I don’t think Étienne was expecting to meet my grandmother,especially not at this hour, but the way he springs out of his GTi to be introduced…it’s Jackson-level bouncy.
“What a cool car!” Mellie coos.
“Thanks.” He folds his arms, looking at it. He’s wearing a powder-blue T-shirt and gray shorts. “It was my mother’s.”
“Your mother had good taste.”
“Yeah, she was into cars.”
I can’t stop staring at him. It feels as if it’s been an eternity since Sunday.
“I didn’t know your mum was into cars,” I say. I’d always thought it was more his grandfather and uncle’s remit.
“Yeah. I grew up watching WRC with her,” he tells me with a smile, jiggling his leg.
He’sdefinitelyhad a coffee. A double-shot espresso from the looks of him.
“She liked rallying?” Mellie asks with interest.
“She was obsessed,” Étienne replies. “Michèle Mouton was her hero.”
Mellie gasps. “She’s mine too!”
“Who’s Michèle Mouton?” I ask.
Both Mellie and Étienne do a fast upper-body swivel to stare at me in disbelief.
“Who’s Michèle Mouton?” Étienne asks me with incredulity.
“Only the greatest female racing driver to have ever lived!” Mellie exclaims. “She was a rally-car driver. We’re watchingQueen of Speedwhen you get home.” She jabs her finger at my shoulder to illustrate how serious she is.
“Ah, that’s such a great documentary,” Étienne enthuses, nodding his approval.
“Come and watch it with us,” Mellie suggests. “We need to educate my granddaughter.”
“Okay, sure,” he agrees amiably.
My God, he’s cute.
“How did you get into rallying?” he asks Mellie.
“My friend Albert introduced me. He lives right there, at the château.” She points at the mansard rooftop. “We watch all the stages together.”
Étienne is suddenly looking more edgy-jumpy than happy-bouncy so I hurry things along. “We should get going.”
“Have you got everything?” he asks me.
He sent a text last night with a list: water bottle, sunscreen, hat, sunglasses, change of clothes, swimming costume, towel, shoes that I don’t mind getting wet, plus dry ones.
“Yep.”
He holds out his hand for my bag. I pass it over, and we both jerk as our fingers brush.
“How much coffee have you had this morning?” I ask as he reverses back up the hill at speed.
“None. I’ve brought a flask with me. Why?”
“No reason.” I stare out of the front window.
