Me too.
But I’m trapped in my bedroom.
Take off your raincoat and
tiptoe over to the fridge.
Good idea. Okay, I’ll really leave you
to work now.
Thanks.
Paul put the phone on his desk. He kept checking the black screen, hoping it would light up again. Disappointed, he put it in a drawer, but kept the drawer half-open . . . just in case.
Mia undressed silently, pulled on a bathrobe, and half opened her bedroom door. Daisy was lying on the sofa, reading Paul’s novel. Mia went back to bed and spent the next hour listening to her stomach growl.
11
He felt guilty at how little he had written in the last few days. And the previous night had only made matters worse. He wanted to revise the first few chapters so Kyong would like them. Even though she had yet to reply to his email, which worried him a lot.
He drew the curtains, plunging the room into darkness, turned on his desk lamp, and sat in front of the computer.
It had been a prolific day: ten pages, five coffees, two liters of water, and three bags of chips in seven hours.
Now he was hungry—starving, in fact—and he decided to stop working and go to the local café. It wasn’t the best place to eat in the arrondissement, but at least he wouldn’t have to dine alone. Whenever he sat at the counter, the café owner always stopped to chat. He could be relied on for all the neighborhood gossip—who had died or got divorced, who’d moved away, which shop had opened or closed, what the weather was supposed to be like, and so on—as well as more serious news, like political scandals. All the murmurings of the city and the wider world reached Paul through the voice of Moustache, as he called him.
Back in his apartment, Paul opened the curtains to watch the evening fall. He checked his email: nothing from Kyong, but he did find one new message.
Dear Paul,
I hope all is well. Our time in the South was magical. Makes me wonder again why I spent four years in Paris when I could have gone to Provence instead. The people are so kind, the countryside so beautiful, and there are loads of street markets and endless sunshine . . . maybe you should consider it? Sometimes happiness can be found closer to home than we think.
We sure do miss you, man. We’re spending a few days in Italy now, having just arrived. Portofino is one of the prettiest towns I’ve ever been to. In fact, all of Liguria is just gorgeous.
We’ve decided to go to Rome next, and to fly directly back to San Francisco from there.
I’ll call you when we’re home. In the meantime, let me know what’s happening on your end.
Lauren sends her love . . .
Arthur
The email had been sent only a few minutes earlier. Assuming that Arthur was still online, he replied immediately: Hey, old buddy,
I’m thrilled that your vacation is going so well. You should stay a bit longer . . . or should I say, you kind of have to! In a funny turn of events, I came across a short-term apartment-rental website the other day. I’d heard great things about it and wanted to give it a whirl. You wouldn’t believe how popular your apartment has been!
Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything. Your tenants, whom I handpicked personally—a nice couple with theirfourmild-mannered children—will stay there until the end of the month. The rent will be paid directly to the agency: you’ll just have to show up to pick up your check. So hopefully that should help pay for your Italian adventures.
And now, old buddy, we’re even!
Other than that, no real news in my life, except that I’m doing lots of writing and the Seoul trip looms.
Give Lauren my love . . .
Paul
Almost immediately, the following words appeared on the screen: Please tell me you’re kidding!
