“Oh is that what we say.”
“You’re being so coy!” she said.
“What is this ‘coy?’ ”
“It means modest. Aloof. Cryptic. But being, you know, sexy at the same time.”
“Merci,” he said. “That does not sound so bad.”
“Oh, it is, it really is.”
They arrived at the Nenier parking lot. “Here we are,” he said.
“That’s it? No answer?”
“Perhaps I don’t want a long-term commitment.”
“Why not?”
“Mmm,” he murmured, cocking his head as if considering it. “That is for our next conversation, I think.”
There was that coyness again. Infuriating.
“And this is where I leave you.” He kissed her on both cheeks, and in spite of herself, she lingered when their faces were close.
Honestly, Marlow.Both ways is how you want it, and you make everything that could be simple so, so hard.
She got out, they exchanged smiles and a wave, and he drove off. Their conversation had only made her more curious about him. She looked forward to their next time together for sure.
Marlow looked at the Nenier square. Bundles of sticks and branches were piled near the dumpsters, and detritus that had been broken or damaged in the storm was tied neatly in bundles. People had been busy.
Just as she headed for the Mirabelle stairs, Sabine called. Marlow stayed in the lot where she had a Wi-Fi signal. “Finally! Terrible uncommunicative daughter. When will you be home?”
“Tomorrow, I think. Probably. Or maybe in a few days.”
“Oh. OK. Which is it?” Marlow smelled a rat.
“A few days.”
“What are you up to?” There was a pause. “Or, rather, first things first, where are you?”
“Uh … Paris.”
“You’re what?!”
“Mum, don’t make a federal case out of it. I came to Paris with Aubin on sort of a whim.”
“Whims aren’t half-in half-out, they’re either planned, ergo not a whim, or—”
“A non-whim semi-plan that I cooked up just before we came. No federal case required.”
“And why was it necessary to keep me in the dark?”
“Because you always make a—”
“Do not say federal case.”
“—federal case of it.”
