Chapter 16
I’m up half the night thinking about Jackson and how he called me his favorite person and made me promise never to cut him out of my life again.
The heat in his eyes as we watched each other undressing has been playing on repeat inside my mind, making me feel hot and feverish.
I’m pretty strung out by the time I get to work.
I have no idea if things will be different or awkward, but Jackson seems more chilled than ever.
If he’s been awake thinking about us too, he hides it well.
He swivels in his chair to face me as I sit down, bashing his knees against mine.
“You and your long legs,” I chide, knocking him away.
“You and your short ones,” he teases, putting his foot on my chair and pushing me backward a couple of inches.
“Oi!” I squeal, scooting forward again.
We’re both laughing, and it’s nice. It’s playful.
But it’s also a little anticlimactic. What happened to our chemistry?
On Friday, Albert bursts into the office. “Ice cream break!” he declares.
“Ice cream?” Jackson asks his grandfather, surprised. “It’s almost lunchtime.”
“Yes, we have lunch first,” Albert states, as though this is obvious. “And before that, we collect Mellie. She’s coming too,” he tells me.
“Family outing!” I exclaim, clapping my hands.
“What’s the occasion?” Jackson asks, flashing me a grin.
“Mellie has heard from a little bird,” Albert says, placing his hand on my shoulder, “that there is a beautiful painting inside the pavilion opposite the factory. She would like to see it.”
Jackson’s expression grows concerned. I told him what Mellie said about Albert sealing up the pavilion after his wife died.
“Are you sure you’re up for that, Albie?” he asks carefully.
“Yes. I would like to see it again,” he replies, no nonsense. “It’s been a long time,” he adds a little wistfully before saying, “We will go there first, and afterward, lunch at the café—and ice cream.” He winks at me. “My treat.”
Albert drives us. I’ve never really paid attention to his car before—it’s a little red Peugeot and he’s had it forever—but now I realize that it’s a 206, which I’m guessing is the next model on from étienne’s 205s.
There are so many old cars on the road here and Albert could definitely afford to buy a new one, so maybe étienne is right about the French not throwing things away.
There’s a distinct lack of car snobbery—people don’t get into debt just to impress their neighbors—and maybe there’s a lack of snobbery more generally.
Countless buildings here would be knocked down or done up if they were in England.
There’s plenty of contemporary and avant-garde architecture too, but the French embrace the old.
This town and so much of this country has an aura of faded grandeur about it.
Vintage signs like those on the garage walls can be seen everywhere.
No one has painted over them, and the climate has preserved them as though they’ve been kiln-fired.
We park on the road, just a few meters away from the pink-and-white domed pavilion.
“That board there is loose.” I direct Jackson once we’ve made it through the bramble jungle.
He pulls it off with no trouble and turns back to offer his hand to Mellie.
I hang back with Albert. “Are you okay?” I ask as we hear Mellie loudly coo, “Oh my goodness!”
Albert nods, but his expression is pained as he looks around. “This park was lovely once.”
“It could be lovely again,” I say gently.
Jackson sticks his head back outside. “Albie?” he asks, his hand outstretched.
“I can manage,” Albert says. “Help Gracie.”
I can manage too, but as Jackson’s eyes move to mine, I reach out and accept his help, jolting as our palms press together.
“You all right?” he asks with a soft chuckle as he puts his arm around my waist to steady me while I climb down.
“Yes, fine,” I reply curtly, wishing I could hide how much his touch still affects me.
He’s seemed a bit more confident since we hung out a couple of days ago, almost as though the balance of power has shifted back in his favor. I don’t like it.
I’m distracted by Albert climbing down from the ledge. His eyes are shining as he looks around. “That’s where Josie was sitting when we met.” He points at the windowsill opposite the painting, where étienne and I sat a couple of weeks ago. “And that’s where I proposed to her.”
“So many memories,” Mellie says warmly. “She even looks a bit like Josie.” She nods at the painting.
Josie must’ve been in her early fifties when she died, and from photos I know that she had straight shoulder-length hair and laughter lines fanning out from her eyes. Were they blue? They might have been. Her hair was definitely auburn.
“Maybe Josie inspired her,” Albert replies with a twinkle in his eye.
“Inspired who?” I ask.
“The artist. She worked at the factory in the bottling department many years ago. A lovely girl, good energy, always laughing.”
“You knew Estelle?” I’m taken aback.
“Of course I knew her. Who do you think gave her permission to paint this?”
Mellie gives me an encouraging nod.
I take a deep breath. “The person who showed me this is actually Estelle’s son, étienne. Estelle passed away, so this artwork means a lot to him.”
“Oh dear,” he replies with dismay. “How did she die?”
“She had motor neuron disease.”
“Please tell étienne that I’m sorry for his loss.”
“I will.”
“Can I say something?” Jackson asks.
“Of course.” Albert turns to him.
“Gracie and I would really like to use this image for Eau de Sainte églantine.” He nods at the painting and explains our idea for the bottle redesign.
“That sounds wonderful,” Albert says approvingly.
“If étienne doesn’t agree, we could have an artist design something similar,” I add. “But we wondered if the pavilion could be opened back up in time for the launch anyway?”
“There’s a lot to do,” Albert replies, his enthusiasm waning as he scrutinizes the weeds outside the building.
“We can oversee the work,” Jackson assures him. “You just need to give us the nod and we’ll get started.”
“I never intended to let it get like this,” he admits, his expression pained.
“I wanted to honor the place that meant a lot to Josie.” He releases a heavy breath and then meets Jackson’s eyes, seeming to rally himself.
“I give you the nod,” he says decisively before looking at me. “Let me know what I can do to help.”
“Thank you, Albie,” Jackson says.
“Yes, thank you.” I match Jackson’s sincerity.
He catches my eye and we smile at each other. We do make a good team.
Jackson and I queue for ice cream after lunch, leaving Mellie and Albert at the table.
“That went well.” The top of my head barely reaches his chin, but I have a solid view of his square jaw. I’m feeling warm toward him for backing me up—I’m so glad we’re on the same page.
He nods, looking down at me through lowered lashes. “Very well. Now you just need to get étienne to agree.”
“I know, I know.” I brush him off, averting my gaze.
It irks me that now he’s encouraging me to spend time with étienne. He’s certainly not acting as though he feels threatened.
To my surprise, at precisely that moment, étienne walks by on the pavement.
“étienne!” I shout, darting out of the queue.
He looks over his shoulder and comes to an abrupt stop. As he wanders toward me, his eyes shift to Jackson, but then they meet mine and remain fixed there.
“Salut,” he says in a low drawl, slowly leaning in and kissing me, with purpose, right at the edge of my mouth, before repeating the process on my other side.
My cheeks are aflame as he withdraws, but he doesn’t pull back to a socially acceptable distance. He stays right there, in my space, as I fight the urge to back up.
I guess he’s still game for playing. Good. Jackson needs to be reminded not to take my affections for granted.
“I need to talk to you,” I say quietly.
“What about?” he asks.
He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating off his chest.
“The pavilion,” I whisper.
He recoils, ever so slightly.
“Albert is on board with the idea of renovating it. He remembers your mother.”
Myriad emotions flash across his features, too quickly for me to make sense of them.
“He’s just over there. Let me introduce you.”
His eyes dart to the terrace. He looks almost panicked.
“Gracie, what are you having?” Jackson calls from a few meters away.
“Cherry, please,” I call back, realizing that he’s at the front of the queue.
The next thing I know, étienne is marching me around the corner of the building, out of sight. He doesn’t look at all happy.
“I asked you not to bring attention to it,” he states coldly.
“I’ve known Albert for over twenty years,” I reply firmly, standing my ground.
“I knew that he’d be open to suggestions.
He actually gave your mother permission to paint Sainte églantine in the first place.
He’s kind. He’s decent. He’ll do the right thing by her.
” He looks at me doubtfully and I insist, “He will! He’s agreed to do up the parkland and the pavilion so the public can see her artwork again. ”
étienne stares at me and then he takes a step backward, looking torn.
“Please come and say hi to them,” I implore. “I’d love you to meet Mellie,” I add.
His eyebrows swiftly draw back together and he shakes his head. “Another time. I’ve got to get back to work.”
He glances over my shoulder and then he meets my eyes again, his lips curling into a sensual smile as he closes the gap between us. Electricity zings down my body.
I’m thrown by how easily he can turn it on, but I try to match his energy—I take it Jackson is right there.
étienne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he asks, “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Nothing,” I reply, my breathing choppy.
“Meet me at the bar across the road for a drink?”
I peek over his shoulder at the tables by the river and nod, looking up at him.
He leans down and does that kiss thing again, and even though I’m expecting it, I don’t know that I’ll ever be prepared.
“Some help would be good,” Jackson interrupts.
“Five thirty,” étienne says, nodding at Jackson as he turns and walks away.
“Okay!” I call back, hurrying to extract two of the four cones Jackson is carrying.
“What’s happening at five thirty?” he asks as a drip runs onto my hand.
“Going for a drink tomorrow night,” I reply, quickly licking around the rim of my cone.
Jackson’s nostrils flare as he watches me.
“Hot date?” he asks curtly.
“Something like that.”
I feel a little bad about misleading him, but I will my heart to harden. At some point, I may well fall back into his trap and he’ll hold all the power again, but right now it won’t hurt to let his metal teeth clamp shut and crumple a little.
I hurry back to the table, trying not to lose Mellie’s ice cream to the heat.