Lovely War(29)

Which was even more ridiculous.

So when Stéphane appeared, this hot summer day, and teased her into climbing to the citadel, she left a sinkful of dirty dishes and accepted the challenge. Maybe, once they reached the top, she could confront him about what on earth was going on, and put a stop to it.

Stéphane also intended to confront Colette at the top. If he could find the nerve.

The stairs would’ve exhausted athletes, but Colette was young and strong and resolute. Even so, muscling her way to the very top left her breathless and boiling, so rather than enjoy the view, the first thing she did upon arrival was pass through the stone courtyard and flop down into the tall, cool grasses, beyond it, stretch out, roll up her sleeves, and fan her face.

I hovered at Stéphane’s side.

Now? he wondered

Why not now?

“Colette . . .” he began.

Not that way.

“Yeah?”

He gulped and scrambled for something else to say.

“Your song,” he said. “At the beer festival. It sounded good.”

It sounded good. What a clod. What a pathetic way to pay a compliment.

“Thanks,” she said. She saw his silhouette against the afternoon sky and wondered how Stéphane had grown so tall so quickly, and what business he had acquiring such muscles. He’d been such a lump of a boy. Loading and unloading ships all day would do it, she supposed, but in that hazy, damp moment, the why of Stéphane’s changes became less important than their reality.

He sank into the grasses beside her. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes bright, and there she was, unbuttoning her top button and fanning herself.

Poor Stéphane. It’s a terrible thing, risking a lifetime of friendship for a dream that has suddenly spiraled into something too big to contain. He’d offend her, he was certain, and she’d reject him, and shun him, no doubt, and then what would he do?

He couldn’t make it through a day without at least seeing Colette half a dozen times. But if she never wished to see his face again, there’d be no place in Dinant to hide from her disgust.

And what could he say? Words weren’t his particular forte.

She sat up in the grass. Bits of grass and dirt clung to her blouse and her hair.

“I’m a mess,” she said.

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re a mess,” she told him, “so you’re not qualified to judge.”

Stéphane gazed up into the clouds and grinned. Lying on the grass, tired and peaceful, with Colette nearby, and scolding—that was all right with him.

“If it’s just us two up here,” he said, “what does it matter if we’re a mess?”

She turned her gaze toward the panoramic view, leaving him free to study her back. So graceful, the curve of her spine. He could run his fingers along her back, right now, if she wouldn’t chop his hands off for trying. He’d have to be content with imagining.

Colette turned back to see his eyes closed. It left her free to do some studying of her own.

“Sleeping?” she said. “Some company you are. Did you drag me up here to take a nap?”

Don’t be content with imagining, I told him.

He held out a hand to her. “Let’s do that,” he said. “Let’s just take a nap.”

She took his hand, wondering why she was doing so, and felt a jolt of—of what? What was it she felt when silly old Stéphane took her hand?

She lay back down on her side. He wasn’t silly old Stéphane anymore.

Attack first and analyze later. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked him.

He propped himself up on his side, and they were face-to-face. Only centimeters apart. It might as well be a river of lava between them.

He braved it anyway. He leaned forward and kissed her.

And missed her lips and got her nose.

Colette’s eyes fluttered shut. She couldn’t think. Of course Stéphane wants to kiss you, I told her. You want to kiss him, too. It was true. I wasn’t “putting words” into her mind.

Poor Stéphane’s heartbeat clanged in his throat. It would be a long descent back to town with Colette if he’d just ruined all. But she hadn’t run. She hadn’t kicked, nor squawked, nor bolted, nor scolded. He almost wished she would.

One more try, I whispered to Stéphane.

Colette’s eyes opened again. She saw Stéphane’s lips part and felt her own do the same. Before she quite knew what had happened, she’d leaned toward him, and he’d pulled her close, and she kissed his lips. Or he kissed hers. Either. Yes.

Some moments later, Colette broke away, gasping for air. Stéphane slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. He lay smiling. She gazed at him in wonder.

Thought wasn’t easy, between the havoc in her rib cage, and the electricity skittering across her skin.

Stéphane?

Who else?



* * *





Remember this moment when you think of Stéphane. Remember Colette, once upon a time, standing atop the citadel mount, leaning over the rampart looking at tiny rooftops below, for one last look before climbing down, with her old friend standing close beside her, now strange and new.





ARES