Chapter 2
We stayed that way until the wind changed.
It came off the marina and hit the railing behind us, cold enough that the candle on the next table blew out. I could feel Amber's breath on my chin, slow and shallow, and I didn't want to move my hands from her face. Her skin was wet where the tears had tracked. Behind her, over her shoulder, that patterned suitcase sat with its handle up, wheels catching the terrace light. Nobody had touched it since we'd sat down.
That was when her phone lit up.
It was face-down on the little round table beside our glasses. The screen came on, bright against the dark wood, and I saw the preview before she could turn it over. It wasn't a text from a friend. It was a calendar alert. White text on black.
ALX - Departure 06:15 - Terminal 2
And under it, smaller: Return - Sept 18
I stared at it. It was September 2nd. I did the math without meaning to. That wasn't three days. That wasn't even a few days. That was sixteen.
Amber saw me see it. Her hand jerked to flip the phone, but she was too late. She let it fall face-down again with a soft click and left her hand there, fingers tight around the edge.
"Amber," I said.
She didn't answer at first. She pulled back just enough that my hands slid from her neck to her shoulders, then dropped. She wiped under her eye with the back of her wrist, careful not to smear anything, the way she always did when she was trying to hold it together.
"I was going to tell you after we ordered," she said. "I didn't want it to be like this. Out here."
My throat was dry. I could still feel the pressure of her face in my palms.
"You said a few days," I said. I kept my voice low. The couple at the next table was trying not to look at us.
"I know what I said."
"Sixteenth? That's more than two weeks."
She nodded once, quick. Her silver hoop caught the light. She wasn't looking at me now, she was looking at the suitcase like it might roll away on its own.
"It's not three days, it's sixteen," she said. "Maybe seventeen depending on the connection back. The project in Lyon got extended. They asked me last week and I... I said yes before I could talk to you about it because if I didn't say yes they'd give it to someone else. It's a real contract, not just coverage."
The warm light from the bar made her pink top look brighter than it was. I could see her chest rise and fall fast, like she couldn't get a full breath.
I reached for the phone again without thinking. She didn't stop me. I turned it over. The lock screen showed two more notifications stacked underneath. One from an airline, one from a group chat named LYON HOUSE. The airline one had a seat number. 14A. That made it too real.
"You had this booked," I said. "Before tonight."
"Five days ago," she whispered. "I kept trying to find the right time. Every time I started to tell you, you said something about the terrace being home and I... I didn't know how to say it without making it sound like I was choosing something else over you."
I didn't know what to say to that. The words from a few minutes earlier were still hanging there between us. This place only feels like home when you're in it. I'd meant it when I said it. Now it felt like a trap I'd set for her without meaning to.
The bartender came over, hesitated when he saw our faces, and asked if we wanted to close out. I nodded. He left the little black folder on the edge of the table and walked away.
Amber stood up first. She pulled her jacket off the back of her chair and didn't put it on, just held it bunched in her hands.
"Do you want me to just go?" she asked. Her voice was very small. "I can call a car from here. You don't have to walk me down. If you want to stay and... I don't want you to feel like you have to carry this for me."
It was a clear choice. Stay at the bar, let her roll that suitcase to the taxi stand alone on the marina walkway, pretend the sixteen days hadn't just rewritten the night. Or go with her.
I looked at the suitcase. The patterned one with the light wheels. The thing that had been background the whole night was suddenly the only thing that mattered.
I stood. My knees popped. I reached past her and took the handle.
It was heavier than I expected.
"I'll walk you," I said. "Come on."
May you like
She let out a breath she must have been holding since the phone lit up. A tear slipped anyway, quick down her cheek, and she didn't wipe it this time.
We left the money on the table and stepped past the railing where the city lights blurred out over the water. I had the suitcase in my right hand, its wheels loud on the terrace tiles, then quieter on the walkway. She walked close enough that her shoulder brushed my black jacket every few steps. We didn't talk. The exit to the marina was lit up ahead, and the line of taxis was already visible where the road met the stairs.
