wow.”
