Page 9 of Never Too Late

He shrugged as if it was of no consequence. “We holidayed a lot in France when I was a kid. And I’ve been here on business a few times.”

“Do you speak any other languages?”

“A bit of Spanish. Even less German.”

So that was a yes, Cillian just trying to be modest. “Why didn’t I know that about you?”

The question seemed to confuse him. “I guess it never came up.”

I took a long swallow of my beer before fixing him with a stare. “I want to make it clear that me coming here with you isn’t agreement of anything.”

Cillian raised his glass in a toast. He was drinking his usual whiskey and soda. “Don’t worry. It’s clear. I just wanted to talk.”

“So talk.”

He laughed. “It takes two people. Or it’s just me talking at you.”

“Did you really come to Paris just to see me?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, his gaze steady on mine. “It was only a short flight. I didn’t cross the Andes on foot or anything.”

Despite my best efforts not to let it happen, my lips twitched. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

“If you wanted me to cross the Andes, you should have moved to South America.”

“You could have done the Alps instead.”

“They’re not that close to Paris, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Cillian’s grin had warmth spreading through my body. Agreeing to this was a terrible idea. All it was doing was reminding me of all the things I’d liked about him, while all the things that had slowly driven me crazy seemed a million miles away.

“Duly noted that next time I want to impress you,” he said, “I need to find a mountain range.”

I focused on a small group a few tables away, afraid of what I might see on Cillian’s face if I looked his way. And even more scared of how I might react to it. They were a group of five, three women and two men, the entire group talking excitedly in quick-fire French.

“Do you know them?” Cillian asked.

I shook my head, but continued to watch them. “Finlay?” Not Finn, which is what he’d always called me, even from our first meeting. The softness in his voice had me reluctantly turning back to him. “I meant what I said before, about doing anything to get you back. Just tell me what I need to do?”

My heart was thrumming so hard I could feel it in my throat, that same intensity shimmering between us that had always been there. Maybe it would be different now that I’d been honest about what hadn’t worked for me. Everyone deserved a second chance, right? After all, it wasn’t like he’d been abusive, or cheated on me. “You need—”

Cillian cursed as a familiar ringtone started up. And then he answered it. “Hi, Dan, yes… I know I said I’d call you. I was going to.” A pause. “…Really? What’s the problem? Did they say that? Have you spoken to Jonathan about it? I’d start there if I were you. Ask him what he thinks about it and then get back to me.”

I sat in stunned silence as Cillian conversed without even so much as a glance my way. Every time I thought he’d make his apologies and bring the discussion to an end, they’d embark on a new topic.

One minute passed.

And then two, still with no sign of Cillian ending the call.

When two minutes rolled over into three, I grabbed my jacket and stood, walking away from the table without looking back.

What had just happened was good, I told myself as my feet carried me toward the Seine. It was proof, that for all his words about understanding where I was coming from, he either couldn’t or wouldn’t change. It was justification that I’d been right to walk away. The first time, and now.

“FINN?”

I walked faster. If he grabbed me again, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. He could take his second chance andhe could shove it up his arse. “Go away,” I shouted once he got close. “Leave me alone.”

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