Page 79 of Fated

I cover a snort. “I’m sorry.” My smile widens. “What did you want? Mila and I are doing very important things.”

I can almost hear the gears turning in his mind. Outside the golden light of sunset has spilled down the red-tiled roofs and fallen into a dusky evening gray.

A car horn sounds and then Max asks, “How important?”

“Supremely.”

“I’ve been told I’m excellent at disrupting supremely important plans. It’s one of my best qualities.”

“Is this flirting?” I ask, wondering at the wry note in his voice.

“Fiona, if you can’t tell, then it is definitely not flirting.”

I laugh. The cat twitches his ears toward me and Mila looks up, smiling as she scoots another inch closer to Gilbert.

I think she’s being cautious and slow so he doesn’t run away at her approach.

Perhaps that’s what Max is doing. Or it’s what he’s been doing since Christmas Eve.

My stomach dips at the thought of Max flirting with me. It’s not anything we’ve done before. It’s beyond the bounds of our friendship, like the high-tide mark, never to be crossed.

But now, soon, we’ll be crossing it.

I’ve known Max for so long I know him as well as I know myself. He makes me smile. He makes me laugh. But he doesn’t make me glow.

But what am I learning from my dreams? From the dreams that supposedly show me my greatest desire.

It’s that I want to be loved. To love.

That I have to trust. Or risk living the rest of my life alone.

I have to trust.

I press the phone against my ear. “As we’ve never flirted before I wasn’t sure.”

“For the love of— Fi, you’ll be sure. When I flirt, you’ll be sure.” Max sounds grumpy now, and the rumble of rush-hour traffic accentuates his tone.

I smile even though he can’t see me. “Well then, what do you want? I have cats to pet, books to buy, and ...” I think for a moment and then decide. “Ice cream to devour.”

We passed a patisserie on the way to the bookshop with a small freezer of ice cream displayed in the window. There was strawberry with ruby-red chunks streaked through the pink. Strawberry with chocolate sauce is Mila’s favorite. It reminds her of the small, tartly flavored mountain strawberries that are only found in markets in the first few weeks of June. We always buy containers full and dip them in melted chocolate. We come away sticky and buzzing, with strawberry juice dripping down our cheeks and melted chocolate drizzling down our fingers.

“What kind of ice cream?”

Of course he would focus on ice cream. Max has a sweet tooth that knows no bounds.

“Strawberry. I saw hazelnut in the window as well.”

Hazelnut is Max’s favorite. Mentioning it is practically an invitation.

He knows it. “I’ll be there. Where are you?”

“At the antique bookshop in Carouge.”

“I know the one. I’ll be there in five.”

“Is this a date?”

“No. I have to fly to Paris in the morning until Friday. I wanted to see you before I left.”

---