Page 98 of My Turkish Fling
“Anyway,” he grumbled on. “A shipping container is like an invitation for the thieves. You carry things in and out of the shop, out in the open like that... things will start disappearing.”
“Are you sure? Most of the stuff is so worthless people might mistake the container for a recycling bin and new things will start appearing instead of disappearing.”
Dad harrumphed, unimpressed by my exaggeration. But something about my own words niggled at the back of my mind. Something I’d overlooked. It took another ten minutes of mindless arguing with my father to bring it to the surface, but when it did, blood seized in my veins.
Someone had put something in Janie’s house.
Nothing was taken because there wasn’t anything in the house they wanted. Not when she wasn’t home. Because they wanted her. Someone had installed a hidden camera. I had no evidence, yet I knew it with inexplicable certainty.
I didn’t believe in psychic powers, but I believed in intuition—your subconscious mind examining shreds of evidence, fleeting images, and memories, working faster than your conscious mind.
“I have to go,” I told Dad, mid-sentence.
I gathered my things and left the shop, wading through Burak’s cloud of smoke, telling him I was meeting with someone. I wasn’t. I was heading straight back to Cem’s house, which was my permanent address since I’d given up my rental apartment to save every penny. I had to call Janie. I needed to hear her voice. I needed to know she was okay.
Coming back here had been a mistake.
I strolled down the hill towards the nearest tram stop. With Cem not around, I didn’t want to use our driver. I knew he didn’t mind, but I had my pride. I could feel the first pangs of the old headache radiating across my forehead and winced. It was coming back. The incredible gift Janie had given me would be taken away by this polluted city and dusty pile of antiques. And the frown on my face that made stray cats and startled tourists scurry out of my way. I stopped for a moment, trying to relax my face and shoulders, rolling them back. I rubbed my thumb between my eyes, imagining her fingers on my skin, closing my eyes for a moment.
When I opened them, I saw Janie. She was at the other end of the sloping street, a tiny human shape walking up the hill with a green backpack on her shoulders.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes, convinced that I was hallucinating. I’d pictured her so many times, it must have messed with my brain. But I’d never imagined her like this—like a tourist in my town, chin raised in the air as she browsed the shops along the street, slowly approaching me.
Chapter 40
Janie
I felt like I’d time travelled to my twenties, but with my 41-year-old joints. Wandering Istanbul’s endless cobblestone streets, occasionally so steep they turned into stairs, with a heavy backpack on my shoulders, I was starting to lose hope.
I’d thought knowing the name of the neighborhood would make it reasonably easy to find Emir’s antique shop. But of course, I was zigzagging the part of town that was famous for its antiquing, its streets lined with small, crowded boutiques. Their contents seemed to be spilling onto the streets, insides bursting with chaos.
It didn’t help that most people spoke little English. I’d asked for directions twice, but nobody seemed to know Emir Erkam. Or, I was pronouncing his name so poorly they had no idea who I was talking about.
I was just about to cross the road, again, to investigate a shop on the other side, when I saw him.
Emir. In grey slacks and a dark navy dress shirt, just like I remembered him. Except, here he belonged. He looked like an extension of the narrow, historical street flanked by brightly colored buildings and decorative shop signage, multi-colored prayer bunting hanging out of the windows. He was dark and foreign. A man from a different world I had no claim to.
For a split second, I contemplated running away, pretending I hadn’t stalked the poor guy all the way to his hometown. I was sweaty and tired, hair sticking to my temples and the backpack digging into my shoulders. I couldn’t have looked more like a budget tourist if I’d tried.
But I couldn’t run. I couldn’t move. His eyes had pinned me on the pavement. For a moment, we both stood within shouting distance of each other and simply stared.
Finally, he charged towards me, eating up the distance with his long legs. I took a quick sniff at myself and winced, but I had no time to do anything about me. I didn’t even have time to organize my thoughts.
“Janie! It is you.” He grabbed me by the elbows, looking a little startled. Blinking. “I…”
As if remembering his manners, he leaned in to kiss my cheeks. There it was. The Turkish greeting I’d never had. I caught a whiff of his scent, and it flooded my mind with such potent memories I nearly lost my footing.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” I uttered. “I’m sorry.”
Tears threatened to spill, and I forced myself to smile. He helped the backpack off my shoulders, setting it on the ground next to us, then pulled me into his arms. I heard the faint thud as the backpack fell over but didn’t look. I could only wrap my arms around him and breathe. I’d never done anything this brave. Or this stupid. But all my arms cared about was locking themselves around his waist and hanging on.
He muttered something in Turkish and squeezed me tighter. “Janie.”
We hugged for a long time, both unwilling to move. Finally, I pulled back and placed my hands on his chest, my own heart thumping like it wanted to escape. There was so much I wanted to say all at once. So many questions I wanted to ask, that I couldn’t get hold of any thoughts. I only wanted to hold onto the miracle of touching him.
“I’m so relieved.” His voice rumbled through me. “Are you okay? Did you find the hidden camera?”
“What hidden camera?”
