“For some people. It does for me. Your task force sounds pretty busy. I thought it might be worth a go.” She frowned. “And then Ialso bought you the pen because I’ve drunk too much and forgot you probably already own one.”
“Well, you can really never have too many.” Falk flicked through the diary. Maybe he’d had a bit too much to drink himself, but he was genuinely touched. “Thanks, Gemma. I’ll give it a try.”
Falk lifted his eyes to her, and she smiled back at him, pleased. Her face was a little flushed under the station light, with her hair hanging damp around her shoulders. And all at once he had the sudden urgent sensation that something was about to pass him by. He turned to the back of the diary and held out the contacts page.
“Gemma, can I grab your number?”
She took the diary and the pen straightaway. Once they were back in her hands, though, she seemed to pause. As Falk watched, her expression dimmed and she stood there, thinking, as the seconds ticked by. She pressed the pen against the paper for what felt like a long time. Falk just waited, but she still didn’t write anything.
“I think—” She tapped the pen on the page, then wrote aG.She stopped again. The pen now hovered an inch above the diary. Gemma glanced up at him, then down again. She breathed out and closed the cover. “I think it’s actually better for both of us if I say no. I’m really sorry.”
“Oh.” Falk blinked. He couldn’t think what to say. “Okay.”
He wasn’t often sure about these things, but he’d been sure this time. In his mind, her number was right there in the book she was now handing back to him. He had already jumped ahead, debating whether to text or call as a follow-up the next morning. Before or after her flight back home? Call, he’d decided. After the flight, when hopefully she’d have time to talk. Instead, he turned the empty diary over in his hands, then slipped it into his coat pocket. He took a breath and a longish moment to recalibrate expectation with reality.
Gemma was watching him. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“No, God, please don’t, there’s no need—” He was replaying the entire evening in his mind, though, skipping ahead and rewinding, trying to find the flaw. It really still felt like a yes. “I think I just got the wrong—”
“No, you didn’t—” She stopped.
Falk waited, genuinely curious, but when she didn’t go on, he said, “It’s honestly fine, you don’t have to explain.”
A pause. “Thank you.”
He’d kind of hoped she would, though. Was it her late husband? On some level that had to be part of the equation for anyone, but it didn’t feel like the whole answer. Falk had been around grief—spouses, children, friends—enough times that he was pretty well attuned to the complexities involved. This felt like something else, though. He ran through the last few hours again: the bar, the drinks, the walk, the restaurant, the candle—
“It’s nothing you did, Aaron. It’s not you.”
He smiled at that, and despite herself she smiled back.
“Really,” she said.
“Okay.” He nodded. He’d take her word for it, but he’d love to know what it was, in that case. “Well.” He breathed out. It was a no. All right, then. Move on. “Thanks, anyway, Gemma, for tonight. I really had a great time with you. It was a lot of fun.”
She was wavering, he could tell. But then she simply nodded. “Yeah. It was.”
“And I’m glad I got to meet you.”
“Me, too.”
Stay or go?
Go.
He couldn’t help it, he paused for a moment, hoping for a last-minute change of heart. But all she said was: “Good luck with the new job.”
“Thanks. Have a safe flight home.” He raised a hand. “Well. Bye, then.”
“Goodbye.”
Falk turned and headed off toward the tram stop. He thought he could feel her watching him for a way, but when he glanced back, she had gone. The spot where they’d been standing outside the station was now occupied by a pair of teenage girls embroiled in a teary argument.
No.
No number, no text-or-call debate, no follow-up. It was a no. And that was her choice to make, and her decision was fair enough. But Falk still wished it had been a yes.
13
