Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
W hen I get back from èze village, I head straight to Jamie’s bedroom and knock on his door. It is the first time I’m exploring this side of the villa in all my weeks here. He greets me with a bit of shock before welcoming me in.
Jamie’s room is nothing like I pictured it. There are no stacks of cookbooks on the shelves. No dirty sneakers lying about from his afternoon runs. In its place are neatly pressed bedsheets, framed copies of his university degree, and a barren work desk. Even on holiday, the Chessleys keep up with the Joneses. The balcony’s double glass doors overlooking the terrace had been swung wide open, allowing every one of Nick’s muffled belly laughs to echo through the room.
“Something the matter?” Jamie asks.
I shake my head and follow up with my quick business proposal, removing all emotion from my voice, as plain as if I were ordering a bag of rubber bands online.
“Solange and I have agreed to start a YouTube channel to go with the new Conseils issue. All revamped. Can you help us?” I hold my head high to maintain the formal tone.
I’m a bit embarrassed to admit, but I assume Jamie will poke fun at me for taking him up on his cameraman offer.
Jamie steps closer to me, smiling gently. He smells of fresh laundry and cloves.
“Of course.”
My shoulders fall from my ears. This can’t be what I think it is. I can’t like like him. Sure, he’s objectively attractive, but no way in hell am I throwing out what I have with Damien.
Seconds later, footsteps thump down the hallway.
“Yay!” Manon storms the room and wraps her arms around Jamie’s waist. “Does this mean you’re coming with us?”
“We’re getting coverage on a few places around town today,” I explain.
Jamie kneels to his sister’s height. “Well of course. You’re looking at your brand-new cameraman.”
“Kat,” Manon says. “I’ll be in the library coming up with our list of places for the week. Don’t let me do all the work.” When I don’t follow behind her within three seconds, she puts a little more oomph in her attitude. “Okay?”
I send one more grateful smile Jamie’s way before turning around. “Right behind you, Manon.”
While Manon races down the hall, Jamie follows me out of his room.
“Figure I can help too. I know a few hidden gems.”
Before joining Manon in the library, I check that Milo and Josie are perfectly occupied with their new chapter books. We’d picked them up at the most adorable bookshop in Nice. Jamie taps my arm as we descend the staircase.
“Hey, are you okay about everything?”
I scrunch my brow.
He expounds, “I know Howie’s comments can be a little...”
I shake my head and broaden my shoulders. “It was just the advice I needed.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re still going with it. You’ve got spunk.”
The back of my neck tickles with delight. It’s the kind of comment I only dream of hearing but never expect to receive.
“Merci, Jamie.”
Manon’s “Allo?” bounces around the marble tile in the foyer, dissolving our widened grins.
* * *
If it weren’t for Howie Gupta’s comments on the first issue—that, and the overwhelmingly dull reaction from townspeople and tourists alike—I would never have thought to completely unroot the format I’d been using. Goodbye, densely packed, elongated articles. Hello, traveler’s quick guide to navigating the French Riviera.
I scan Solange’s feedback.
Too many words. Not enough pictures. Make me feel like I’m in France. Transport me.
The opportunity to revamp and revise drums up an exciting challenge. I combine ideas from other magazines I already love and toss in a few of my own. A monthly calendar of can’t-miss events. A one-page featurette of a hidden gem that flies under the radar. Plus, lists. Everyone loves a good list. “Five Places to Gather Ingredients for a DIY Charcuterie Board.” “Seven Locations to Enjoy Your Personally Assorted Meats and Cheeses.”
Manon had a thoughtful idea of letting businesses and organizations post their event fliers too. This got Solange and me thinking. We can reduce the regular advertisement section and pepper in posters. The more relevant to each page, the better.
The last section of each publication would be dedicated to Le Journal de Kat. Kind of like my own column. I’d document what I interacted with in town that week, taking advice from locals on what to try next. I negotiated with her to put off the gossip article if I were to do my own column. I’m a creative, not a reporter.
As for the YouTube channel, we’d ironed out that we’ll have a segment that coincides with a write-up in each publication. It’ll be called “Only a Day Trip Away,” cataloging what to do and how to get to a renowned location within a two-hour drive of Nice’s city center.
To say I’m eager to get started on next week’s Conseils publication would be an understatement. Unblocking my creative spigot, I’m ecstatic to channel some of that visionary spark into a tangible outlet. Even the kids are stoked that they get to join me on our little escapades. And they’re even more excited that Jamie’s coming with us. Apparently, time with their big bro is scarce with his schedule.
Frankly, the more time I spend with Jamie, the more he seems to warm up to me. And I to him. I promise I don’t like him as more than friends, but he’s a good punching bag to practice my flirty energy on once in a while. After a romantically stale high school and college career, I’ve come to realize one very important truth about myself: flirting is fun, and I will employ it when the mood strikes. Maybe it’s the European water, but since I’ve stepped foot on foreign soil, I’m liberated more and more every day to actually take charge of my love life.
I won’t deny the electricity that sparks inside me when I’m around Jamie. But I attribute it to nerves.
On the other hand, with Damien’s letters, there’s a calmness that feels like a safe, warm hug. Plus, he actually verbalizes his feelings. He is transparent. He starts and ends almost every letter with a nod to how beautiful he sees me inside and out, even the parts I used to despise. Like how one iris is a slightly darker shade of brown than the other, and my tendency to word vomit over people I’m comfortable around. His words make me feel seen, heard, and encouraged, even when I feel so out of place. He recognizes my fierce go-getter spirit but wonders if I can see it myself.
These thoughts linger as we pack Jamie’s car up for the start of our weekly adventures. We’re popping around the village for “Six Must-See Spots—One Weekend in èze.” I tell myself not to compare the two guys as Jamie loads the car with water and the kids’ daypacks. Damien may be suave and sultry. But man, can Jamie really rock the suntanned, works-with-his-hands aesthetic.
I wish Emi were coming with us. She’d be the ice cube between me and Jamie to keep away temptation. But when I asked her to join, she said she’d taken a shift at the Cave. That came as a shock to me, since she’d mentioned last week that she was close to securing a teaching gig in Antibes.
“It’s a minor detail,” Emi had told me. “Besides, they need my help.”
When the convertible trunk is all packed and I’ve wrangled the kids into the back seat, Jamie holds the passenger door open for me, but I remember I’ve left the snack bag in the kitchen.
As I scuffle through the main entry to grab the canvas tote on the island countertop, a few muffled sobs ripple through the hall. It sounds like they’re coming from the library. I tiptoe toward the open door.
“When is this going to be over?” Angela cries.
I lean into the hallway to catch Nick’s voice comforting her. “Soon enough, mon amour.”
When is what going to be over?
“I can’t even walk in my own house without feeling like I’m being watched.”
What is she talking about?
“Let them pry. We have nothing to hide.”
Who?
“We have a right to our privacy, Nico.”
“I know, amour. It’ll be over soon. I promise.”
The conversation swerves as Angela’s emotions sweep her further down a rabbit hole. She blows her nose vigorously.
“And I want him back, Nico.”
“He’s still here.”
“But for how long?” Angela’s voice croaks. Silence falls over the couple, and before they think to enter the kitchen, I tiptoe out of the house.
In the driveway, Jamie’s entertaining his siblings from the driver’s seat. He gives me a smile and a friendly double horn honk to commence the adventure.
Just when I thought I had this family sort of figured out, I’m thrown a curveball. Angela thinks the Chessleys are being watched? Why? Who? Is it the photographer I’ve seen around town the past month? Or worse, does she think it’s me? Regardless, someone’s a spy. No doubt about it.
And another thing is perfectly clear: the Chessley’s familial ties are loosely held together like worn pieces of string, frayed to the last few threads.
Question now is, how long will the facade last?
If that woman thinks I’m the fault line in her family, she’s got another thing coming. She can send her private detectives. Even the damn CIA if she likes. But I’m not going anywhere. Not until I’ve aced my Young Soarers portfolio, chummed up Continental Air’s CEO, and had a real and proper snog—with Damien of course. And I won’t let Angela be the one to muddle it up.