“What?”
“Paper clips. You unfold them when you’re anxious.” I stare pointedly at the two on his desk.
He glances down and his brow knits. “Who says I’m anxious?”
“You don’t have to say, I just know.”
His frown deepens. “Why do you think I’m anxious?”
“There’s a lot riding on this. It’s probably your biggest contribution to the business to date; changing the branding ishuge.”
“You’vedone most of it.” He looks fleetingly vulnerable.
“That’s my job, but you’re pulling it all together, and your halo idea for the bottle is great. That’s going to form a big part of the marketing.”
He had this idea to put a yellow ring around the bottle above the etching of Sainte Églantine. Now we’re taking it further, incorporating it into other areas of the design, including two light installations. We’re having circular yellow neon lights made that will hang down from the center of the ceilings in both the pavilion and the grotto. The grotto one will be huge—it will light the entire interior space. I spent an hour this morning trying to find someone who can custom-make the lights in time for the launch, finally locating a company on the outskirts of Paris. I’ve also lined up Étienne’s graphic designer friend François to mock up some simpler branding for the website that integrates the halo. It’s been a solid day’s work, and it has been aneffortto stay focused.
He spoke to me in French…
I experience full-body shivers when I think about his voice, murmuring in my ear. It drove me crazy.
He’s coming over tonight to watch that Michèle Mouton documentary. I texted him earlier to check he could still make it. He replied within the hour, which was a relief. I’ve had a just-before-the-party feeling inside me all day.
At seven o’clockon the dot, my ears prick up at the sound of Étienne’s GTi coming up the winding mountain lane leading toMellie’s property. I’m on the terrace when he pulls to a stop. What happened to his usual timekeeping? I wasn’t expecting him for another ten minutes.
“Hello,” he says in a low voice as he gets out of the car. “How are you?”
“I like it when you speak French to me.”
He looks amused. “Ça va?” He repeats himself, touching his hand to my waist as he bends down to give me two gentle cheek kisses. He doesn’t brush the edges of my lips, but my skin burns anyway.
“Better,” I reply, leading him inside.
“Bonsoir!” Mellie cries from the other side of the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel as she comes over to greet him. He’s brought a bottle of rosé. “Ooh, you know us too well,” she says gratefully as she air-kisses him and takes the offering. “I’m just making some popcorn, but go through to the living room.”
Étienne looks around, taking in the colorful wall hangings and ornaments. His gaze travels to the fireplace. “That’s cool.”
The living room is partly open to the kitchen—they share the same two-sided log burner. It’s the most modern feature of the house: a chunky cast-iron oval that hangs down from the ceiling.
“Yeah, I was so surprised when I visited a couple of years ago in winter and saw that Mellie had installed it. It was my favorite thing about the house that year.”
It doesn’t get as cold as it used to though. Twenty years ago, the snow was so deep on the mountain pass that sometimes you couldn’t get through for days. Albert’s wife and son died on that road, but they haven’t had snow like it in years.
He picks up a ceramic bowl from a shelf: it’s a mid-gray piece with an emerald-green rim.
“That’s one of mine,” I reveal as he studies it.
He glances at me, surprised. “I didn’t know you made pottery.”
“I’m not that good at it.”
He looks as though he disagrees. “On the contrary, I think this is beautiful,” he murmurs.
I’m fighting a significant urge to lay my hands on him.
“What would you like to drink, Étienne?” Mellie calls through.
“I’ll get it,” I call back, glancing at him for his order.
