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“Being mysterious.” Florian shrugged. “He’s seeing someone, I think. But keeping it very hush-hush.” His gaze drifted up to the night sky, dotted with a rainbow of colour, then back down to me. “He’ll tell me when he’s ready. Hey, look who’s over there.”
I followed the direction of his pointing finger and smirked. Pierre, our office manager, was becoming very well-acquainted with the village policeman. One evening at L’Escale, Jerome had done that straight person thing, introducing his two gay acquaintances to each other as if that automatically made them comrades. On this occasion, however, it looked to be working.
A flash from another rocket pierced the night sky. Not so long ago I’d hidden from them like a dog, with trembling limbs and my eyes squeezed shut. Tonight, tucked into Florian, I embraced the view. A rocket blistered the inky sky. “Is that the last one, do you think?” he asked.
“No. Obviously.” I rolled my eyes at him, and he made a noise that over the last week I’d come to recognise and adore. “Your bed will still be there in half an hour. We’ve only just got here!”
“We could go home and check anyway,” he wheedled in a singsong voice. The hand resting on my thigh as we dangled our legs over the edge of the port wall crept a little higher. “And create some fireworks of our own.”
“Even for you, that’s very corny.” I stilled his hand with mine. “Good things come to boys who wait.”
His sea-green eyes lit with mischief. “And in them.”
So. I’d done a thing. Two things actually. The first was straightforward, cutting my ties with Marcus for good, making Florian very happy indeed. As I’d explained to my old friend before tossing my work phone containing his number into the bin, I didn’t have time for big business deals any more. Not now my mini financial advice service was up and running, keeping my navy at a contented simmer.
Jerome and Léa had been my first customers. I helped them secure a low-deposit mortgage on a little house just outside Loix. My advice had cost them nothing—my small fee generated from the bank that had secured their loan. My second customer had been Bruno, a salt farmer, seeking pensions advice, the third the tabac owner, wanting a low-interest, affordable loan for a refit. The fourth was the moody young woman from the supermarket, demanding I sort out a grant for solar panels. Who acted like she’d never seen me before in her life. Plus ça change.
The second thing had been a little… um… more daring. And cheeky. And the reason a horny Florian tugged on my sleeve wanting to drag me away from the fireworks before the finale.
Dipping into my bank account, bursting with money I couldn’t ever spend, I’d purchased a house. But not any house. This particular one was attached to Florian and Papi’s and had belonged to some very pleasant weekenders from Nantes. Over aperitifs, I pointed out to them that they might be much happier with a roomier second home overlooking the ocean, and that something perfect for their requirements happened to be for sale on the edge of Loix. Money exchanged hands—a lot of money, way more than their cottage would ever be worth and more than enough to purchase the other. And then I paid a very nice local builder to knock the walls down between the two and an architect to make plans for some new ones. The upshot being that Papi retained his cosy snug and his familiar bedroom. We even kept his homey kitchen like a 1970s time warp, except now it was tagged onto a much larger, modern one. The new end of the cottage also housed my airy art studio, with a bathroom and big bedroom above it. In the middle of which sat a very comfortable and spacious bed, which had arrived a week ago. With springs Florian was eager to test.
As fireworks rained noisily over my head, I tucked my arm into Florian’s, resting my head on his shoulder. As always, he smelled salty and sun-kissed; of the ocean breeze across the marshes, and of all the good times stretching ahead of us. My muse and my peace. My forever silver.
“There are only a few minutes left,” I said with a smile. “Though perhaps it might be prudent to escape ahead of the crowds.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “We’ve seen the best of the display. And we don’t want to get trampled under the hordes of… I don’t know, maybe fifty or so children?”I huffed a laugh into the sweet skin of his neck. “You’re right. Kids grow so big these days. We should be careful. And there is always next year and the year after that.”
“There is, mon chéri.” His lips pressed against the top of my head. “And I really should check on Papi.” Hauling me to my feet, his hand slipped easily into mine, where it belonged. “Let’s go home, Charles.”
