It was the only qualifier Luke found to express his luck, controlling his emotion so as not to jump in every sense of joy at the idea of becoming the owner of the little paradise. A large house, in good condition, located one kilometer from the nearest neighbour and, above all, by the sea.
- "So you take it? gently inquired the real estate agent, a confident smile as carved on his face ravaged by wrinkles. "
Luke plunged his gaze into that of the attorney, smiling like a child in front of a bag of sweets:
- " And how! "
Sometimes life smiles at you. One point is all. Suddenly, like this, she gets in love with you and seems to whisper to the rest of the universe her instructions to offer you your dreams on a golden tray. For sure, Luc Myers had caught his eye, in life. First, he had heard of the announcement by chance, from the mouth of this good old owner of the Bottle to the Sea, during a lonely weekend at St Aubin on the sea. Then it turned out that he was the first to answer it. Finally, the old bicoque had proved to be quite in its prices, which was not the case for the majority of the smallest and poorly located one-piece Parisians. A vain cuckold, what.
Except Luke was single. That at the age of twenty-five, fresh from a degree of psychologist, with all the savings amassed during his long university years, thanks to a night work as a security guard, he had just realized his dream: a pleasant house, on the Normandy coast, and enough to live comfortably without working for a year. Finally, he was going to be able to tackle a project that he had been committed to for many years: writing his first novel.
It was more or less all these things that the young man was thinking about as he finally parked his rusty old Fiat in front of his new home. He cut off the contact and awkwardly escaped from his dilapidated average locomotion, standing on the sand in front of the old bicoque.
The old man who had sold it to him, a retired fisherman, had told him that it had been built almost a century earlier. For sure, we used to make more of them like that. It was a huge, three-storey building with an original slate roof that - the old fisherman had warned - he would probably have to tinker here and there. But overall, the house was in good condition. Its old oak floors cracked under the steps, as in the most kitsch of horror films. But they seemed reliable, as did the massive stone walls, covered with ivy. Yes, luc mused. This is the place I've always dreamed of. It will be my safe haven, my sanctuary. And, on this note of epic optimism, the young man entered his home.
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