He pushed them closer. Was I just supposed to help myself or was a fork and a plate forthcoming?
Oh, sod it, I thought, picking up a pastry and taking a huge bite. Did flaky pastry break off into tiny bits and fall all over the counter and down my front? Absolutely. Did I care one iota? I did not.
I munched happily, taking bite after bite, my cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s.
‘Jules, this place,’ I said when I’d devoured the pastry, ‘it’sgorgeous. Andhuge.’ At a guess, it was four times the size of the villa I was staying in. ‘Is it just the one bedroom?’ I asked, peering down the hallway that led off the lounge.
‘The primary plus two more,’ he replied.
I turned back to him. ‘Why do you needtwoguest rooms when you have all of Aetheria? Surely, if friends come with you on holiday, they can stay in a villa?’
He eyed me over the espresso machine, and realisation struck.
‘Oh my god, Jules, youareplanning on living here.’
‘I was going to tell you.’
‘Were you now?’ I asked, surprised by the sting of hurt.
‘Was trying to find the right time.’
‘Now will do.’
‘I’m retiring and moving to Greece. Well – I am retired, and I’ve already moved here.’
I nodded, giving him a weak smile. ‘It’s a long way to travel for lunch, Jules.’
‘I’ll be back in London from time to time. I wouldn’t miss our lunches, Ally.’
The pain eased, but only a little. Bi-monthly catch-ups aside, it had been reassuring knowing Julian was nearby if I needed him. There was nothing nearby about living a day’s travel away.
He pressed the button on the machine and it gurgled, the aroma of coffee filling the air.
‘You know what this reminds me of, us having breakfast together like this?’ he asked over the gentle hiss of the milk steamer.
‘Uh-uh,’ I replied, playing along – I could process his news later.
He turned a dial, and the hissing ceased. ‘Paris.’
I gasped, then broke into a broad smile. ‘That little flat in the sixth.’
‘Yep. Four storeys up?—’
‘No lift but?—’
‘A sodding good espresso machine.’
‘So good!’ I exclaimed, bursting out laughing. ‘We didn’t even go downstairs to the local café!’
Julian’s smile softened, a little wistful. ‘We barely left the flat at all, if I recall. That bed washuge, remember?’
‘Jules,’ I chided with a shake of my head. I bit into a second pastry, wiping the corner of my mouth as I chewed.
Careful not to slosh it, Julian slid a coffee cup across the countertop, then lifted his in a toast. ‘To Paris,’ he said.
There was an undercurrent of melancholy behind his eyes, echoes of what had fractured between us. But his toast, a reminder of happier times, cut through the sorrow and I was overcome with affection for him – for my Jules, the man I’d once fallen for.
‘To Paris.’
