Chapter 15
The terrace hadn't changed. Same railing, same bokeh of city lights over the marina, same warm bulb over the bar that made everything look closer than it was. I got there first. My hands were in my pockets and I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. The patterned luggage was still by the back stools where she'd left it last time, zipped shut, wheels turned slightly toward the street like it was ready to go if we told it to.
Amber came up the steps and stopped when she saw me. She wore the same pink top. Her hair was still pulled back tight, silver hoop catching the light. Her eyes were already red.
I didn't move right away. I just breathed and let her look at me.
"You came back up here," she said.
"I didn't want to do it anywhere else," I said. "If we're going to decide anything, it should be where we actually said it."
She nodded and stepped closer. The space between us was the same distance it had been that first night, close enough that I could see the tear track drying on her cheek, close enough to hear her inhale before she spoke.
"It was supposed to be a few days," she said. "I told myself that would be easy. It wasn't. Not even a little."
"I know," I said. "I felt it the second you said it. I kept thinking Monaco would still be Monaco with you gone. It wasn't. My apartment was just rooms. The terrace was just lights. Nothing here felt like home when you weren't in it."
She let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "That's exactly it. Home moved. I was in that other city sitting in a rental that was supposed to be an opportunity and all I kept thinking was, this isn't where I live. Where I live is where you are. That's why a few days hurt like it was months."
We stood there and I reached for her hands. Her fingers were cold. I warmed them between mine.
"I don't want to do that again," I said. "Not like that. No more open-ended goodbyes. No more we-will-see."
Amber squeezed my hands. "So what do we do? Because there will be other trips. My work will pull me again. Yours will too."
I had thought about that the whole afternoon while the apartment sat empty. I'd moved the luggage from the middle of the floor to the corner of the closet. I'd left space on the shelf for her bag. I'd put her coffee mug next to mine instead of hiding it in the cabinet.
"We make a rule," I said. "We define it before anyone leaves. Where, how long, when we call. Every night we see each other on video, no texting instead. If one of us needs more time, we say it before the bag is packed. And no one leaves from the terrace again without saying when they come back. Down to the hour."
She looked up at me, eyes watery but steady. "And we both have keys. Real keys. Not a suitcase in the corner that says guest."
"Yeah," I said. "A key on your ring. Your side of the closet. We stop pretending you might leave for good and start planning like you're staying. Even when you're gone for a few days."
Amber stepped in. I cupped her face the way I had that first night, both hands this time, slower. Her skin was damp with tears. I rested my forehead against hers and we just breathed. Her breathing evened out against mine.
"I want to stay," she whispered. "Tonight I stay. Next week if I have to go for work, I go for three days and then I come home. Here."
"Home is here," I said. "With you in it."
She nodded and I felt her relax. We stayed like that while the bar lights flickered over the water. No one moved around us. The luggage stayed where it was, wheels still, no longer the center of the night. It was just a thing in the background again, stored, not signaling departure.
After a minute she pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were still glossy but she was smiling, that bittersweet smile from the first night now settled into something calmer.
"We good?" she asked.
May you like
"We're good," I said.
We stood on that terrace holding eye contact, breathing steady, tears drying, the city lights holding behind us. Same hold as that first fifteen seconds, same two people in the same clothes under the same warm light. Only this time we weren't waiting for a goodbye to finish. We were waiting to go home together. And we did.
