Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
I hear the distant sound of Mariah Carey singing, getting progressively louder, until it’s upon us, unbearably loud, and yet today I can bear it. A rickshaw drenched in multicoloured Christmas lights and dripping in tinsel passes, the two passengers singing along, arms in the air. I can feel Dec looking at me again, but I return my attention forward.
And we walk.
And walk.
No more words, no conversation, but plenty of fleeting looks.
No facial expressions.
Not until we reach Camden High Street. “So what was the document that needed signing?” he asks.
“Why do you assume it needed signing?”
“Because no one gives a document that much attention without it needing a signature.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Yes.”
I look up at him, just as he looks down at me, and there’s that flutter in my stomach again. And this time, not a ping, but an explosion in my chest. I have to look away. “What do you do?” I ask.
“For a living?”
“Yes.”
“Acquiring and merging. More acquiring. You?”
“CFO.”
“Of?”
“A shipping company. TF Shipping. I was brought in to get it in a healthy financial shape ready for the owner to bring in a team who’ll prepare it for public debut.”
“So that was the paperwork.”
“No, the paperwork was my divorce papers.” I don’t know why I peek up at him now, maybe to see his reaction? I should have known, though. There is no reaction.
“Struggling to sign them?”
“No.” I have no idea where these words are coming from. And yet they won’t stop coming. “I’m struggling to accept the reasons he’s cited.”
“Which are?”
“Not going to be discussed with you.” I swallow down the predictable lump growing, frustrated it still exists. “And you?” I ask, moving things along.
“Me, what?”
“Are you married?”
“Yes.”
My steps falter a little too much to go unnoticed. What is that inside? Disappointment? I frown to myself, my gaze dropping to my feet. And now I have no clue what to say. The silence has been comfortable. The conversation had been surprisingly easy, and I don’t want that to change. “How long have you been married?”
“Technically, five years.”
“Technically?”
“I’d have been divorced four years ago, but I don’t know where to send the papers.” He looks at me. Holds my eyes. Now he’s searching for my reaction and, like him, I don’t have one.
“You don’t know where she is?”
He shakes his head as we turn onto my street, and naturally my mind races. What’s his story? Where is she? Why did they break up? But more than my endless questions about Dec, what is happening inside me?
The heat, the flutters, the breathlessness.
“I’ve never met someone who also enjoys walking, despite the cold,” he says, breaking the silence.
“I walk everywhere I can. It’s something my mum and I used to enjoy.”
“Interesting. My mum was similar. She used to say that walking in the cold staved off sickness because it built our immunity. I don’t think it’s true anymore, but I still equate the cold with good things.”
“I like that sentiment.” I like this man. This walk has stirred something inside, and it isn’t just intrigue. “This is me,” I say, pointing to the door into my apartment block. Dec looks up at the building as we stand at the bottom of the steps, only a few feet between our chests. “Thank you for walking me home.”
“Wouldn’t want you to get attacked by any killer bubbles again, would we?”
My smile is small, definitely unseen. “Want to come in?” The question jolts me. What am I saying? I don’t want him to see my home. I find myself holding my breath as he slowly turns his eyes back onto me.
“I probably shouldn’t.”
“Don’t you trust yourself?”
“Not in the least,” he whispers, his gaze falling to my mouth. My lungs start to burn, my eyes on his mouth too.
And suddenly his lips are coming closer.
Closer.
I breathe out slowly, starting to shake, asking myself repeatedly what the hell I’m doing. What’s happening? How did we arrive at this intimate, close moment?
I close my eyes.
Yes, what are you doing, Camryn? This isn’t how you operate.
I come into myself and pull back, at the very moment Dec pulls away too. He glances away, his eyes squinting in silent contemplation. “I definitely don’t trust myself.” Two steps back puts more space between us, but I don’t breathe easy again. Nowhere close. “Goodnight, Camryn.”
“Goodnight, Dec,” I whisper.
His tall body turns, and he walks away, his gait smooth, his strides long but not fast. And when he reaches the end of my street, he looks back to find I haven’t moved a muscle. Stopping, his body slowly turns. And I’m holding my breath again, anticipating his next move, shaking where I stand. He starts coming back, and I inhale sharply, but when he gets halfway, he stops abruptly again. Then he takes a moment, thinks, watching me, while I wait, breathless.