Chapter 29
I arrive back at the office 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. “Now who 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.
“Yes!” I reply, looking up at him. “Tomorrow night?”
“I’ll double-check with Mom to make sure she hasn’t got any dinner plans, but at the very least, let’s go out for drinks.”
“Perfect. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the day.” I sit back down and spin around to face my desk.
“Why don’t you go home and tell Mellie now?” he suggests.
I shake my head. “I want to make her dinner or something. Build up to it.”
“I’m so happy for you, Gracie.”
To my surprise, he presses a kiss to the top of my head. I beam at him.
“Thanks. I’m so happy too.”
Jackson very sweetly offers to drive me to a lovely little deli in town after work and drop me home afterward.
I glance across at him as he pulls up outside Mellie’s house. “Thank you so much for doing this.”
I did not fancy walking all the way into town and traipsing back up half a mountain with my purchases. It’s a small mountain, and really more of a hill, but still.
“Anything for you,” he replies with a smile.
“I’ll let you know how it goes.” I reach for the door handle.
“And I’ll get back to you about tomorrow too,” he says.
“Cool.”
As I’d hoped, Mellie is in the lower paddock on the other side of the house, refilling Rudie and Bennie’s hay, so she doesn’t see me sneak in.
I prepare a platter with cheeses, cured meats, olives, fruit, nuts, and crisps and take it with a basket of bread—and a bottle of chilled champagne on ice—out to the table on the top terrace.
Only a few minutes later, she bustles in through the kitchen door.
“Hello you! How was your day?” she asks.
“Good.”
“What’s that smile for?”
“Do you need to freshen up?”
“I was about to jump in the shower.”
“Go and do that and then I’ll fill you in.”
She looks intrigued as she heads into the corridor. I don’t think she bothers with a shower because she’s back in the kitchen in a fresh cream linen dress in a matter of minutes.
“Tell me,” she says with a clap of her hands and a shrug of her shoulders.
The hand-clapping is another trait I’ve inherited from my grandmother, I realize with a smile as I wave toward the terrace.
She spies the champagne and her eyebrows jump up. “What are we celebrating?”
She cries with joy when I tell her. We both do.
We hug and pop the champagne cork and when we’re one glass in and the bubbles have gone straight to our heads, we FaceTime Mum. And… she answers.
“Maybe I need to come and see you there for Christmas after all,” she says when I’ve filled her in.
“Oh my God, really? Please!”
“We’ll see,” she replies with a laugh.
Jackson texts me later: How did it go?
One of the best moments of my life, I reply. She was so happy.
Aw, he says. Hey, Mom wants to go to a hilltop town tomorrow. Do you and Mellie want to come? We can celebrate then.
It’s not quite the same as going out for drinks with him—Sandrine tends to control the narrative when she’s around and the rest of us just fall in behind her—but it should still be a fun day.
That sounds great, I reply. I’ll ask Mellie.
I love that he’s been involved in my decision to stay here, that he’s been a part of my life in such a big way.
He’s always been there in some respect. Even when he was married to Chloe I always knew that he was only at the end of a phone line if I needed him—he would have picked up in an instant. I’m so glad we’re friends again.
But that’s still all we are. And maybe it’s all we’re ever destined to be.
As for étienne, he started this thing with me believing that it would be no more than a holiday fling, but it feels like more than that to me. We’ve connected on a deeper level, whether he meant it to happen or not. And now that I’m staying…
I should probably tell him that I’m not going home. But being honest about my feelings has never been a strength of mine. Just look at Jackson. We’ve known each other for twenty years and we’ve never laid it all out on the table.
I’m starting to think that we never will.