The next dayis Saturday and Jackson and I stick to the plan I suggested and set off fireworks from his balcony. They’re only little rockets that we picked up from the supermarket, but it does make us chuckle.
Later we find ourselves standing side by side, staring at thestars and the lights of the town. Our elbows are touching and I feel kind of skittish.
“Happy Fourth of July,” I say.
“Thanks.”
“Is it weird to now be the only American in your family?” I ask as I turn to face him.
“That’s not totally true,” he replies, mirroring me, his forearm still perched on the balustrade.
“Shit, sorry, I forgot about your dad.”
He looks amused. “It’s easier to forget someone you’ve never met.”
“I don’t like that I’ve never met your dad,” I say with a frown.
“I don’t like that I’ve never met your mum,” he replies with a smile.
“She’d love to meetyou,” I say significantly.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve told herallabout you.”
“What did you say?”
“That…we’re…friends,” I reply slowly.
“What else?” he asks with a laugh.
“That’s it. That we’re friends and that’s all we’ve ever been.”
He looks down at me. I can almost see the cogs whirring in his brain, and as I stare back at him, my jitters ramp right up. I have a funny feeling that whatever it is that he’s thinking about saying will change things between us.
“Do you ever—”
“Don’t we have sparklers?” I interrupt, looking around for the packet.
I don’t know why I just panicked, but as we both turn away to search our surroundings, it’s clear whatever that moment was has passed.
22
It’s Thursday, five days afterour Fourth of July fireworks bonanza, and Jackson and I are at a pizza restaurant in town, grabbing a bite to eat. We’ve just been to check on the progress on the pavilion—the restoration is coming along, although not particularly quickly. It’s summer, it’s baking hot: I’m not sure anyone wants to work outside right now.
It’s been a whole week since I last saw Étienne. I’ve reached out to him a couple of times, chasing Louis’s email address—which I could have got from Louis himself via text—and asking if he wants to come and see the pavilion in the daylight. Both times he took ages to respond and in his last message he revealed that he went to the pavilion earlier this week with Lise. I tried to start up a text conversation, asked how he was, and he replied that he was busy with work—after leaving me on read for three hours.
He’s left me on read today too. I messaged him this morning to say that I have the contract ready for him to sign, and then I found myself texting him when we decided to come here, suggesting he could drop by if he fancies a pizza. No reply.
I’ve really liked hanging out with him. I thought he likedhanging out with me too. Did Lise say something to him last week to warn him off? His sudden lack of engagement is making me feel kind of sick and uneasy.
I’ve also felt a bit rubbish this week because I know that it’s time I started looking for another job. I’d intended to try to line something up to go back home to, but the thought of leaving France right now is…
I can’t even bear to think about it.
Jackson is talking about the unit price of bottles. I’m finding it hard to concentrate. I surreptitiously check my phone again and see that an email has come in from Louis.
“Sorry,” I say, holding up a finger. “Email from Louis with the mock-up design.”
