It’s something akin to freedom.
To independence.
I wipe my tears while laughing as the gentleman stares at me with a funny look on his face. On a whim, I lean over the counter and kiss him on each cheek, getting another chuckle and smile out of him. “Thank you, thank you … I mean, merci. Merci.”
He must think I’m a whack job. He gives a girl a job, and she starts to cry then proceeds to kiss him? Yeah, total basket case if you ask me. But if he only knew what he’s doing for me—the precious gift he’s giving me—the opportunity to do something as Valentina.
To be Valentina.
I GOT A JOB.
Feeling high and happy, I want to break into a dance. I might be just helping a man at his decaying flower shop, but it means everything to me. I think of my life and what I’ve done since I married William. I finished college, and while my friends were applying for jobs, I was looking at a list of caterers for our wedding. Being William’s wife used to be enough for me, more than enough really, but it isn’t anymore.
After Mr. Lemaire and I manage to introduce ourselves with the help of hand gestures and the translator on my phone, we say goodbye. I’m supposed to start on Tuesday, four days from now, because he’s going to visit his daughter over the weekend. I think. Please, translator, don’t mess this up.
I’m walking into the building, my hands full of paper bags with groceries and the orchid, when I see Sébastien standing by the elevator, his attention arrested on his phone.
“Oh, it’s you again.” I stop momentarily as my heart skips a beat at the sight of him. My thirsty eyes drink him in as the memory of what I willed him to do to me while dreaming of him flashes in the recesses of my mind.
He looks up, our eyes meeting. “Nice to see you, too.”
I bite my lip, dismayed at my behavior. “I’m sorry. That was very rude of me.”
“No, you’re not.” He puts his phone away in the back pocket of his jeans. Shakes his head as a teasing smile tugs the corners of his mouth. “Admit it.”
Abashed, I laugh shakily. “I would never.”
“Well, I, for one, can’t complain.” His gaze on me is like a defibrillator to the heart. Blushing, I press the bags closer to my chest. We stand in uncomfortable silence. I wish I were anywhere else but here, standing next to a man who makes me feel as though I’m drowning and flying at the same time. But even that lie sounds empty to my ears. Because if I’m honest with myself, there’s no place I’d rather be.
He breaks the silence first when he moves toward me. “Here, let me help you with those.”
“No, thank you.” I sober up and take a step back, holding onto the bags as though they are the most precious cargo in the world. “I can carry them just fine.”
“I’m sure you can, Valentina. But I’d like to help you nonetheless.”
We remain standing there for what seems like a slow eternity. I can almost picture us. A woman unwilling to let go. A man offering help that she’s terrified to accept. We fight over bags filled with food, but somehow it feels like more than that. And I’m afraid he knows it, too.
Yet …
Yet my shoulders hurt, my arms hurt, my heart hurts. Would it be so terrible to let someone help me? To selfishly share my burden with him even if it is for a short while?
“Thank you,” I say, nodding once. “Please be careful with the orchid.”
“Sure.”
Slowly and gently as though he’s afraid I’ll change my mind halfway, he takes the bags away from me, and I let him. It’s nothing but politeness from his part yet it’s everything. And when our hands touch, I don’t remove mine right away. I keep them there, relishing the heat of his skin against mine. It’s a brief moment that couldn’t have lasted more than mere seconds. A simple touch between friends to the casual observer. Yet as we ride the elevator in silence, the ghost of his touch burning my skin, I sense an invisible bond forming between us that wasn’t there before.
“I see you managed to find a shirt.”
He grins. “Still thinking about it, eh?”
I laugh. “In your dreams, buddy.”
“If you only knew.” He winks, appearing like the perfect rogue he is.
A small smile on my lips, I want to say something else, but my mind draws a blank. Instead, I focus on the carpet beneath our feet. Its color and texture: green and furry.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly.
I look up, meeting his blue, blue eyes. How easy it would be to drown, to be lost in them. “Nothing really.” You make me happy. “You?”
“Can’t tell you,” he says good-humoredly. “Sorry.”
“Hey—”
“Nope.”
“But—”
We hear a ping and the very inopportune elevator doors open on my floor. We get out forced to drop the subject. Sébastien walks me to the front of my apartment where I take both paper bags from him and balance them on my hip. I extend my arm to shake hands with him, but he doesn’t take my hand. Instead, I watch as he reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulls out a small package wrapped in brown paper, and places it in my palm.
I frown. “What’s this?”
“A gift, Valentina.”
“You got me something?” I ask foolishly, unable to hide the pleasure bursting inside the cavities of my chest.
He nods, grinning. “It would appear so.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He buries his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and shrugs. “I wanted to.”
I stare at him, at the gift, touched beyond words by the gesture. “Thank you.”
He grins boyishly. “Don’t mention it.”
Without letting go of his gift, I put the groceries on the floor. “May I?” I ask when I’m free to open the package. Curiosity and excitement make my fingers tremble slightly. He nods, expectation shining in his eyes.
I try to slow down the process of tearing the paper away so I don’t appear too overeager in front of him. I take my time removing the ribbon and the tape even though I’m dying to find out what’s inside.
“Are you always this thorough when opening a gift?” he asks, laughter coating in his voice.
“No.” I chuckle. “But I’m trying really hard to behave with some kind of decorum fit for my age.”
“Here, let me do it. Or we’ll be here all day.”
“Hey!” I say with mock outrage, but I let him take the box anyway. And if his fingers come into contact with mine as he removes the present from my hands, I pretend I don’t notice.
He unwraps it in no time and gives it back to me, winking. “See, it wasn’t so hard.”
Smiling, I roll my eyes at him before focusing on the box once again. I open the lid and find inside a gorgeously carved wooden owl. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. I trace the intricate and delicate design with my fingertips, its smooth grooves indenting my skin.
“You like it?”
“Yes,” I nod, swallowing past the knot in my throat as I find his gaze waiting for mine. “I like it very much.”