Chapter 2
It”s raining.
Obviously, it had to happen now. I agreed to take a break from telecommuting to go shopping with Manille. The weather was fine this morning, so I didn”t take the time to check the forecast.
Big mistake.
Arms full of bags, my shirt dress sticks to my skin. Water sloshes down my legs to my socks, making an unpleasant sound.
“Why did it have to rain?”
We hurry past the reddish front of our building, and I punch in the code. Manille pushes open the big black door and walks over to the mailboxes. I hurry to join her but slip on the tiled floor of the entrance hall.
Bad luck.
I rub my sore buttocks, while Manille”s laughter mingles with the echo of the rain. Lying back on the cold floor, I laugh until my stomach hurts. Straightening up, I glance toward the camera positioned at the corner near the entrance. I can already imagine the guard enjoying the footage.
“You”re impossible, Florence. What”s under your feet keeps you from standing up?” She scoffs, without helping me.
I get rid of the bags, my fingers struggling to recover from the pain.
“Water,” I reply, wringing out my tangled brown curls.
Back on my feet, I cling to the immaculate white wall. My gaze settles on Manille, taking the mail, dejected.
“So?” I asked, grabbing my things.
“Invoices, once more. Honestly, couldn”t they accompany them with flowers or chocolates? It would make it less abrupt.”
“Because you think they have time?”
“They should. You don”t ask people to pay without giving them a little something. That’s rude.”
We pass through the wooden door to a white marble staircase covered with a bright red carpet. In the center is the elevator, which I glare at. Even after a year, I haven”t recovered from my episode in the Machiavellian machine. I refuse to take it except when I”m accompanied by Corentin. Charlotte thinks it”s cute I”m only willing to go through my fear with him. According to her, it”s a sign we”re made for each other. All the romances she”s read have certainly affected her perception of reality. As for Manille, it amuses her.
Speaking of the devil, she knocks on the building manager’s door.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I”m waiting for a parcel,” my roommate replies.
“Chacha”s books?”
She nods, while I call the elevator. Charlotte didn”t take kindly to Manille eating her cookies. Nothing too serious, she never stayed angry for an extended period. However, Manille wanted to make amends.
What”s the best way to please our Disney fan?
Buy her the boxed set of Casey McQuiston”s three books.
Simple and effective.
“Here you go, young lady.”
“Thank you, Pascal. You”re the best.”
The graying-haired man smiles broadly, his cheeks flushed. His brown eyes fall on me, and we greet each other. Manille reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a box of chocolates.
“But no, there”s no need.”
“Of course, you can, and don”t try to refuse.”
She gives him a kiss on the cheek before he closes the door and wishes us a good day. I”m not as close to Pascal as Manille is, but there”s no doubt he”s a good man. If we need anything, we can count on him.
As she enters the elevator, I assist Manille in putting the bags inside. Once finished, I take the stairs, climbing two steps at a time. On the landing, I arch an eyebrow at the sight of my friend with a chocolate bar in her mouth. She glares at me as she picks up her things.
“Stop judging me, Florence! I was hungry,” she grumbles.
“No, never. I care too much about life for that.”
As we come back, I leave my shoes at the entrance, following my usual routine. The apartment isn”t huge, but it suits the three of us perfectly. As soon as we step inside, a hallway opens, leading to the different rooms. On the right, the first door leads to the bathroom. Opposite is our bedroom, the one Manille and I share. Next door, Charlotte”s room. The last door opens into the living room, which extends to the kitchen, tucked away at the far right.
Lola”s cheerful bark rings out and she comes running to me. She literally jumps on me, tongue out, offering me a frenzied licking session. Her breath is a strange mixture of meat and vegetables, but no matter, it”s a joy to find her like this.
My dog stops washing my face and seeks Manille”s attention. I get up, ready to pick up where I left off with my work. Cécile wasn”t in the office today and I was able to do my work from home. I finish sending an e-mail when Manille”s voice pulls me out of my concentration.
“Can you fill the shelf, please?”
I straighten up and grab what she”s holding out to me. I arrange the orange tulips in a male bust-shaped vase. On the first shelf, I place a wire statuette representing a female face. Between the two, I place a photo of Lola as a baby. On the second shelf, a white clock sits next to a beige pot and a diffuser, spreading a subtle strawberry scent in the air. The top two floors are dedicated to Charlotte”s books.
“Is it good for you?”
She swiftly surveys her surroundings before affirming with a nod. It took us about an hour to finish everything. I return to the living room. In the corner on the left, a floor lamp with a lampshade offers soft light next to the old suede sofa. Opposite, the television sits on a black chest of three drawers. Above the TV, a round gold mirror adds a touch of elegance to the room.
“Have you heard from Mr. Thomas?”
With my arms against my chest, I roll my eyes as I realize who she”s referring to.
“You can call him Corentin. He won”t eat you.”
She shrugs. “Maybe, but he won”t let you call him by his first name when he finds out you left his plants to die.”
My face turns livid. I had forgotten in my monumental stupidity. A ball of stress forms in the pit of my stomach. Corentin has been absent for two weeks, entrusting me with his spare keys to tend to his plants and collect his mail. No big deal, considering it”s not the first time. But on the second day of his departure, I forgot his keys in his apartment.
Luckily, I left the windows closed, I thought.
“I”m going to give him a little present so he”ll forgive me.”
“You didn”t tell him? You haven”t spoken?”
“Not too much, but he”ll be back tonight.”
Manille turns her head toward me, her eyes widening in astonishment. A sharp inhale escapes her lips, and her jaw drops slightly. I freeze in response, my brows furrowing as I scrutinize her expression, anticipating her next words.
“You went two weeks without talking to Mr. Thomas? How did you manage to stay alive,” she jokes, walking past me.
My jovial air disappears for a vexed expression. I can live without Corentin. Hardly, of course. But still.
“What exactly does it mean? Corentin and I don”t need to talk daily. He”s my friend, not my boyfriend.”
I can”t see her, but I”m sure she”s rolling her eyes.
“Of course,” she replies, unconvinced.
“You”re not going to tell me you think we”re a couple? There”s no surprise Charlotte does, but you?”
“You must admit, you”re suspicious. This guy has not engaged in conversation with anyone in this building, and suddenly you”re practically inseparable. You have to acknowledge that much, and it does make me wonder.”
This conversation continued to haunt the early days of my friendship with Corentin, reappearing like an unwelcome specter. My friends, especially Charlotte, urge Corentin and me to take the plunge, but deep down, I know it will never happen. We”re more than just friends; we”re soulmates of friendship, bound by unbreakable ties. I cherish every moment spent in his presence, but when I consider our relationship, I see a solid and reassuring friendship, not romantic love.
Yet even though my neighbor exudes an enticing charm, I can”t imagine diving into the tumultuous waters of love with him. I refuse to sacrifice the special bond we share for a passion that could prove fleeting. I don”t need to know if I”m his type; what matters is that we find unmatched comfort and solace in what we have. We”re stronger together as friends than we would ever be as lovers. And that”s how I want it to stay, united by an indestructible friendship, beyond the whims of the heart.
I take a deep breath and force myself not to get angry. It wouldn”t do any good. There”s no way I”m having another discussion with Manille about me and the lawyer. Corentin is notably private, and I feel like I”m his only friend. This situation suits me most of the time. But sometimes it kills me. I don”t like the fact he”s all alone and can”t count on anyone. He has Jackie and his sister, but he sees them far too little.
“You don”t believe in male-female friendship, that”s all,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I believe in it, but not in yours, there”s a difference. I imagine he”s going to come to the apartment while Chacha and I are away.”
I don”t reply because we both know the answer. Manille is going to her parents for a family meal, while Charlotte is invited to a literary event and will stay at a friend”s place. Since I have the apartment to myself, I”ve invited Corentin to spend the evening together watching movies.
Without a word, she goes into the bathroom. I tune out of our conversation and prepare my surprise for Corentin before I head to the gym. In my room, I reach under Manille”s bed and retrieve a large piece of cardboard along with her pencil case. I sit down at the living room table and start drawing stars, hearts, and sad emojis. In pink marker, I write: I”m sorry about your plants. I hope your trial went well. See you tonight? ?
Under the table, I retrieve a glass jar containing three cacti. I leave the apartment and climb the two flights of stairs to his place. I drop it off on his doorstep, slightly stressed.
“Why is it open?” Charlotte calls from two floors below as I stand on an intermediate floor.
Her voice echoes through the grand atrium of our Haussmann-style building. Outside, rain beats against the windows. In the center of the atrium stands the elevator, surrounded by spiral staircases leading to the upper floors. I straighten up at my friend”s familiar voice as we communicate across the levels of our building.
“It”s me, I”m coming.” I reply, before heading toward her.
I go downstairs. Charlotte is waiting for me, her arms full of bags in which I can see books sticking out. Even as she runs out of bookshelf space in her room, she can”t stop buying them. She understands what”s going on in my mind from the raise of my eyebrow.
“I”ve wanted them for a long time. I pre-ordered them, and they arrived today.”
She”s holding a box, and I laugh until my stomach hurts. It”s the same one that Manille just picked up. Just as I”m about to tell her, Manille”s voice interrupts us from beside me.
“Are you kidding me? I got them for you.”
Charlotte”s eyes widen in disbelief as Manille, clad in a towel, retrieves the gift to display it to her. Sensing the tension between them, I seize the opportunity to grab my sports gear and make my exit.
Once outside, I curse myself for having forgotten my umbrella. I hurry to turn right onto rue de la Convention to catch the 62 bus. It”s only ten stops later when I get off at Alésia, and the sun returns.
I greet the staff at reception and rush to a treadmill. Destiny”s Childin my ears, I run for half an hour, when a presence materializes next to the machine. I turn to Lucas, my coach of three months. When I signed up, I was highly motivated, but unfortunately, my motivation didn”t last. To avoid spending my money for nothing, I sought assistance from Lucas.
I take off my headphones and offer him a smile.
“You”re wild tonight.”
“What can I say, I”m motivated!”
“I hope so. I have nothing against taking your money, but I”d rather it wasn”t in vain.”
“As long as you”re my coach, it won”t be. You”ve awakened the sportswoman in me.”
The grin Lucas displays at my words is as bright as the sun. I find myself comparing these two men who are complete opposites. Lucas is cheerful and outgoing. His slightly rounded face reminds me of DiCaprio in his early days. With his medium-length blond hair and piercing azure eyes striking with one glance. He must turn heads.
“It”s a pleasure to help you,” he replies, winking at me.
I slowly absorb his words as Lucas is interrupted by a colleague. Thousands of tingles infiltrate my lower abdomen, and I can”t help but let my mind wander.
Is he interested in me?
I”m completely unfamiliar with the art of flirting and seduction, but for the first time, someone is openly showing interest in me. I refuse to miss this opportunity or to let go of this captivating man.
Once his colleague leaves, his gaze returns to me.
“Unfortunately, I”m moving in a few weeks,” he finally adds.
Damn it!
Why do I have to get attached to the only guy who”s leaving?
“Why?” I ask, desperate.
“I”m opening a gym with a buddy, in Angers.”
Both happy for him and sad to see him go, I take a few seconds to choose my words carefully.
“I”m happy for you, experiencing a twinge of sadness at the thought of having to go without my favorite coach.”
A small smile appears on his face, brightening his barely marked but undeniably masculine features.
“You can still enjoy my presence for training. By the way, I have a boxing class to lead. Are you joining us?”
“I”m in,” I declare, feeling more motivated than ever by the handsome coach.
* * *
It takesme more than thirty minutes to get home. Rock music blasting in my ears, I do my best to arrive on time, being careful not to have an asthma attack in the middle of the street. Once home, I”m surprised to hear no sound. However, the smell of cooked vegetables wafts through the apartment, making my mouth water. With my heart pounding, I kick off my shoes and rush to the living room.
A smile lights up my face when I see him. Corentin. He stands near the window, a bouquet of tulips in hand. His white shirt is neatly tucked into the pants of his black suit. I can”t help but make an amused face at his professional attire. Lola, at his feet, pays no attention to my presence, unlike my friend. As soon as the lawyer is around, I cease to exist for my dog.
“You”re late,” he jokes, raising an eyebrow.
I don”t reply and run toward him. He only has time to place the bouquet on the table before I reach him. He hugs me, his hands on my back, he strokes my hair, making me sigh with pleasure. It”s only in his arms I realize how much his absence weighed on me. We stay entwined for a few seconds before I lift my head to look at him.
“I missed you,” I whisper.
“Missed you too, Florence.”
Happy he”s back, I kiss his cheek. From the outside, our relationship is suspicious, and I understand the conclusions people draw. We are sometimes strange. Even my mother, who is not closed to the idea of a man-woman friendship, doesn”t understand ours. I guess we”re different from what people expect. We are close, but there”s nothing beyond friendship.
“Sorry again about your plants. Did they suffer too much?”
He shrugs. “Who knows? Thanks for the cacti, even if it”s to make amends.”
I pout.
“You don”t hold it against me too much?”
He doesn”t smile, but his eyes shine with kindness. Since we”ve known each other, I”ve continuously greeted him with a smile and desired to share jokes, but this man has built an impenetrable wall. The expressions of smiling or laughing remain absent. But despite the disappointment and frustration his stoicism gives me, I”ve come to accept it. He”s not easy to understand. This often caused issues at the beginning of our friendship. I had no idea if he liked me or not. His face is sometimes impassive, but his eyes speak for him.
“Accidents happen,” he says.
I smile and finally ask him how the trial went.
“Well. The defense played the ”moment of madness” card for non-premeditation. Fortunately, the jury didn”t buy it.”
I sigh, relieved to see this scumbag behind bars. Nothing will bring back the poor soul who suffered from his blows. However, the comforting thought is justice being served. I hope he remains incarcerated, reducing the number of scumbags roaming free, despite far too many still existing.
“Bravo, Corentin.”
“Why? I didn”t do anything special.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes.
It”s a consistent pattern. He downplays his work, as if he doesn”t realize how much he helps people. For him, he”s not the one to congratulate, but he”s wrong. Despite considering some deserve the electric chair, I understand his job is essential. He is a good man and does his job with a lot of circumspection. He undoubtedly had to defend the villains. Beings who deserve nothing but a lifetime of suffering. Yet, there”s no doubt when he defended the monsters, he didn”t use dishonest tactics to achieve his goals. And for that, I thank him.
“Don”t say nonsense.”
He dismisses my remark with a roll of his eyes. “And you? Did everything go well in my absence?”
I know exactly what he”s referring to, but I decide to ignore the detail.
“Yeah, but nothing important. Are you ready for a movie night?”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not fooled by my deception.
“Okay. But did you see the therapist as planned?”
I”m sure he wouldn”t give up. This guy is too tenacious, and I imagine it helps him in his work. He perseveres consistently. Like a dog, once he has a bone in his mouth, he doesn”t let go. But it”s a good thing professionally. In private life, it quickly becomes annoying.
Before he left, we both agreed that seeking professional help was the right path for me. Despite my initial hesitations, I had a deep conviction that it was the right decision. I understood the urgency of taking action, even if it meant delving into the depths of my being where long-buried truths resided. However, there remained a lingering fear of being judged as strange or uncovering hidden aspects of my personality I preferred to keep buried. Amidst these struggles, I felt helpless, grappling with uncertainty and apprehension.
“Yes, I did.”
“And?”
“Nothing, it”s not for me.”
I tried. Sincerely. I met three psychologists who didn”t make me feel comfortable. And the fourth claimed I had “insignificant problems” and needed to be more mature. I roll my eyes, thinking about all the money I spent in vain.
“Don”t you think it”s worth another try? We both know you”ve been through a lot, Florence. It could really make a difference,” he says, his brows furrowed, his forehead slightly creased with concern, and his eyes are soft with a hint of compassion and sadness as he pleads his case. His tone is gentle yet sincere, reflecting his genuine desire to help.
I want to push back, but deep down, I know he”s correct. Alongside my legendary clumsiness, I am a bundle of anxiety. However, even after seeking help from these specialists, I haven”t found any relief. It seems I”m not quite ready for this journey, and maybe that”s the harsh reality. I don”t feel deserving of an easy road to healing after the pain I”ve caused.
“I prefer not to talk about it for now.”
“But—”
“Corentin, please.”
A silence settles in, during which he understands I don”t want to continue this topic. I thank him internally for leaving me alone with it. Better not to argue when he has returned.
“Okay, I won”t insist. However, I feel you and I have a lot to tell each other.”
I nod as he returns to preparing the meal in my kitchen. I quickly head to the bathroom. The hot water against my skin relaxes each muscle, prompting a pleasurable sigh. In my room, I put on an oversized pink T-shirt with a sun on it. The shirt reaches the top of my thighs, and then I put on white bike shorts. Coming back to the living room, Corentin has placed everything on the table. The smell of vegetables with breaded fish mingles with the strawberry essence of the diffuser. My routine resumes, and I love it. Everything is back in its place.
Corentin serves me, then he turns his attention to the news on the TV. On my side, I don”t pay much attention. There”s nothing worse, especially since it often displays nothing positive. It”s enough to lose morale at the sight of all these misfortunes. After doing the dishes, my neighbor joins me on the sofa, his arm around my shoulders. I turn on Netflix, and Lola takes the opportunity to join us. She knows well she”s not allowed up there. But strangely, as soon as the lawyer is present, she seems to forget the rules.
His fingers are in my curls, and he caresses them. I focus on the TV, watching To All the Boys I”ve Loved Before. Since I wasn”t going to read the books, Charlotte pushed me to watch the movies. It turns out to be a good decision, as I”m eager to binge-watch everything right away. Perhaps I”ll end up reading the books when I find the time.
I imagine Corentin must think the same, but his eyes are fixed on the screen. Yet, something tells me he”s not following what”s happening.
I try to focus on the movie, but it”s impossible. Biting my nails, I curse myself for not having enough fingers to soothe my anxiety.
Corentin lifts my face, plunging his gaze into mine.
“How did the meeting with your clients go? I”m surprised you didn”t tell me, given how excited you seemed about it.”
“You”re exaggerating. I wasn”t so enthusiastic.”
His gaze becomes more serious. He analyzes me from head to toe.
”What”s wrong?” he asks, concerned.
“Nothing special. What makes you think that?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Florence, I thought we had moved past the stage of lying. Your face expresses everything you think.”
I sigh in vain. Unlike him, who succeeds in his career, I don”t feel up to it. I joined the agency as a miserable little assistant.
“I didn”t get the contract.”
“Why?”
A needle pierces my chest at the memory of Cécile in my office. The pain is so strong my eyes burn. I force myself to hold back my tears. There”s no way I”m going to let her control me more than she already does.
“Cécile took back the file. My chance to orchestrate a wedding on my own flew away.”
With a discreet glance, I perceive a shadow darken his emerald eyes. It disappears the next second.
“It frustrates me, and I blame myself too. I should have been more cautious with putting so much hope into this project. All of this was entrusted to me only because she was overloaded, not because I deserved it.”
He puts his arm on my shoulder, bringing me closer to him.
“I”m sorry, Florence. Is there nothing else you can do?”
”No. Besides watching her handle the file,” I reply with bitterness.
“It”s normal for you to be disappointed after all these efforts and long months of waiting, but things will get better, you”ll see.”
I take a glass of water and drink it in one go. Legs crossed under a blanket, I let Lola settle on my thighs. Having her weight on me manages to calm me.
To my right, I can feel Corentin racking his brains to find a way to cheer me up. I blame myself for taking up his time and attention, especially after he returned from a big case. He has more important things to do than take care of me. I imagined too quickly I would finally realize my dream. I wanted to fly too close to the sun. My wings burned. I am solely responsible for being in such a state. This lesson has taught me one must know how to stay in one”s place. What”s the point of aiming for the moon when we fall not among the stars? We collapse into the darkness of our doubts and the reminder of having failed.
Now, I will settle for one step at a time. No need to skip rungs.
“Don’t worry about me, Corentin. I”m fine. I”ll probably have another opportunity,” I say with a lack of conviction.
I do my best to show optimism. It”s better he doesn”t worry about me. He has a career—real things to bother him. I”m a little insect deserving neither his time nor concern.
“I”m sure your turn will come one day. And when it happens, you”ll rock it, Florence.”
If you say so.