Chapter 8
“And the movement of the vines across the day, rising and following the sun, brings a joy to me that I have not known previously,” Ian read his translation aloud. “Coming here, I thought, was a mistake, but my true error was staying away for so long.”
Natalie stared at him across the desk in the archive.
“Wowza,” she said in a low voice. “That’s one heck of a diary entry.”
Gently, he closed the leather-bound book and set it down on the desk.
“I mean, Sabine’s great-grandmother really hated the place, so for her to be so poetic about it is…
yeah. And let me tell you, she’s more poetic in French.
I can’t really do it justice. It would take a lot of skill to translate it properly. ”
“I think you’re doing a phenomenal job. You read so well.”
“Well, thank you,” Ian said, sounding uncomfortable.
“I’d read her story—or watch it if it was a film,” Natalie continued wistfully. “Doesn’t it sound so romantic?”
Ian shifted in his seat, leaning back and seriously considering the question.
“I suppose, but it would need to be crafted carefully. She was sent away at sixteen because of the war. The fact that she returned after three years and felt differently doesn’t mean her life was…
well, palatable. There are so many pages ripped out—a teenager’s life away from home in wartime? I’m certain her life wasn’t easy.”
She sighed. “I know, but it’s nice to think about a version that isn’t so depressing.”
“Sorry for the dose of reality,” he said, his gaze shifting to her face.
The light in here really does wonders for his eyes. How can he look so ethereal?
She squeezed her eyes in an attempt to shut out the thought.
“No, it’s not a bad thing. It’s good that you care.
I mean, I wasn’t suggesting actually making a film out of it or anything.
It’s just—well, honestly, the way you read makes it seem like such an exciting story.
When did you get so good at reading aloud? ”
“I don’t think I am,” he said stiffly. “It’s really not that hard.”
Natalie laughed. “I assure you, it is. I couldn’t read aloud like that.
And it’s not about being creative—have you ever been to an author reading?
It could be the best book, written beautifully, and yet when the author reads it, it’s as if they forget they need to perform the words instead of just monologuing. ”
“I don’t think it’s as hard as all that.” Ian stood. “Anyway, I want lunch. Shall we take a break?”
“Sure,” she replied, but he was already reaching for his phone and heading to the door to call the cab.
He had been acting squirrely for a day or so before their impromptu dinner with Sabine, but for the two days since then, he had been almost insufferable.
Natalie wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but he was more like the standoffish and arrogant jerk she had met back in the States than he had been for weeks.
She must have touched a nerve because reading this diary had been a welcome interlude featuring the new-normal Ian she had grown to expect.
“Are you coming?” he called from the door. “Cab is five minutes away.”
She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, relieved he was outside. How could he transform from that incredibly handsome, stoic, velvet-voiced narrator who seemed to know exactly when to speed up or linger on a passage to—
“Natalie?”
“Coming!” she called out, banishing the thought that rose in her mind.
For some reason, her heart skipped a beat when she caught a glimpse of him in the soft light by the window.
“So, where are we going for lunch?” she asked, emerging from the archive into the sunlit back garden. She wasn’t entirely sure, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth made him look embarrassed.
“Well, I was hoping that…”
“Boulangerie?” she guessed, resisting the urge to groan—she liked sandwiches as much as anyone, but there was a limit to how many days in a row she wanted to eat one. No matter how good the bread was.
“If yes, please,” he said.
Definitely embarrassed, she decided. Why would he be embarrassed?
“You really like their bread, huh?”
Ian shrugged. “I guess. It’s more like—oh, never mind.”
Embarrassed and doesn’t want to talk about it.
“That wasn’t a judgment.” She opened her phone at the sound of a notification.
From the corner of her eye, she could see him looking even more uncomfortable than before. There was something extremely frustrating about trying to comfort a person who seemed to become more uncomfortable the more you reassured them.
“I didn’t think it was,” he said stiffly. “I just know how infuriating it can be to deal with me and my picky eating.”
“Um, not really?” she replied, tapping out her play in the Scrabble game against Neil across the Atlantic.
“I mean, sure, I don’t want another sandwich today, so I’ll get something else or go down the street while you order.
It’s not that deep. You don’t have to feel bad about wanting certain foods. ”
Fireworks brightened her screen as she hit three bonuses, and the score of seventy-six glowed in neon. Smiling, she glanced up to find Ian staring at her as if she had sprouted a second nose.
“But it’s annoying,” he said. “Everyone I know says so.”
Despite second-guessing herself at every syllable, Natalie heard herself say, “Then you know a bunch of jerks. Why do they care if you’re particular about your food?”
“That’s what I thought. But apparently, it kills the team vibe.”
Well, that was so unlike the way he usually talked. It must be a quote.
She stayed quiet for a second and collected a little strength before continuing. “Old colleagues not so great?”
The cab was visible in the distance, and she silently willed it to slow down so she might get an answer from him.
“You could say that,” he said. “You could also say it was like being back in high school, with fewer actual punches being thrown but just as petty and cliquey.”
She winced. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine the tall, gorgeous man in front of her being anything other than what he was now—but being that tall as a teenager and as socially odd as he sometimes was? Yeah, she realized that was probably quite an uncomfortable high school experience.
“I hated a lot of high school, too,” she said. “But I was a happy nerd surrounded by my nerd friends. Between the extra credit activities I was involved in and being on a team, I didn’t have enough time to be picked on that much, thankfully.”
“You were a popular nerd,” he prompted.
“What? No, I just wasn’t in school on my own that often. I was either in class, in the study room, or at practice. Then my mom would pick me up straight away.”
He hummed, disbelieving. “And did you get invited to things?”
Shrugging, she thought back. “Sort of? Not everything, but one or two a semester.”
“See, popular,” he said, smiling. “It probably helped that you were as friendly and pretty as you are now.”
Natalie laughed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop. I’m a people person now, but back then, I was an awkward teenager.”
“Uh-huh,” he said as the cab rolled up to where they were standing.
He stepped forward and opened the door, gesturing for her to go first. As she climbed in and engaged her seatbelt, she paused as her brain finally processed his words fully.
Had he just called her pretty?