Chapter 10 | By the Water

“See you later.”

I didn’t think it would stay in my head that much.

Especially since Jade was the one who had said it.

I pretended to be normal for a good part of the afternoon. Which, for me, mostly consists of not talking more than necessary, pretending to look at something else, and hoping my face doesn’t give the impression that I’m thinking far too hard about a five-word sentence.

“Come with me later.”

It wasn’t a declaration.

It wasn’t even really a clear invitation, if you wanted to be rigorous.

But there had been something in the way she said it to me, something simple and direct enough for my brain to completely refuse to be reasonable.

The others had ended up scattering a little. Some had gone back up to their rooms, others were still hanging around on the terrace.

Mehdi was talking to three different people at the same time, with that obscene ease of people who could probably start a party in an elevator, while Mister Delmas and Lyralda had disappeared a few minutes earlier.

I had stayed near the railing with an almost empty glass of water in my hand.

The lake reflected the evening light with quiet insolence.

“You look like you’re watching a crime scene,” Jade said behind me.

I turned around.

She had kept her light jacket on, but opened her collar. Her hair moved a little in the cooler late-afternoon air. She wasn’t holding anything, which gave me the impression she had come just for me.

Which was probably false.

Maybe.

“I’m looking at the water,” I said.

“With far too much gravity for someone just looking at water.”

“I’m mentally preparing myself to fall into it.”

“Well then.”

She stood beside me.

“This is serious.”

We stayed a few seconds without talking.

The lake was more beautiful at that hour. Darker too. The light was sliding toward something more golden, softer. The hotel behind us made a faint, distant noise.

Jade finally pointed to the path that went down toward the shore.

“Come.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“And if someone looks for us?”

She turned her head toward me.

“Eliott.”

“Yes?”

“We’re just going to walk fifty meters.”

“Okay.”

“You say that as if I’m taking you to commit a crime.”

“I’m protecting myself from the unknown.”

“That’s a very cute way to put it.”

I looked at her.

“You’re unbearable.”

“And yet, you’re following me.”

I didn’t answer.

Because she was right, which was becoming a tiring habit.

We took the small wooden path that went down toward the shore. It ran alongside tall grasses and led to a little pontoon lower down, almost at water level. As we moved away from the terrace, the noises from the hotel became less present.

And very quickly, we found ourselves in a strange bubble.

Not silent.

But more private.

The lake barely moved. Mostly, we could hear the water against the edge, the wood under our steps, and sometimes the wind in the branches behind us.

Jade walked ahead of me without hurrying.

She stopped at the end of the pontoon and looked at the water.

“There.”

“There what?”

“I got you off the terrace.”

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“You’re welcome.”

She turned halfway toward me, then lowered her eyes to the surface of the lake.

“Honestly, it’s pretty.”

“Yes.”

“You can say something other than yes sometimes.”

“I know.”

“Show me.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

I looked at the water, then at her.

“It’s… very calm.”

“Better.”

“And it looks less hostile from here.”

“Ah, there we go, progress.”

She laughed softly.

Not the laugh she has with Mehdi or at the office when she throws a jab and waits for the effect. A smaller laugh, closer. The kind that gives the impression she is really amused, without an audience.

I moved forward to the edge of the pontoon.

The water was very clear near the planks. You could still make out the stones under the surface, a few reflections, tiny ripples.

Jade came closer too.

Very close.

Not pressed against me.

But enough for me to smell that light, sweet perfume again, and for my body to decide to react to that information.

“Right,” she said.

“What?”

“Take off your shoes.”

I turned toward her.

“Sorry?”

“Your shoes.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to dip your feet in?”

I looked at the lake.

Then at her.

Then at the lake again.

“No.”

“No?”

I knew that tone. The one that meant she wasn’t giving up, that she had, on the contrary, just decided the situation was interesting.

“Why no?”

“Because, first, it’s cold, well, a little. Then, it’s weird. And finally, there are potentially people who could see us.”

“That’s your main argument? People?”

“It’s a very valid argument.”

“I find it sad.”

“Thank you.”

She crossed her arms.

“You know that sometimes, in life, you just have to do something stupid without thinking.”

“That’s usually how my bad memories begin.”

She smiled.

“Then I’ll help you create a better one.”

The sentence caught me off guard.

Not completely romantic.

Not completely neutral either.

Just enough to stay somewhere very uncomfortable for my nervous system.

She bent down, removed her heels without hesitation, and rolled up the bottom of her jeans a little.

Then she put one foot in the water.

“Oh fuck, it’s cold,” she said immediately.

I laughed despite myself.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Your face talks far too much for once.”

She put the other foot in the water and closed her eyes for half a second.

“It’s horrible.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“For the experience.”

She opened her eyes again and looked at me.

“And because I want to watch you hesitate a little longer.”

“That’s mean.”

“Yes.”

She owned it with an almost elegant sincerity.

Jade took two steps into the water, just enough for it to cover her ankles, then turned completely toward me.

The evening light slid over her in a very particular way.

Her hair barely moved in the wind. Her arms were slightly spread to keep her balance. And she was smiling that precise smile, the one she has when she knows very well what she’s doing.

I had a very simple thought.

She is beautiful.

Not like an abstract idea.

Not like a practical formula to sum up attraction.

Beautiful in a precise, living, irritating way.

Beautiful enough to make my answers less effective.

“So?” she asked.

“So what?”

“Are you coming or are you going to keep looking at me like I’m a risky social experiment?”

I froze for one second.

“I wasn’t looking at you like that.”

“Liar.”

She was right.

Again.

I crouched down to take off my shoes with the relative dignity of a man who is very aware that he is willingly entering a scene whose tone he absolutely does not control.

“If I slip, I officially blame the sales department.”

“That seems fair.”

I rolled up my trousers a little, then stopped in front of the water.

“Come here.”

Jade took my hands before gently pulling me toward her.

I put one foot in the water and immediately regretted the existence of every lake in the world.

“It’s cold!”

“Yes,” Jade said with satisfaction. “Welcome to nature.”

“I already hate this experience.”

“That’s false.”

“Yes.”

“You just hate admitting that you’re doing something a little stupid and still somehow alive.”

I took two steps forward.

The water bit my ankles with unbearable honesty.

Jade moved closer.

Still with that physical ease that, with her, had something deeply destabilizing. As if my personal space were a flexible notion to her, negotiable, even decorative.

“You see?” she murmured.

“I mostly see that I’ve lost all feeling in my feet.”

“That’s normal.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

She laughed.

Then, without warning, she pushed a little water toward me with the tip of her foot.

I looked at her, incredulous.

“You just attacked me, madam!”

“Yes.”

“That’s very immature.”

“Thank you.”

I hesitated for one second.

Then I did the same.

Not hard.

Just enough to send a little water back at her.

She jumped.

“Ah!”

“Balance of power.”

“Ooh. He rebels?”

“Very slightly.”

“I like that.”

The sentence fell between us simply.

I didn’t answer right away.

Because my brain was busy trying to determine whether she was talking about the water, my gesture, me, or some very irritating mix of all three.

She had moved closer again.

We were at the same height now, feet in the water, almost face to face, in that late- day light that makes everything softer and much more favorable to bad decisions.

“What exactly do you like?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Hearing you ask that like you’re on the edge of a crisis.”

“Answer anyway.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“When you stop pretending to be smoother than you are.”

I looked at her.

The lake moved softly around our legs. We could barely hear the hotel anymore. Everything seemed farther away. Even my usual reflexes were having a little trouble catching up with me.

“I don’t pretend to be smooth.”

“Of course you do.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Is contradicting me an obsession for you?”

“It’s a public service activity.”

I think I smiled.

So did she.

Then the silence came back.

Not an empty silence.

Something denser.

She was really looking at me. No phone, no colleague beside her, no parallel conversation. Just me.

And it was harder to bear than her jabs.

“You’re cute when you think too much,” she said.

I thought I had misheard.

“Sorry?”

She lifted one shoulder, as if she had just commented on the weather.

“I said you’re cute when you think too much.”

I think my heart missed something important.

“Ah.”

Dazzling.

“Ah?” she repeated.

“I… okay.”

“That’s a very weak answer.”

“I hadn’t prepared anything.”

She let out a brief laugh.

Then she moved a tiny bit closer.

Not enough for us to really touch.

Just enough for the idea to settle.

“You don’t need to prepare much with me, Eliott.”

Said like that, my name in her mouth had something far too calm to be honest.

“That’s not really reassuring,” I murmured.

“Why?”

“Because I feel like you see everything.”

She lowered her eyes for one second toward the water.

Then she lifted her head again.

“I don’t see everything. I just decide to give my attention.”

I was no longer very sure what to do with my hands, my feet, or the rest.

So I looked at the water.

Very bad idea.

Because it made me even more aware of the fact that we were both standing there like a couple from a novel, a little too obvious to be real. At the edge of a lake, half wet, talking too close, in absurd light.

“Do you often say that kind of thing to your colleagues?” I asked.

She smiled immediately.

“Mm-hmm…”

“What?”

“You’re jealous of an imaginary group.”

“Not at all.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“A little.”

I ran a hand through my hair, already annoyed by my own inability to look normal.

“I’m just asking.”

“No. You’re checking.”

She was right again.

I hated that.

And liked that she saw it.

Jade moved a little in the water, then looked at the sky beginning to change color.

“To answer your question… no.”

I turned toward her.

“No what?”

“No, I don’t say that to just anyone.”

The problem with honesty is that it doesn’t leave much room to flee.

I looked at her without saying anything.

She no longer looked like she was half-joking.

Her tone had stayed light, yes.

But not empty.

She took another half-step toward me.

This time, our arms brushed.

Nothing huge.

Nothing I could officially accuse.

But enough for me to feel a clear warmth pass through everything in me still trying to pretend this was an ordinary conversation.

“And you…”

She was smiling again.

“What about me?”

I breathed in.

Very bad plan.

“Do you like me, or is this just a seminar activity?”

She looked at me with an expression I had never seen on her before.

Still amused, yes.

But softer too. More direct.

“The two are compatible,” she said.

I lowered my eyes for half a second.

It didn’t help.

“That’s an answer…”

“It’s a real answer.”

Small silence.

Then she added, much more simply:

“Yes, I like you.”

The lake kept moving as if nothing had happened.

So did the wind.

Someone laughed very far behind us, toward the hotel.

And I had the impression that part of the setting had just shifted by one centimeter.

Not a catastrophe.

Not fireworks.

Just something clear enough to make going back to the previous state impossible.

“Ah,” I said.

She burst out laughing.

“That’s even worse than earlier.”

“You caught me off guard.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Because otherwise you would have answered something careful. Polite. Very Eliott-compatible.”

I think I smiled despite myself.

“That’s not false.”

“I know.”

She lowered her eyes toward the water.

“And you?”

Simple question.

Absolutely unbearable.

“Me what?”

“Do I really have to do all the work?”

“Apparently.”

She rolled her eyes, but without losing her smile.

“Do you like me?”

I looked at her.

Really looked.

Her hair. Her face. Her mouth a little too close. The light on her skin. The way she had of holding the moment without breaking it, without looking away, as if she handled the truth very well when it presented itself.

And I was there trying to keep functioning while she was simply asking me to say something obvious.

“Yes,” I said.

She didn’t move.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I like you.”

It came out lower than expected.

But it came out.

Jade had a different smile.

Not wide.

Not triumphant.

Something smaller.

And, for once, almost shy.

“Good,” she murmured.

“Good?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to be the only one finding this situation weirdly romantic.”

I think my brain briefly left the conversation.

“Ah.”

“You say ah a lot today.”

“I have limited vocabulary under pressure.”

“That’s endearing. I like it when you panic a little.”

“That’s cruel.”

“A little.”

She had said it softly.

Then she turned her head slightly toward the hotel.

The light on the terrace had changed. Dinner wouldn’t be long.

Jade took one step back in the water.

“Right.”

“Right?”

“We should maybe go back up before they send a rescue team.”

“That would be embarrassing.”

“Very.”

We got out of the water in silence.

Not an awkward silence.

We put our shoes back on the pontoon. My hands were a little clumsy, which felt coherent with the fact that the last ten minutes had just made a lot of things more complicated.

Or simpler.

I didn’t know yet.

As we walked back up the path, Jade slowed a little to walk beside me.

“Eliott?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t make that face at dinner.”

“What face?”

“The face of a guy who’s just discovered a girl likes him and it’s mutual.”

“I don’t have that face.”

She laughed.

Then, just before we really reached the terrace again, she briefly caught my wrist.

Just to stop me for one second.

I turned toward her.

She moved closer, very slightly, as if she were going to tell me something important.

“And in case you start doubting by then…”

“Yes?”

“I wasn’t teasing you for nothing from the start.”

Then she let go of my wrist as if it were nothing.

As if she hadn’t left that sentence exactly where she knew it would stay.

And she started walking again.

I followed her, with the very clear impression that I had left something by the water.

Or found something there.

When we came back near the hotel, the voices seemed closer.

So did the evening.

And I already knew I was probably going to think back to that scene far too many times.

What I didn’t know yet, however, was that it takes almost nothing to damage a moment you had barely started to believe was real.