“What were you doing in town?” he asks.
“I’ve been overseeing the pavilion restoration. You should come and see the progress we’ve made. It’s looking good.”
“I’ll pop by,” he promises, glancing at the Renault 5. I have a feeling he wants to crack on.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought I’d say hi.”
“It was nice to see you.”
“Guess I’d better get back to work then,” I say uncertainly.
Has he been avoiding me since Monday? Or is he just busy, like he said? Is he pleased that I dropped by? I don’t want to be on the back foot, wondering how he’s feeling. That’s how I’ve felt with Jackson over the years so how the hell I’ve found myself sliding down this rabbit hole after Étienne, I do not know.
“Are you going back to Les Saules this weekend?” I ask.
“I might go on Sunday if you want to come?”
“Sure, what time?”
We agree on 10 a.m. but I still feel out of sorts as I return to Château Angèle.
29
I arrive back at theoffice and stop short at the sight of Jackson doing biceps curls with a pair of dumbbells. His muscles flex against the sleeve of his white polo shirt and from this angle I can see the plane of his face, his square jaw and high, carved cheekbone.
I used to think that I’d never seen cheekbones so perfect, and watching him lift weights was a highlight of my teenage years, but now I can’t help but snort.
He jumps and glances over his shoulder at me.
“You know, that could be considered sexual harassment in the workplace, Jackson Cole.” He looks aghast as I swan in and slide into my chair. “I’m fucking with you. Take your shirt off, make it more interesting.”
He releases a deep chuckle as he puts his weights back beneath his desk. “Nowwho could be accused of sexual harassment in the workplace?”
“You love it, don’t pretend that you don’t.” The banter rolls off my tongue, just as it did when we were teenagers.
It was easy to say things I really meant under the guise of teasing.
But right now, I’m one hundred percent joking.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks as I open my laptop and check my emails.
“Uh…” I’m distracted by the sight of a familiar name in my inbox. “Hang on.” I open the message up and squeal. “Yes, yes, yes!”
“What?” he asks curiously.
“A guy I went to university with, Dan.” I’m barely able to contain my glee as I spin around to face him. “He and his friend set up their own agency a couple of years ago. I reached out to him and a bunch of other people to tell them that I was thinking about going freelance. Dan replied right away to say that they’re expecting to be asked to pitch for a company that makes bar snacks. He said if they do pitch, he might need help.” I clap my hands. “He’s just told me it’s on! He wants me on board!”
“That’s amazing!” Jackson springs to his feet and I jump to mine, high-fiving him before throwing my arms around his neck. His encircle my waist, but I’m buzzing with too much excitement to hug him properly. I break away.
“That cinches it. I’m telling Mellie tonight.”
“That you’re not going home?” he asks with delight.
I’m practically bouncing on the spot as I nod. “I’m going to stay here—at least until my visa runs out next summer—and then I might even apply for residency. But I want to open my own consultancy firm no matter what.”
Tears spring into my eyes at the proud look on his face. He tugs me back into his arms and happiness bursts inside me.
“We need to celebrate,” he says against the top of my head.
