Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(63)

The driver honks his horn again.

Christian lets go of the handle. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” I mutter, but I know we mean it in different ways. He’ll miss the sex, and I’ll miss the everything.

When I get in the cab, slam the door, and reach a respectable distance from him, the tears flow freely. Hard, heavy tears.

This isn’t how our part-time love affair was supposed to end.





35





Christian





Terms.

Deals.

Financing.

I spend the day enmeshed in them, working in the air-conditioned conference room at a bank. Translating money words all day long is literally the only thing that keeps me from thinking non-stop about everything that went wrong this morning.

There’s no space to think about yourself when you’re translating, and maybe fate was looking out for me, giving me this assignment on a day when I desperately need to keep my gray matter occupied so I don’t dwell on the complete U-turn my life took at a café this morning.

But once the day ends, and the client arrives at a tentative deal, thanking me for helping him converse, I’m free to go.

And my thoughts free-fall the second I leave the office building, the heat of the late afternoon slamming into me cruelly.

I drop my shades over my eyes, unknot my tie, and walk down the avenue. I weave through the throngs of businessmen and women in their suits and heels, chattering on their mobiles, dragging on their cigarettes.

I shove a hand through my hair and walk.

A few blocks later, I glance at the street sign on the building across the way.

I didn’t mean to head in this direction.

I meant to head . . .

Hell, I don’t know where I am or where I planned on going.

I don’t have a sodding clue.

I thought I’d be seeing Elise tonight.

I thought I’d be working with Erik today.

But I’m doing none of those things, since Erik doesn’t need me, and neither does Elise.

I’m back to bouncing between random gigs, filling the time, keeping busy. I like keeping busy, but I don’t enjoy feeling aimless. I head to the river and slump down on a green-slatted bench.

All I need is a bag of bread chunks to feed the pigeons, and I’d be a right pathetic sight. Come to think of it, why should the fucking pigeons suffer?

I pop into a nearby boulangerie, grab a baguette, and rip off chunks for the birds.

Some lady tuts at me, shaking her head, and muttering something about not feeding the pigeons.

I don’t care.

I toss chunk after chunk at the birds, and let me tell you, they love me. They think I’m the bee’s knees.

One of them hops up on the bench. “You’re a bold little bastard.”

He stabs his beak against the bag.

“Demanding, aren’t you?”

I grab another chunk and chuck it across the pavement. He flies off and returns a second later.

I make my way through the bread as I stare at the boats cruising along the river and cyclists whizzing by on the path.

When it comes to signals from Elise, the signs seemed bright and clear today. Now that I’m finally away from the bankers, I review them, talking to the daring pigeon, who waits determinedly at my feet.

“First, she didn’t mention she was seeing the other wife last night. That’s kind of a sign, right? That maybe she doesn’t want to tell me things that matter.”

The pigeon stares at me.

“Then she said we were free to end things. She wants to be happy. Ending this makes her happy. Obviously, right?”

The pigeon doesn’t answer.

“And to top it off, Elise has made her intentions apparent from day one.” I heave a sigh. It’s stupid for me to linger on why we ended. We were only ever an arrangement.

I stand, brush my hand over my trousers, and toss the final chunk of bread to the pigeon. He wolfs it down then flies away.

Figures.

He got what he wanted.

I walk in the other direction, away from the fading sun, but as I meander, a clucking sound echoes nearby. I glance up at the branches of a tree. It’s the pigeon. At least, I think it’s the same one. He’s following me.

“I don’t have any more. I told you,” I tell him.

He’s undeterred. He flaps behind me as I walk, stopping in branches along the way.

“It’s a lost cause, mate,” I mutter.

But it’s not lost to him, because he’s stuck to me, it seems.

He’s persistent.

And as I keep going, and he does too, my brain starts to clear, like clouds are parting. My mind moves aside the terms and the words that demanded all its real estate today. It makes way for new ideas to take root.

Ideas about persistence.

Determination.

Because I can’t shake the thought that I was wrong in my conversation with Mr. Pigeon.

Maybe that’s just hope talking.

Maybe that’s simply a fool’s wish.

Or maybe it’s determination to see this all the way through.

I call Erik and tell him he needs to meet me straightaway. I’ve helped him sort out his mess for the last few months. Time for him to help sort out mine.

In the meantime, I send Elise a message.