She shook her head, unable to hide her smile, and tore off a piece of roti. “I’ve just been doing it for a while. In my younger years, it was great. Now, I’m not so sure.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re hardly old.”
“Looks can be deceiving. I’m thirty. That in itself is frightening.”
“If it’s frightening for you, imagine how it is for me,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m thirty-four and still living with my parents.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
He pulled a face, half amused and kind of confused. “Has anyone told you that you’re a terrible liar?”
“I’m serious. If it works for you, it’s a financially smart option. Besides, nobody lives forever. We all regret things in life, but I doubt having extra time with your parents will be one of them.”
“It isn’t so much about money,” he said, hesitating. “My dad died a year or so back. I’m an only child, and my mum needs the company. When I’m not here, I mean.”
“Then you have good reason,” she said gently. “Nothing to be ashamed about.”
Callan shrugged, his gaze fixed on the scratched surface of the table. “I don’t know. It’s not the life I would’ve picked for myself.”
“Nobody’s life is ever exactly what they would’ve picked.”
He looked up then, his blue eyes studying her for a moment. It made her nervous. They weren’t the type that invited your stare; they were sharp and analysing, like a window to the inner workings of his soul.
“You’re in London, right?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly, almost playful. “Would you fancy grabbing a drink sometime? I’ll understand if you say no.”
In her head, she could feel the warning bells going off. Callan was attractive and, from her experience, every military man she’d known had struggled to keep himself monogamous. It would be a disaster, she told herself. Then again, Callan wasn’t some eighteen-year-old boy; he was in his thirties, and whetherhis relationship status was choice or consequence, there was a genuineness about him.
“Sure,” she ended up saying, trying to hide the redness flooding her cheeks. “I’d really like that.”
XII
LOGAN
The waiting area of the divorce lawyer’s office was too sterile for comfort. From the black tubular chairs to the fake Areca palm to his right, it proved the saying, “True that money can’t buy taste.” Suddenly, the door swung open and Kate called his name.
“Logan?”
He turned, blinking slowly, and looked up. Kate stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark green Stella McCartney coat, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, and a pencil skirt clinging to her thighs. She looked as composed as ever, he thought to himself, but there was something missing in her eyes. For as long as he’d known her, they’d always been so animated, but they had been emptied from either exhaustion or regret, he wasn’t sure which.
“Hey,” he said, giving her a half-wave. “Fancy seeing you here.”
She returned the gesture and sat down beside him without saying a word. Then, after a moment of silence, she sighed and clasped her hands tightly in her lap.
“I need to know something,” she said, fixed on the wall in front of them. “Is there anything…anything I could’ve done differently?” Her voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the weight behind the question.
Logan turned to face her, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He shook his head slowly.
She exhaled a breath that sounded like a mix of relief and disappointment before she seemed to shrink into herself. “Well, I’m glad. It means I still have a chance at a happy ending. You can’t blame me for wondering where it all went wrong.”
Logan couldn’t help but wonder either, and the guilt surged once again. He wasn’t sure what he hated himself more for: making her feel like she was at fault or stringing her along. She was a catch, and nobody could deny that. Someone, somewhere in the world, would idolise her and give her everything she deserved and more. It just wasn’t him; it would never be him.
They sat for a while, listening to the soft hum of David Bowie echoing from the speaker, when Kate nudged him again.
“So…” she began, her voice soft as if trying to avoid attracting the attention of the receptionist. “What’s next for you then? Tad said you might leave town for a bit.”
He stared down at his hands, his fingers absently tapping on his knee.
“Yeah,” he admitted, “I was thinking of travelling for a bit. Doing some locum work in the States like Tad. You know, just…get away for a while. Whether I will or not, that’s a different story entirely.”
