The Anatomy of Emotion

Chapter Two

March—Cannes

Corin stops his car in front of Maeva's gallery five minutes before seven, and she is waiting on the steps. She has changed her clothes since he left—softer, ripped jeans and a mutilated black tee shirt that hangs off her pale shoulder and barely reaches the middle of her ribs. He makes a very loud snap with his gum as she ducks into the car and straps herself in. There is still paint smudged across her hands.

"Hey," he says.

"Hello," she tugs at the end of her hair. It is tied off her sharp cheeks with a scrap of black lace, "how long is the drive?"

"It's a ways, but given the time it should only be about an hour," he puts the car in gear and heads toward the city limits.

"That's right, you live right on the sea."

"My house is on the sea, whether or not I really live there is somewhat questionable."

Maeva leans on the window and watches the buildings get sparser.

"Sound so bitter."

Corin studies the wispy bits of black that flutter around her ears, into her eyes as she drinks in the buildings she lives with.

He turns back to the road, "no, I'm not bitter. I love being on tour, I do. But there are things here I wish I had more time to enjoy."

"I don't see why," she doesn't take her eyes off the buildings lining the highway, "on tour you get liquor, a workout, emotional release and a very enthusiastic fuck every night. What does this place have on that?"

"I don't know," Corin shrugs, "it has my house and the sea. I love the water. Nowhere in the world makes a baguette as good as the boulangerie, not even in Paris. The city just has a feeling about it."

His eyes come back to her, watching her face propped on her hand. She blinks at the sunset.

"It's the sea salt."

"Pardon?"

"Madame Lefreas at the boulangerie, she uses the local sea salt in her baguettes," Maeva murmurs.

"I feel betrayed, she always told me the secret was love."

"Perhaps it takes love to find and deal with that gritty old salt. I like the answer she gave me better."

"Because you don't believe in love or because you wish you didn't?"

"Because I'm made happy by the concrete idea of wanting to make the bread better. It's just bread. It should taste good. Simple."

Corin just shakes his head and watches her shift her shoulder against the door. He looks down her neck to the white print on her shirt, and it takes him a moment to realize it is one of their shirts. Half of their logo and word Eurydice covering her chest. She turns her head toward him, arching a brow.

"What?"

"You're wearing one of our shirts," he blinks.

She looks down, "yes, so?"

Corin chews the inside of his lip and looks back at the road. His head spins for something to say that does not include the words 'hottest thing I have ever seen' or 'I want you like I want air'.

Finally, he murmurs, "just a little bit surreal, I suppose."

"I don't see why," Maeva says, "I like the band, people have shirts for bands they like."

"I didn't know you liked us even close to that level."

He rolls his lip between his teeth, and after a long think, he looks back at her.