The Balcony Opposite

The balconies were too close for strangers and too far apart for conversation.

Eva discovered this on her first night.

She was thirty-nine, travelling alone after a year in which every plan had somehow belonged to somebody else.

The resort room was small but pleasant.

White walls.

Blue tiles.

A balcony overlooking a narrow garden courtyard.

Across from her, perhaps fifteen metres away, another balcony faced directly towards hers.

A man was sitting there.

Late forties maybe.

Barefoot.

Reading.

Eva stepped outside carrying a glass of wine.

He looked up.

She nodded.

He nodded.

Both returned to what they were doing.

The next night, he was there again.

Same chair.

Different shirt.

Eva arrived at almost the same time.

He lifted his glass.

She lifted hers.

On the third night, he wasn’t there.

Eva noticed.

That irritated her.

She had spent exactly two evenings observing a stranger and had already developed expectations.

At ten fifteen, his balcony door opened.

He stepped outside carrying a plate.

Eva looked down at her book.

When she glanced up again, he was looking at her.

He pointed at the plate.

Then towards her empty table.

Eva shook her head.

He mimed eating.

She laughed and held up a packet of crackers.

He made a disappointed face.

The following morning they crossed paths at breakfast.

Eva recognised him instantly.

He recognised her too.

Up close he looked younger.

Forty-four, perhaps.

He pointed towards her plate.

“Better.”

His accent was French.

Eva laughed.

“You’ve been worried?”

“Very.”

“I’m Eva.”

“Julien.”

They shook hands like colleagues.

That somehow made it funnier.

Julien was from Lyon.

Eva from Melbourne.

He was in Spain for a week after a conference in Madrid.

She was there because she’d booked a holiday six months earlier and refused to cancel it merely because the relationship she’d expected to accompany her no longer existed.

She did not tell him that immediately.

Instead they discussed coffee.

The resort’s was terrible.

This gave them common ground.

Their balcony ritual continued.

But now they had names.

That made the glances more deliberate.

Eva would sit outside at nine thirty.

Julien appeared sometime after.

Sometimes they waved.

Sometimes they simply read.

Once he held up a bottle.

Eva looked at the label and shook her head.

Too far.

Julien disappeared inside and returned with paper.

RIOJA.

Eva wrote on the back of a tourist brochure:

GOOD?

He responded:

VERY.

The next evening Eva bought the same bottle.

Julien applauded silently from his balcony.

It should have felt silly.

It didn’t.

It felt like having company without obligation.

No need to fill every silence.

No need to ask where the relationship was going because there was no relationship.

Only balconies.

Then Julien changed seats.

His chair had always faced sideways towards the garden.

On the fifth night he moved it.

Towards Eva.

Not completely.

Enough.

She noticed.

He knew she noticed.

Eva considered moving hers.

Didn’t.

Twenty minutes later she did.

Julien smiled.

The air between the balconies changed.

It was still nothing.

But it was no longer accidental.

The next morning they went into town together.

Not a date.

They both said that.

Which made it, of course, feel exactly like one.

They found good coffee.

Walked through a market.

Argued about whether a painting was terrible.

Julien bought olives.

Eva hated olives and told him so with inappropriate passion.

“You are objectively wrong,” he said.

“There is no objective standard for olives.”

“There is.”

“Then your country has failed to communicate it.”

“My country?”

“You’re French. Everything culinary is now your responsibility.”

“That is fair.”

By late afternoon they were sitting beside the marina.

Eva told him about the breakup.

Not dramatically.

Simply because it came up.

Julien listened.

Then said, “So this is your first holiday alone.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Eva looked towards the water.

“I thought it would feel lonely.”

“Does it?”

“Sometimes.”

He nodded.

“Me too.”

She looked at him.

Julien smiled slightly.

“My marriage ended two years ago.”

“Oh.”

“So perhaps we are both extremely brave.”

“Or terrible at relationships.”

“Also possible.”

They laughed.

That night the balconies felt different.

More intimate because the people on them were no longer strangers.

Eva stood at the railing.

Julien did the same.

Neither shouted.

Conversation across fifteen metres still felt wrong.

Instead they looked.

Julien touched two fingers to his lips.

Then towards her.

Not quite a blown kiss.

An invitation.

Eva felt the decision arrive clearly.

She nodded.

Julien disappeared inside.

Two minutes later there was a knock on her door.

Eva opened it.

Julien stood there holding the Rioja.

“You came prepared.”

“I am French.”

“You said you’re responsible for all food. Not wine.”

“Wine is food.”

She let him in.

Julien closed the door behind him.

For a moment they stood there holding the wine like two people who had somehow forgotten why he'd come.

Eva took the bottle from him and put it on the table.

Then she kissed him.

The restraint they'd had in town disappeared almost immediately.

Julien's hands moved to her waist.

Eva pulled his shirt open.

Buttons slipped free under her fingers.

“Impatient,” he said.

“Observant.”

He laughed.

She pushed the shirt from his shoulders.

Julien kissed her neck while his hand slid beneath the hem of her dress.

Eva felt his fingers on her thigh.

Higher.

She exhaled.

“Still okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He touched her through her underwear.

Eva was already wet.

The realisation made her laugh quietly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That is not nothing.”

“I've spent five nights pretending this was about reading.”

Julien smiled.

“Very serious literature.”

“Shut up.”

She kissed him again.

Julien slipped the dress over her head.

Eva stood in her underwear with the balcony doors open behind her.

Not outside.

Not on display to strangers.

Inside, where the only person watching was the man she'd invited.

Julien looked at her body slowly.

Eva liked that he didn't rush to touch.

The watching was part of it.

“Come here,” she said.

He did.

Eva unfastened his trousers and pushed them down.

His cock was hard inside his underwear.

She stroked him through the fabric.

Julien inhaled sharply.

“Still terrified?”

“No.”

“Shame.”

Eva pushed his underwear down and wrapped her hand around him.

Julien kissed her while she stroked him.

Then he dropped to his knees.

Eva leaned back against the wall.

He pulled her underwear down.

“Still okay?”

“Yes.”

His mouth went between her thighs.

Eva gripped his shoulders.

He licked her slowly at first, learning her.

Then more firmly.

Eva stopped thinking about anything outside the room.

Her hands went into his hair.

“Right there.”

Julien kept the same pressure.

She came against his mouth with one leg hooked over his shoulder.

When she could breathe again, Eva pulled him up.

“My turn.”

She led him to the bed and pushed him down.

Julien looked up at her.

Eva knelt between his legs.

For days she'd watched him read, swim, drink wine, move casually around the opposite balcony.

Now she had his cock in her hand.

The shift in perspective pleased her.

She took him into her mouth.

Julien groaned.

Eva looked up.

He was watching.

Of course.

She took him deeper.

His hand rested at the back of her head without pushing.

When he got close, she stopped.

Julien laughed breathlessly.

“Cruel.”

“Apparently I enjoy control.”

“I have noticed.”

Eva climbed over him.

“Condom?”

“Wallet.”

“Of course.”

He found it.

Eva rolled it onto him.

Then lowered herself onto his cock.

She paused once he was fully inside.

Julien's hands rested on her hips.

“Good?”

“Very.”

Eva started moving.

The balcony doors remained open.

Cool night air reached the room.

Across the courtyard Julien's chair sat empty beneath the light.

Eva looked at it.

Then down at the man beneath her.

She rode him harder.

Julien sat up and kissed her.

Their bodies pressed together.

Eva moved in his lap, grinding down while he thrust up.

The pressure built quickly.

“Bed,” he said.

“We're on the bed.”

“Other way.”

She laughed.

Julien rolled her onto her back.

Eva opened her legs.

He pushed deep.

The laugh disappeared.

“Fuck.”

Julien smiled.

“Better view?”

“Much.”

He fucked her steadily, one hand gripping her thigh.

Eva touched herself while he moved inside her.

Julien watched her fingers.

That made her do it more deliberately.

“Don't stop,” he said.

“You don't either.”

Their pace became harder.

Eva came again, clenching around him.

Julien followed seconds later.

Afterwards they lay in the warm room listening to the distant sound of the resort.

Julien looked across the courtyard.

“My chair.”

Eva laughed.

“You're worried about the chair?”

“He has been abandoned.”

“Tomorrow.”

The following evening they returned to their separate balconies on purpose.

Julien raised his glass.

Eva raised hers.

Then she held up a piece of paper.

LATER?

Julien looked towards her room.

Then wrote:

YOUR PLACE OR MINE?

Eva smiled.

She answered:

BOTH.

The chair, it turned out, survived the rest of the holiday.