Chapter 3
We stood at terrace railing with luggage between us. Her patterned case caught warm light. Wheels glinted. Marina lights blurred behind us. Night air smelled like salt and diesel from boats below.
I held her case handle. She held phone tight. We waited.
Amber checked screen again. Car icon spun. Cancelled. Then searching again. Then driver three minutes away. Then driver not found.
"Taxi said three minutes ten minutes ago," she said.
I nodded. Looked down at harbor. Chest tight. Part of me relieved. Part of me knew relief was selfish.
"Town busy tonight," I said. "Grand Prix still brings crowds. Takes longer."
She forced small smile. Tears already dried but eyes still red. Her silver hoop caught light when she tilted head. Pink top wrinkled where my hands had been.
We moved toward street anyway. Luggage wheels rattled over terrace stone, then over sidewalk cracks. I pulled her case. She walked close. Shoulder brushed mine. Her hand brushed mine then held.
Street outside marina was loud. Scooters passed. Couple argued outside bar. No taxi in sight.
She stopped under streetlight and lifted phone again. Screen bright on her face. New message at top. Notification banner. White text. Something about departure. Schedule change. I saw time shift.
She flipped phone face down quick. Too quick.
I noticed. Didn't look away.
"What was that?" I asked.
She swallowed. Blinked slow.
"Nothing," she said. "App glitching."
Lie. Short sentence. Quiet evasion. I heard it.
We stood there. Luggage at our feet. Traffic passed. No taxi came. App still searched.
"You said few days," I said. Quiet call-out. Not loud. "Phone says something else?"
She looked at me. Then at luggage. Then at street. Breathing shallow.
"I don't know yet," she said. "Times changed. I didn't want to make tonight about that."
Plea inside evasion. She wanted night to stay good memory, not logistics.
I felt home line from terrace still ringing in head. This place only feels like home when you're in it. Now home depended on taxi not coming.
Phone buzzed again. Driver assigned. Then driver cancelled again. Amber sighed. Sound cracked.
"We could wait another hour on curb," I said. "Or we go back to my apartment. Sleep. Leave early. No midnight rush."
She hesitated. Fingers tight around phone. Looked toward marina exit where taxi would come. Then toward hill where my building stood. Two directions. Two choices.
"I don't want to assume," she said.
"Not assuming," I said. "Offering. Luggage comes with us. You decide morning."
She stared at case. Patterned fabric scuffed at corner. Wheels dirty from terrace.
"If we go back, we delay goodbye," she said.
"I know," I said. "Reason I offered."
She laughed wet. Small sound. Tears came again. She wiped with back of hand. Hoop earring swung.
"Okay," she said finally. "Okay, let's go back. But early. I need early."
I nodded. Picked up case handle. Weight familiar. We turned away from marina street. Walked uphill instead. Past closed souvenir shop. Past gas station with flickering sign. Past apartment balconies with laundry still out.
Street quieter uphill. Our footsteps and luggage wheels loudest sound. She walked close. Hand found mine again. Held.
My apartment was three blocks up. Old building. Key stuck in lock. I pushed door. Hall smelled like cooking oil and lemon cleaner. We dragged luggage over threshold. Wheels bumped on tile.
Inside, room warm. Bed unmade from morning. Her sweater still draped over chair. Proof she already lived here more than few days.
She set phone on counter face up this time. Screen showed departure still pending. Time not resolved. Conflict still there.
She looked at me. Exhausted. Tearful again but softer now.
May you like
"We have night," she said.
We had night. Taxi didn't come. We chose street back to apartment together. Luggage inside now. Night together forced by delay, intimacy and logistics tangled.
