We follow him through the tide of people to the other side of the park, where the noise of the market fades away and the crowd thins out.
“Where are we going?” Jackson asks as we cross the road and walk between two buildings.
“To a bar.” Étienne nods ahead at an external staircase that zigzags up the mountainside. “It’s my friend Charles’s birthday.”
He takes his time to pronounce the last three words, but I still detect a slur.
“How long have you been out?” I ask with a laugh as he starts taking the steps two by two.
“Since five.” He casts me a grin over his shoulder.
“Are you sure he won’t mind us gate-crashing?” Jackson calls after him.
“Not at all,” Étienne replies.
Loud music and the sounds of a busy bar can be heard as we approach the top.
“I didn’t even know this was here,” I say.
“Most tourists don’t. But we locals know that it has the cheapest beer in town.”
Étienne leads us into a dark, grungy room crammed with wooden tables and chairs. The Tour de France is playing on a muted flat-screen television mounted to the wall and Jackson’s head swings toward it as we pass. I don’t follow the cycling, but he and Albert do.
Candles burn away in red containers on most available surfaces and in the light of one I can make out Charles and Raphaël, as well as Dion, the rally-car driver, with his curly brown hair and thick dark eyebrows—Mellie was very excited to hear I’d met him. They’re crowded around a table in the corner along with a few other people, but there’s no sign of Lise. I can’t help but feel relieved that it’s busy at La Terrasse on market nights.
Étienne deposits Jackson and me at the table before heading to the bar with our drinks order. Everyone shuffles over to make room and I find myself sandwiched between Raphaël and Jackson.
“We were near your kayak-hire place a couple of weeks ago,” I say to Raphaël, trying to make conversation.
He nods. “I know. Étienne said he wants to take you next week.”
“You’re going kayaking?” Jackson interrupts, surprised.
“Sounds like it,” I reply, trying to mask how pleased I am. “Did he say when?” I ask Raphaël.
He shrugs. “It’s better to avoid the weekend. He asked if I can bring you back on the bus.” He means that he’ll collect us and the kayak from downriver so we don’t have to paddle upstream.
I find myself locked in a stare with Étienne as he returns to the table. He places his hand on my shoulder as he passes me a cider and Jackson a beer, retaining a bottle for himself. His thumbvery subtly brushes my collarbone and goose bumps spread outward from the spot.
I look up at him, wanting to tease him about making plans without me, but then his touch is gone and he is too. Disconcerted, I turn to see him pulling up a chair at the other end of the table beside a girl with curly dark hair. My neck feels stiff with the effort it takes to turn back to Jackson.
“I like that dress,” he says casually.
I stare at him. I’m not sure Jackson has ever complimented me on what I’m wearing. Telling me that my orange bikini willgive a guy a heart attackdoesn’t count.
“You’ve seen it before,” I reply. It’s the same blue, green, and yellow one that I wore on my first night here—it comes to the midpoint of my thighs, is snug around my bust, and has thick enough straps that I can still wear a good bra. It’s probably the most flattering thing I own.
“I know.” He brings his bottle to his lips, but keeps his eyes on mine as he drinks. “I liked it then too.”
“Thanks,” I reply edgily.
“I’ve always liked your style,” he adds, huddling in closer.
Raphaël has turned back to Dion and everyone is speaking fast in French so I don’t feel like we’re being rude by talking among ourselves.
“No, you haven’t,” I protest with a laugh. “You used to poke fun at my swimming costumes relentlessly.”
“That was when we were kids,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. “I had no clue what I was doing back then.”
