Page 150 of One Night Only
Neither of us does anything for a long moment but before my brain can catch up with my terrible decision, she adjusts a large tote bag over her shoulder and speaks. “You must be Sarah. My name’s Fiona. I’m a friend of Declan’s.”
“I know who you are.” I wince inwardly as soon as I say it, the words coming out more clipped than I would have liked. I don’t know how this is going to play out, but I don’t want to be the reason for a fight. “He’s not here,” I say, trying to sound friendlier. “He just left.”
Frustration flashes across her face, vanishing as quickly as it came.
“I should have called,” she says. “Can I leave something for him?”
“Of course.” And then, to her surprise and my horror, I stand back, the universal sign of please, come on in. I realize as soon as I do that she was just going to hand me something. She’s already rooting in her bag but she pauses now, her eyes flicking behind me.
Man, I wish I hadn’t opened the door.
“Thanks,” she says and, with her face carefully blank, steps past me into the apartment.
A waft of lavender follows as I close the door and watch her take in the room. It’s obvious she hasn’t been here before but that doesn’t make me feel any better. Not now that I can see her properly. She’s tall and lanky, with long legs and a flat stomach. She wears no makeup other than a faint red sheen of lipstick, that looks as if she hurriedly swiped it across her lips. A last-minute effort she doesn’t even need.
She looks like one of those stylish women getting a smoothie after their hot yoga session.
She’s beautiful.
Even tired and tense she looks beautiful.
And I’m suddenly aware of how I look next to her. My hair frizzy from lack of product. My clothes creased from yesterday. Thank God I had a shower at least.
I don’t know what to say. Do I ask her if she wants to sit? If she wants a glass of water?
You must be Sarah. Has Declan told her about me? Why?
I grow flustered as Fiona’s gaze turns to the bedroom and the rumpled sheets visible through the open door.
A tense silence falls over us.
“He won’t be long,” I say before she can speak. “You can wait here. I’ll…I can go.”
“You don’t have to.”
But I want to. Should I text him? Does she want me to text him? Does she have his number? “Do you want some coffee?”
“No,” she says. “Thank you but I’ve had three cups this morning.” Her smile is forced and doesn’t reach her eyes. “Could you just tell him I brought the papers?” she asks, drawing out a thick, worn folder from her bag.
The divorce papers.
“I also wrote him a letter. In case he wasn’t here or I chickened out or…” She trails off, her mask faltering.
“Sure,” I say, after a second. “No problem.”
But she doesn’t give it to me, she just looks at me, fiddling with the side of the envelope. “It’s not a letter,” she says suddenly. “I don’t know why I said that. It’s five lines at most. It’s more of a note.”
“Okay.”
“I wrote it on the plane,” she continues as a pink flush spreads across her neck. She doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Declan?” I ask, a little desperately.
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I should go. He’s going to hate me for this. I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea. I’m sorry for troubling you. I didn’t even think you’d…”
I can only watch as she has a minor breakdown in front of me, her movements jerky as she turns to find a place to put the folder down. As she moves, the toe of her sneaker catches on the rug and she stumbles. We both lurch forward as her bag slips down her arm, the contents spilling to the floor.
“Shit.Shit.Sorry.”
