I was not proud of this. Keeping secrets.
“Well, that’stelling.”
That morning, for Isabelle’s breakfast I had prepared a bowl of hot chocolate. Like I’d done when she was little, like my mother had for me, like her mother for her. And with it came a flood of memories: summers in the South of France, on the terrace beneath the pines, the hot chocolate accompanied bybaguette et confiture, the smell of orange blossoms and the sea. And always most comforting on the mornings when I’d been kept up half the night by the mistral winds rattling the shutters, monsters breaking in.
“Chocolat.” Isabelle’s eyes had lit up on entering the kitchen. “Is it a special occasion?”
I’d frozen before the stove. Was it that obvious, my guilt?
She’d wrapped her thin arms around me and squeezed. “You never make it anymore. Thank you.”
“Are you laughing at me?” I asked Hayes now.
“Nawww… I would never do such a thing.” He had interlaced both hands behind his bonny head and was reclining on the banquette. There was something lovely about how comfortable he was in his skin. How at ease he was with his body. He owned it. He was happy with it. Boys were so different from girls.
“How’s yourmum? What’d she say when you told her we were having lunch?”
“Ha!” Hayes threw back his head and let out a deep belly laugh. “You’re good.”
“You have no idea.” I had not meant to say it out loud, but there it was.
“Did you…? You’reflirtingwith me.”
“I’m sparring. I’m not flirting.”
“Am I to know the difference when I see it?”
“Don’t know. Depends how bright you are.”
He sat up then, erect. And then, without a hint of guile, he said: “I like you.”
“I know you do.”
“Hayes!” Some guy in a suit was approaching the table. Suits were a rarity in Los Angeles. Nine times out of ten, a guy in a suit was an agent. Five times out of ten, he could not be trusted. So said Daniel.
I noted a quick look of annoyance wash over Hayes’s features before he turned to see who was summoning him. And then like that, he turned on the charm.
“Heeeyyy.”
“Max Steinberg. WME.”
“Of course, I know exactly who you are. How are you, Max?”
“How areyou? Tour’s going amazing, isn’t it? We’re all really stoked. I’m coming by Staples tomorrow night. Bringing a couple of my nieces. They couldn’t be more excited. And I caught you guys onJimmy Kimmellast night. They’re just eating you up…”
Jimmy Kimmel? Was that before or after our phone call? Hayes had not mentioned it. I opened my mouth to say something and then stopped.
“It went well, yeah.”
“Theylovedyou. Everyone loves you. That new ballad, ‘Seven Minutes.’ Great. And great banter. Hi, I’m Max Steinberg.” The suit leaned over to shake my hand, having finally acknowledged my presence at the table.
“Max, this is Solène Marchand.”
Max cocked his egg-shaped head, trying to place me. “You with Universal?”
“No.”
“42West?”
