Page 10 of Never Too Late

“I know you’re annoyed at me.”

“You think?”

“And you’re right to be. I know that what I just did was exactly what you were talking about.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” I’d reached the river now. I hooked my elbows over the railing and stared out at the murky water. “The sad thing is, you almost had me convinced.”

Cillian joined me at the railing, his expression one of defeat. Him knowing how badly he’d fucked up didn’t make me feel any better. Nothing could make me feel better about being so gullible. “You should go home,” I said. “Back to London, I mean. Not just wherever you’re staying.”

“A hotel,” Cillian said. “A nice one.”

“Good for you.”

His phone rang again—the sound jarring so close to the silent river—and I laughed. And then something dark flew through the air, the noise going with it. There was a plop as it hit the water, and then silence. I leaned over the railing, staring down at the spot where the object had disappeared into the water. “Did you just…?”

“Yeah!” There was surprise in Cillian’s voice. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t look.”

“It might have been important.”

“Maybe.”

I turned to face him. “Was throwing your phone in the Seine supposed to impress me?”

“I don’t know what it was supposed to do. Just that I feared for my life if I answered it.” The ridiculousness of his answerbrought a reluctant smile to my face. “Now, I don’t have a boyfriend or a phone,” he said sadly.

“Easy enough to buy one.”

“I really hope you’re talking about a phone.”

“You know they’ve been trying to get this river clean for years? And then you chuck your phone in it with zero regard for pollution.”

“Whoops.”

“Yeah, whoops,” I echoed. I stifled a yawn, the coffee and beer doing nothing to stop the late hour from catching up with me. Maybe I’d sleep after all.

“Come on,” Cillian said with a jerk of his head in the direction we’d come. “Let’s get you home. I’m assuming you’ve got work tomorrow.”

Chapter Five

It was mid-morning before Laurent succeeded in his intention of getting me alone.

We stepped outside for the illusion of privacy to where the smokers usually congregated, concern etched on my friend’s face while I detailed everything that had occurred after his departure.

“And then what happened?”

“He took me home.”

“I bet he did,” Laurent said with a knowing smirk.

“Actually, he only escorted me to the door of my building.” That alone had kept me awake for an hour as I’d struggled to work out whether I was relieved or disappointed Cillian hadn’t tried to invite himself in or move in for a kiss.

“So… he’s given up?” Laurent asked. “He took on board what you had to say?”

“I think so.”

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