Free La Vie en Bleu by Jody Klaire

picked at the steering wheel, which was faded from the years of
sunshine baking it. “I know.”
    Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. That seemed to satisfy
some train of thought and she squeezed my knee. “Let me help you unpack and we
will start again . . . as new friends.”
    Those words hurt even more than her confession about Vivienne but
that’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? The fact she was talking to me was enough
after all I’d done.
    “Friends it is.”
     
    THE AFTERNOON WAS a mix of joy and angst as Berne helped me to
unpack in silence. Doug, it seemed, had been preparing and had brought a
million essentials. I swore the man had packed half of England. Some of it
would have to go to his bachelor pad up the road. I had no intention of turning
on the whisking machine thingy, let alone deciphering what I needed to whisk in
it. The more stuff we unpacked the more Berne found it funny. She’d only been
with me a year and she knew I couldn’t cook a sandwich let alone anything else.
I was no baker and certainly no Mary Berry.
    It scared me just how easy it was for Berne and I to fall into a
comfortable peace. It was almost as though I had never left and our lives were
not separate. It had always felt so effortless with her. We made the perfect
team. Working side by side, it felt . . . it felt . . . a relief to be
next to her.
    Balls.
    The thought dawned on me as we unloaded the last of the boxes and
panic raced around my body. There was no way I could do this. No way I could be
around her for any extended period of time and not feel, not want—
    “It will take some adjusting,” Berne whispered, her strong hand on
my elbow. “We will find a way. Do not worry.”
    Did I even want to adjust?
    I shook my head free of the thought. Doug, I was marrying Doug. He
was going to be my husband. We were going to make a rugby team. The sudden
nausea of that made me drop the box I’d been carrying.
    “You over think this, oui ?” she said, picking up the box
and heading to a pantry-like cupboard. “One thing at a time. We are taking
boxes up the stairs, cleaning the kitchen, nothing more.”
    Out she came with a mop and bucket and proceeded to fill it with
soapy water. It was something she had done as routine. Her mother had drilled
it into her that a clean kitchen floor was essential. I’d missed that little
quirk.
    “Then why does it feel like . . . ?” I clamped my hands over my
mouth. How dare I even think such a thing?
    “Because we once did it before.” Berne’s smile twinkled through
her eyes. “As I recall, it took a long time, non ?”
    The fact that one, she knew what I was thinking and two, she had
brought up our moving-in day made heat, embarrassment, and a very unwelcome
tingle burst through my system. My brain turned to mush with the memory. I was
in awe, still, of my own reckless behaviour. Whatever had come over me, I
didn’t know.
    “I see that you do not forget so easily,” she said. “ Mais, I
am sure you have many more memories with him.”
    I snorted. “Are you joking?” Closing my eyes at my own emphatic
confession, I tried to ignore Berne’s soft chuckle. Something told me that she
was enjoying the torment she was inflicting. “I mean, of course. Why wouldn’t
we?”
    Berne looked as convinced as I felt, a strange “uh oh” sounded in
my head as everything around us seemed to take a breath. Her eyes fixed on
mine. I was too close to her. Had I moved or did she? Either way we were
getting closer. Each breath harder to take, each beat heavier and louder. Her
full, moist lips—
    “Pip?”
    In my haste to put as much distance between us as possible, I clattered
over the mop bucket. The soap suds gushed all over the floor. I felt my feet
slip and flung my hands out to stop myself.
    I couldn’t.
    I smashed nose first into the pantry door.
    “Pip?” Rebecca’s voice grew more urgent and I heard her barge in
through the doorway as if she were riding to the rescue. “Pip,