Then Luc’s gaze landed on me.
And everything changed.
His face softened immediately, like someone had dimmed a switch. He smiled, warm and genuine, eyes crinkling.
“Ah,” he said, switching to slower French. “Et toi, t’es qui?”
I had no idea what gave me away, but I respected the kindness in both his manner and tone. I told him my name.
“Rachel,” he repeated, tasting it.“Photographe?”
“Oui,” I said. “Intern.”
“With him?” He gestured at René with his chin.“Je suis désolé.”
I didn’t laugh. Oh, I didnotlaugh, but it was hard when he delivered thatI’m sorryso solemnly.
René scoffed. “Ignore-le.”
Luc leaned across the table, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “ T’inquiète pas,” he told me. “Il mord, mais seulement parce qu’il pense que ça aide.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
René shot me a look. Not a glare. Not a warning.
A calculation.
Luc reached for one of the belts and handed it to me. The leather was soft but sturdy, the stitching imperfect in a way that felt intentional.
“Regarde,” he said. “Pas avec les yeux. Avec les mains.”
I did. There were other ways to look at things and he was right. Some things just needed to be felt. The weight of it settled into my palms. The texture. The faint smell of oil and time. This wasn’t an accessory. It was an object with a past.
“He does not do clothes,” René said, almost grudgingly. “But he understands bodies.”
Luc beamed at that like it was the highest compliment he’d get all day.
“Elle comprend,” Luc said, nodding at me. “Je le vois.”
She knows. I can see it.
I felt something loosen in my chest.
Maybe it was the kindness. Maybe it was being seen without being tested.
Or maybe it was the realization that this city—this industry—was full of sharp edges and unexpected softness, sometimes in the same damn person.
René tapped the table once. A signal.
“On continue,” he said.
Luc waved us off, already turning back to his work. “Reviens quand tu seras moins insupportable,” he called after René.Come back when you’re less unbearable.
“Compte pas là-dessus,” René replied without turning.Not likely.
I followed him, leather still warm in my hands for a moment longer before I set it down.
Faces mattered.
