Page 11

11

Hugo

“ T hat wasn’t too bad,” Tristan said from his position behind the bench press as he helped guide the barbell back into a safe position.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” Hugo huffed, stretching out his tired muscles. “If you’re planning on becoming a personal trainer, I wouldn’t quit your day job just yet.”

Tristan laughed. “You’re in a foul mood.” Hugo couldn’t argue that point. Ever since he’d left her apartment after the movie, Jo had been avoiding him. Not literally. She hadn’t even given him the excuse to go see her just to check on her . She’d answered the phone when he called, she just hadn’t shown any interest in seeing him or speaking with him, claiming she was busy. Maybe she is busy . Too busy to speak? Too busy to see if this thing between them was real? Tristan took a swig from his bright yellow water bottle.

“What is that, in case you get lost in the dark?”

Tristan looked down at his bottle as if seeing it for the first time. “I like it. What the hell is going on with you, Hugo?”

Hugo sighed, sitting on the bench press, all thoughts of exercise forgotten. “You know how I told you I was seeing a therapist.”

Tristan nodded. “Oh. I think can see where this is going.”

“No. You can’t. We watched a movie together in her house. We kissed.” Great. Now he sounded like a lovelorn teenager.

“And now she’s not picking up the phone,” Tristan completed for him

“Exactly.”

“So go talk to her. Don’t make an ass out of both of you by assuming anything.”

“You think I should?”

“It’s Thursday evening, Hugo. I can’t imagine you’ve got anything more important to do.”

He didn’t. And Tristan was right. There was so much he had to tell her. “Thanks, man.” He took a quick shower and was back on the street fifteen minutes later. It was getting warmer, and the city was teeming with all those tourists who’d managed to sneak out of work a week early, trying to beat the July crowds. Fat chance of that.

He decided to try her office first. He could always go to her apartment if she wasn’t there.

He rang the doorbell, surprised when Madame Lagarde answered. “ Monsieur Morant,” she said, letting him inside. Was her voice a tad less cold than usual? “I don’t remember you having an appointment tonight.” Ah . And there was the Madame Lagarde he’d come to know.

“ Madame Lagarde,” he said, inclining his head. “I need to speak with Dr. Marsh, please.”

“Is it an emergency?” she asked, looking him up and down as if to say, it doesn’t look to me like you’re bleeding to death .

He was about to argue his point when Jo appeared in the doorway of her office. “Please let Mr. Morant in, Madame Lagarde. And go home. I’ll lock up myself.”

“If you’re sure, Dr. Marsh,” the woman said.

“Thanks for that,” Hugo said, once they were alone. “I don’t think she was going to let me in.”

“She was just doing her job.” There was a questioning look in Jo’s dark blue eyes. It hurt to know that she couldn’t see him.

“I’m sorry to barge in. I needed to speak with you.”

“Are you okay? Have you had any more nightmares?”

Hugo didn’t want to speak with her as a therapist, but it seemed only fair to let her know that the breathing exercises she’d prescribed were helping center him. He told her how twice this week, he’d found himself in the nightmare, but this time somehow as an observer, rather than as an active participant.

“I’m glad,” she said. She looked distracted.

“Is everything okay, Jo?” I’ve been worried about you .

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been avoiding you, Hugo. Or not on purpose. I’ve just … had a lot on my mind.” Just as her words died down, her stomach grumbled.

“Let me take you out to dinner,” he said. Jo’s look was uncertain. “Or for a quick snack,” he added quickly. That second option seemed to make it through her defenses.

“A quick snack sounds good. The Alpina bar?”

“Any place you like.” It made sense that she’d prefer somewhere familiar. “I can wait until you’re ready.”

Jo shook her head, turning off her laptop and picking up her cane. “Now’s good. I wasn’t going to get much more writing done tonight.”

They walked out together side by side. Hugo took the side closer to the road, their steps falling into an easy rhythm, her cane tapping lightly against the cobblestones. The street was quiet for a Thursday evening, the kind of peaceful lull that came just before the nightlife woke up.

She walked confidently, her pace even, the cane sweeping smoothly ahead of her. He found himself glancing at her every now and then, marveling at the ease with which she navigated a world made with sighted people in mind.

They didn’t speak, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was the kind of quiet that felt like an understanding. And there was so much he wanted to ask, about why she’d been ignoring his calls, but he was also enjoying the moment, and didn’t want to scare her away again.

The modern glass and steel facade of the Alpina hotel seemed almost out of place against the rustic charm of the surrounding street. The doors opened for them, and Hugo followed as Jo made her way confidently to the bar.

It was fancier than most bars Hugo frequented. As soon as they stepped inside, a man wearing a burgundy shirt, with a beaming smile, made his way towards them.

“Ah, Dr. Marsh.” The bartender greeted her warmly, emphasizing his French accent. That probably got him better tips from tourists. "I’ve just received a new case of Bordeaux wine. I think you’ll find it delightful. Would you like to try it?"

“Oh. That sounds lovely,” Jo said, her tone somewhere between pleased and uncertain. “Hugo?”

“Red wine sounds great,” Hugo agreed. Though he preferred beer himself, he would be happy to sit here and drink red wine, if that made her happy.

"We’ll have two glasses," she said. “And some sparkling water.”

They settled into a cozy corner of the bar. He noticed how Jo tilted her head slightly toward the ambient sounds—the chatter of other patrons, the faint clink of glassware—as if weaving them into her understanding of the room.

Moments later, the bartender returned with two large, fragile-looking glasses and a bottle. He set them down with a flourish and a knowing smile, then poured each glass a third full, leaving them the bottle. "Let me know what you think, Dr. Marsh."

She lifted her glass, her fingers delicate against the stem, and brought it to her nose. He mirrored her, feeling the warmth of the glass in his hand.

“What does it look like?” she asked.

“It’s red,” he replied. She nodded, her expression encouraging, except he was done. The wine looked red to him. “Just red.” He paused. “That’s not what you were hoping for, is it?”

“No wine is just red,” Jo smiled. “Is it more of a ruby red? Purple? Is it mostly transparent? Or opaque? When you swirl it around the glass, what do you see?”

Hugo tried to follow, answering each of her questions to the best of his ability. In return, she shared everything she knew about Bordeaux wine.

“How do you know so much about wine?”

“My father loves wine. The little I know, I learned from him. Hmmm … smell it. Can you smell the black fruits?” She raised her glass in his direction. “To good wine.”

“To good company.”

The wine was smooth, rich with notes of something spicy that he couldn’t name. Hugo noticed Jo only brushed the wine against her lips, then put the glass down again. Time to say what had to be said .

“Is everything okay, Jo?” He paused. “If something I did the other evening upset you, I?—”

“No,” she said quickly. “Definitely not. I had a great time the other evening. I’ve just?—”

“Had a lot on your mind,” he completed.

Jo blushed a pretty pink color. “Yes. I’m sorry I can’t go into more detail.” Her hand sought the glass of sparkling water. Hugo held it towards her, their fingers brushing as she took the glass from him, the electric current between them as strong as ever. When she was done drinking, she held it back towards him, and he took it back.

“I like that,” she said, simply. “The way your hand feels against mine.”

“I like it, too,” Hugo said. And there was so much more he wanted to say to her, but he didn’t have the words.