by Chloé Duval
“Don’t worry,” Erwan assured me, amused. “I understood what you meant. I have to admit I was a looker,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes.
“A heartbreaker, you mean!” I told him.
“I doubt it!”
“Maybe you didn’t know, but several young girls were madly in love with you. Maybe they never dared to tell you. Maybe . . .”
“Ah, the writer shows her true colors. Wild imagination ruling over fact,” Erwan teased.
“I’m sure she’s right, Erwan,” Gwenn interjected. “You just never realized because only sculpting mattered to you.”
Sculpting, and Amélie, I thought.
“Never realized what?” Romaric asked, setting four glasses on our table.
“That he broke many a young lady’s vulnerable heart,” Gwenn said dramatically.
“I can see you moved on to the heavy stuff while I was gone.”
“We had to entertain ourselves somehow. Thanks for the juice. I guess this means there was no alcohol?” Gwenn asked with a sigh.
“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock!” Romaric winked at his sister.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“Not a thing, it’s my treat. I don’t want to hear any protests,” he added as I opened my mouth to do just that, as any good feminist would.
“So what are we drinking to?” Gwenn asked before I could start defending myself.
All gazes turned on me. This family was good at changing subjects.
“All right, and thanks for the drink, Romaric. To life and its surprises.”
“To life and its surprises,” my three companions repeated.
Romaric’s eyes raked across mine as he chimed in.
We drank in silence—or at least the relative silence of the band playing a rock song. My foot started tapping to the beat, and I could feel the urge to dance.
I’ve always loved to dance. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually know how to dance, and I’m pretty sure I don’t have a hidden talent for it. Like just about anybody, I can dance to “Macarena” and “Y.M.C.A.” and do the Chicken Dance or a conga line. With a decent partner, I can dance to rock’n’roll music or salsa. But dancing opportunities have been pretty scarce these last few years, so that’s pretty much the range of my dancing skills.
Romaric must have noticed me moving to the beat because he set his glass down and held a hand out to me. His smile could have melted an iceberg.
“Beautiful lady, may I have this dance?”
The butterflies in my stomach decided to get with the program, jumping straight into their own frenzied dance, but I did my best to ignore them. I made sure my knees weren’t going to give if I moved, and I got to my feet, accepting his offer with a teasing reply. “Thank you, sir, that’s very kind of you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Erwan hide a smile and share a conspiratorial glance with Gwenn, but Romaric whisked me away before I could think on it any longer. We stepped onto the dance floor and he made me dance like I never had before—he literally made my head spin.
He wasn’t an expert dancer—there’s no such thing as perfection, though I privately thought that Romaric came pretty close—but he was very good. Better than I was, in any case, and skilled enough that I had no problem following his lead. He moved smoothly, as we spun and twirled until I no longer knew where and who I was. But his gaze never left mine. I could almost believe I was in a Dirty Dancing movie scene. The world had ceased to exist beyond our immediate surroundings, and the only real things in it were his hand in mine and our gazes locked together. My heart beat a frantic tattoo, and I was dizzy from the dance and from the closeness of his body when he drew me against his chest with a quick press of his arm and slid his hand into the small of my back.
Song after song flashed by, and still we danced, until I begged for mercy. I was parched and I needed a breather.
We sat down just as the band played the first bars of a slow dance. Part of me wished I could have held on a little longer. I could have been in his arms right now . . . I took a hearty swig of juice to counter my disappointment. Of course, it only made me thirstier.
A pretty young woman—what a surprise!—came up to Romaric and asked him to dance.
“Sorry, I already have a partner,” he replied without the slightest hesitation.
I watched as the young woman walked away, disappointed, and I couldn’t help rejoicing deep inside. Romaric was here with me! Me! I hid my triumphant smile by taking another gulp of juice and noticed, about a million beats too late, that Gwenn had been invited to dance and that she seemed deep in conversation with her partner. I noticed his hand was rather low on her back, but she didn’t seem to mind; on the contrary, I could tell from the way they held themselves that they knew each other. Their movements were cautious, but you could feel the current sparking between them.
Was he the one who had made her smile that night, when she went to check on the horses, as she put it?
As always, my natural curiosity almost got the better of me, and I barely stopped myself from asking Romaric, aware that Gwenn’s relationship—or lack thereof—with her partner was none of my business. Instead I turned to Erwan, still seated.
“Not dancing, Erwan?”
“The most beautiful lady of the party is already taken, so no.”
“Who is it?” I turned back and scanned the dance floor. “Gwenn?”
I heard him laugh and looked back at him. “You, who else?”
“Ooh, what a charmer you are! Romaric, can I have this dance with your uncle?”
He smiled at me and nodded.
“Come on Erwan, let’s dance! You promised!”
“Well, your wish is my command.” He bowed with a smile.
The band struck up another slow song right as we came up to the dance floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gwenn stay with her partner. Erwan raised his left hand and slipped the right onto my waist. I put my right hand into his and my left onto his shoulder, and we started to dance.
After a few moments, Erwan spoke. “Can I ask you something, Flavie? Something a bit . . . personal.”
“Of course.”
“Why did you look for Amélie and me? Why didn’t you just throw the letter away? Most people would have. I’m grateful you didn’t, don’t get me wrong, but I wonder what made you decide to search for us.”
“Maybe as a historian, I wanted to know what had become of you and Amélie. Whether life had brought you together in spite of everything. . .”
“Is that all?”
“It was, at least in the beginning.”
“What about after?”
“After . . . The further I looked, the more I learned about each of you—well, Amélie, really, because you were harder to track down. Anyway, as I learned more about you, I grew . . . attached. To both of you. Your story . . . called to me. I thought about it all the time. I wanted to know what had happened. I wanted to write about it because I was convinced it had to be a beautiful story. It had to be, even if the ending was a sad one, at least so far. And . . .” I hesitated.
“Yes?”
“Well, I have to admit that I was hoping I’d be the one to reunite you. I know it’s kind of forward on my part, but I hoped . . . I don’t know. I guess I hoped I could do something good, something that would make people happy for once.”
“I’m sure you make people happy every day. Being a teacher requires a lot of dedication.”
“Yes, but what I meant is that I wanted to do something real for you. I wanted to be Sam Beckett. You know, the do-gooder doctor of the Quantum Leap series,” I added when I noticed Erwan’s perplexed look. “I wanted to correct the mistakes of the past. Help you find your soul mate again, if you want.” I grimaced an apology.
He smiled. “You know, I’ve thought about what you said. About how it’s never too late.”
I nodded. “So?”
“I . . . I haven’t made a decision yet. I need to think about it some more. I
’m . . . I guess I’m a little afraid. Silly, isn’t it? I’m almost sixty-three and I’m afraid of a woman I once knew.”
“I don’t think it’s silly at all. I think it means you still love her. If you didn’t feel anything for her, you wouldn’t be afraid.”
“But does she still feel anything for me?”
“I think she does. But that’s just my opinion. Listen, I’m not trying to make you do anything. I just want you to know that if you need to talk about it, or anything else, really, I will always be here.”
“Thank you, Flavie. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“You’re welcome, Erwan. I should be the one to thank you—you’ve welcomed me as if I were a long-lost relative when you had no reason to do so much. I’ve had a wonderful time, and I’m never going to forget that. I’m never going to forget you.”
My eyes found Romaric, watching me dance with his uncle. He smiled at me the way he’d done so often since I’d arrived, and I sighed.
I certainly wasn’t going to forget this little trip. I wasn’t going to forget Erwan or Gwenn . . . and especially not Romaric. Not a chance!
The last bars of the song faded, and Erwan escorted me back to our table, where he thanked me and delivered me back into the hands of my oh-so-very-handsome partner.
The rest of the evening flew by, and before I knew it, it was almost midnight. My carriage was about to turn back into a pumpkin and this wonderful day was almost at its end. And so was my stay—my heart tightened at the thought.
I had only two days left to enjoy spending time with Romaric, Erwan, and Gwenn. After that, life would call me back to Karouac. I had promised my father I would help him inventory his shop. I knew that if I asked, he would tell me he didn’t need my help, but I also knew that I would never ask.
There was a reason my father always did inventory the same week every year. It was his wedding anniversary, and his birthday. Even so many years later, it still was a difficult time for him, and I had promised myself many years ago that I would always be there to help that week. I have never failed to keep that vow, and I wasn’t about to start now.
Even if I had to leave the man I had fallen in love with.
I couldn’t deny it anymore. I didn’t know when or how it had happened, but I had fallen for him headfirst, like a teenager, quickly and irreversibly. It was stupid, given that our lives would soon part, probably forever. We might keep in touch for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, the way you might with friends you meet on a holiday. And then life would move on, conversations would grow further apart and finally disappear entirely.
My heart tightened at the idea of drifting away from these people I had fallen in love with so fast, too fast perhaps. I didn’t want to lose any of them, and especially not Romaric. I really, really didn’t want to.
I felt fifteen again, leaving summer camp with a heavy heart.
I couldn’t help but sigh, attracting Romaric’s attention.
“Are you all right?” he asked, gazing at me.
I felt tears rising and blinked to hold them back. I offered him a guileless smile. “Just fine, thanks.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted before he could speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The speaker stood on the music stage. “Fireworks will begin in a few minutes on the beach, and trust me, you don’t want to miss that! We’ll meet up right after for a big finish with a few last dances!”
As one, the crowd of dancers moved toward the trail leading to the beach, followed by all the people sitting at the tables, as we were. Romaric rose and offered me a hand, and the three of us followed the crowd.
* * *
The fireworks were decent enough. Not quite as good as the ones in Karouac, but still very nice. After fifteen minutes of oohing and aahing and an explosive finale, everybody trooped back toward the dance floor.
Luckily, our table had remained empty, but when we reached it, Erwan did not sit down.
“Well, youngsters, my old bones are tired, so I’ll head home. Rom, if you see your sister, give her a kiss from me. You two have a good time now. Flavie, will you come over tomorrow?”
“With pleasure!”
“Come around for dinner and bring my nephew and niece along, will you? If you manage to find Gwenn in the meantime.”
“Sure!”
He kissed my cheek, then hugged Romaric’s shoulders—Rom . . . I loved the nickname!—before he walked back to his car.
The band struck up a slow song, and Romaric—I didn’t dare call him Rom without an express invitation to do so—asked for another dance.
I was only too glad to accept.
I had been waiting for this all evening. Heart beating, I slipped into his arms and we started to dance in silence. I loved the feel of his hand, both firm and gentle on my back, the way his cheek hovered just above my hair. I loved the smell of his aftershave—or was it his soap? I wasn’t quite sure. I loved the heat rising from his body.
Unconsciously I drew closer until my breasts brushed his chest and I had to resist laying my head on his shoulder. I looked up, met his gaze, and all of a sudden the entire world around us seemed to disappear. I could hear nothing, see nothing but his face bent toward mine and the gentle smile upon his lips. Time had no power over us.
Or so it seemed until the moment the weather decided to get involved. A fat droplet of rain splashed into my right eye, shattering the illusion. I held back a decidedly unfeminine curse and took a step back, rubbing my eye and trying not to smear mascara, which unfortunately was not waterproof. The traitorous raindrop was soon followed by a second, then a third, and before we knew it, the skies opened up, and torrential rain poured over us.
Of course, it was freezing. Where would the fun be otherwise?
“Come on!” Romaric called, trying to make himself heard over the roar of the water. “We have to get out of the rain!”
He pulled me with him, shielding me as best he could from the downpour with his body. Naturally, it wasn’t enough and within moments we were drenched and freezing.
We found cover under the porch of a shop, along with several other dancers just as wet as we were. My dress clung to my skin, completely see-through, and nobody could doubt for a second that I was cold. I glued myself to Romaric, hoping he wouldn’t notice my raised nipples, and I felt his hand on my back drawing me closer still. There was very little room under the porch, and more and more people were joining us.
Romaric lowered his head and whispered in my ear. “We should run to the car. We’d be drier there!”
“Okay.”
There was no way I could get wetter than I already was, and in his car at least we could turn on the heat.
“Let’s go!”
We ran to the car. He unlocked it with the fob and we rushed inside, slamming the doors behind us. Romaric immediately started the motor and cranked up the heat.
“What is it they say? It never rains but it pours?” he quipped as he turned to me.
“Yeah, I’m soaked!” I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping he couldn’t tell that I might as well have been wearing nothing.
We must have been a fright, our hair plastered to our skulls, clothes clinging to our bodies, absolutely drenched. Unable to resist the humor of our situation, I started giggling, then abandoned all restraint and laughed uncontrollably, soon joined by Romaric. We couldn’t stop—every time our gazes crossed we were in stitches again. A long time—or maybe it was only a few minutes, I had lost all track of time—went by before we managed to get our laughter under control, smiling like loons instead.
Then our smiles faded, replaced by something else. A kind of electricity was in the air, something that hadn’t been there before, as Romaric kept his gaze on me. Slowly, his hand traveled up my cheek, slid up under my hair. His eyes roamed over my face, from my lips to my eyes and back as he drew almost imperceptibly closer. Our faces were so close together his eyes filled my entire line of sight. I
could see only him, smell his scent, hear him breathe. After what seemed like an eternity, his lips met mine, softly at first, a chaste kiss, and I sighed into it. My knees trembled, all of my strength had deserted me, and I could feel shivers up my spine.
And when he laid his other hand on my opposite cheek, opened his mouth and slid his tongue around mine, I lost all sense of reality. His kiss was tender and passionate, gentle and demanding. His tongue stroked mine greedily, slowly, sensually. My hands came up to bury themselves in his hair, and I plunged into the whirlwind of sensations his lips, his hands, and his touch awakened within me.
It was as though a fever had gripped us and set our bodies ablaze, ripping all sense from our minds. Our gentle kiss became more heated. As if in a daze, I could feel his hand exploring my body through my wet dress, stroking my legs, my thighs, my back, my breasts, his mouth peppering thousands of kisses over my skin, our bodies trying to draw closer, to merge together.
As we moved closer together, I found myself straddling his knees, and as I kissed him breathlessly, my hands strayed to the belt of his pants, starting to undo it. It was an awkward position—the steering wheel stopped me from moving the way I wanted—but I didn’t care. I wanted Romaric more than anything else in the world, and it was now or never.
I bumped my head on the roof trying to get more comfortable and uttered a low “ouch” of pain.
That stopped Romaric. “Wait! Flavie, wait! Just wait!” His breath was short. He drew back and held me at arm’s length, his gaze on mine. “Flavie, wait. We can’t do this.”
The world seemed to shudder and fall to pieces around me. I should have known. Generally speaking, when it seems too good to be true, it really is too good to be true.
“We can’t?”
“Not . . . Not here, in the car, like two teenagers. You deserve better than a backseat.” He stroked my face, kissed me gently, tenderly. “I have a great bed at home.”
“What are we waiting for, then?” My voice was low and throaty. I barely recognized myself.
Romaric kissed me again and helped me into my seat, started up the car, and shifted into drive. He gave me one last kiss, which set my senses on fire—even more than they already were—and drove home far faster than was safe.