Page 103 of Falling for You
‘She’s a nice lady, Nate.’
Hmmm. We’ll agree to disagree there.
‘We just stayed in touch after the theatre. Just some casual dates. That’s all.’
‘Okay, sure. I do need to talk to you about something else, though.’
‘Is it about that girl?’ He smirks at me from over his pint and I flinch.
Fuck, why did I ever tell anybody about Annie?
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m going back to New York.’
Remy raises his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Really? Why’s that?’
‘I hate it here,’ I say at once, the hurt of Annie’s name still burning in my chest. I catch Remy’s eyes and soften. ‘No. Sorry. I don’t hate it,’ I correct myself. ‘I just … it isn’t what I thought it was going to be.’
‘What did you think it was going to be?’ Remy says, and the smirk is back. ‘Were you expecting to bump into the King?’
I roll my eyes at him. ‘I’m not that bad.’
He nods. ‘Well, when are you off, then?’
‘Soon,’ I say. ‘I think I’ll book my flight tomorrow.’
I’m expecting Remy to have the same reaction as everyone else. The ‘oh well, you’ll be missed’ or, ‘I suppose it’ll be nice to go back home.’ But he doesn’t say anything.
‘What?’ I say, when I can’t bear the silence any longer.
He jumps slightly. ‘Hmm? Oh, nothing.’
‘Yes, there is,’ I say, trying not to sound annoyed. ‘What is it?’
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘It’s just a bit soon to go back, isn’t it? I thought you wanted to properly experience life here.’
‘I did.’
‘And you’ve been here what, five weeks?’
My cheeks burn. ‘Six.’
He shrugs. ‘Just pretty soon to make your mind up about a place,’ he says. ‘That’s all.’
I pick up my pint, watching as the bartender drops a crate of tiny glass bottles on the floor with athump. He opens a fridge door and starts slotting them all in place. Orange juices, tomato, apple.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It is quite soon, but it’s the right decision for me.’
Remy nods. ‘Well, just give me a call when you decide to come and visit.’
We knock our pints together. ‘Is this the last time I’ll see you, then?’ Remy continues. ‘Is this the farewell pint?’
I smile, enjoying the way his cockney accent carries his voice. ‘It depends when I get the flight. If I get a flight for Monday, then maybe.’
He lets out a whistle. ‘Blimey.’
‘Or,’ I say, as the idea drops into my mind, ‘what are you doing tonight?’
He finishes his pint. ‘Nothing much.’
