He stares at me. “And are you?”
“Fuck off.” I splash him.
He splashes me back, smirking, and then he swims away.
“I’ve commissioned a friend of Louis’s to do the mosaic, by the way,” I call to him.
He turns around, treading water. His dark hair is wet and falling into his eyes. He shoves it back. “For thebuvette?”
“Yes. We plan to do a grand reveal at the launch party.”
“When’s that?”
“The last Saturday in August.” That’s just over six weeks from now. “You’d better come.”
He turns and disappears under the water.
The sun beatsdown on us as we kayak on. Soon we enter the Gorges de l’Ardèche, where the high land plateaus out and we’re surrounded by thick oak forest, scrubland, and sheer walls of apricot-and-gray marbled limestone. This is Europe’s Grand Canyon, and I feel very small within it.
High overhead a bird of prey flies, its feathered wingspan stretching wide in the clear blue sky. I assume it’s an eagle until Étienne tells me that it’s a vulture. We spot a falcon too, and we’re keeping an eye out for beavers and otters.
Occasionally we see a dark cave in the cliff side, which makes me wonder how many other masterpieces of humanity might still be out there, waiting to be discovered.
It’s scorching hot and I’m worried about getting sunburned, so when we next stop, I get my sunscreen out of my bag and reapply it to my arms and legs.
There were a lot more people back upriver. It’s been ages since we’ve seen another kayaker.
“I might go for another swim. Would you mind applying some sunscreen to my back?” I ask Étienne.
I notice a moment’s hesitation before he nods and comes toward me, holding out his hand.
I take off my T-shirt again and turn around, hyperaware of the sound of cream squeezing out of the bottle and onto his palm. Then his hands are on my shoulders and I bite back a moan.
“Do you want me to do you?” I ask as his calloused fingers run over my skin.
My voice sounds as if I’ve smoked a packet of Chloe’s cigarettes.
“Nah, I’ll be all right.” His also sounds a bit rough.
I look over my shoulder at him. “Do you dislike being touched?”
He snorts and lets me go. “What?”
“Every time I touch you, you recoil.”
He balks. “That’s not true,” he replies with a frown.
“Okay, well, some of the time then.”
“It’s not because I don’t like being touched.”
“So you’re not lacking physical affection?”
“What sort of physical affection are you talking about?”
My face heats at his low tone. I can’t see his eyes behind his dark sunglasses now, but his lips are tipped up ever so slightly at the corners.
“Any sort. A hug,” I reply with a roll of my eyes, determined not to let him derail me. “I think I’d die if I never got another hug. Mellie’s are the best.”
