Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
We consider each other. Around us, the pubgoers are having a great time at the picnic tables and patio sets with umbrellas for shade. For a long moment, we take in the sights and sounds of the bright afternoon. Where the world carries on around us.
Florian shifts, leaning over and reaching into his tote bag. “I brought you something.”
My heart stops. The tote’s too small to hide another bouquet of peonies, which I loved until they eventually faded.
I brought back the vase in my suitcase, now sitting on the shelf in my bedroom.
When I lie in bed, I can see the vase. Every time I see it, even without any flowers, I think of Florian.
“You don’t need to bring me anything. I can’t accept it, whatever it is.”
Florian gives me a wry smile and passes me an envelope. “Please.”
When he says please like that, his gaze unwavering and expression open, it’s impossible to keep to my resolve. I take the envelope from him. There’s no harm in an envelope. “What’s this?”
“Open it and you’ll see.”
Which I do, to reveal a card. Except it’s not some posh card from a fancy high street shop, artisanal and expensive-looking, with vellum and embossing.
Instead, it’s a simple white card stock card, folded in half.
On the front of the card, in slightly shaky pencil, Florian has drawn the still-life arrangement I set up on his table from my art lesson.
I suck in my breath, glancing up hard at him.
He smiles and gives a slight shrug. “Your arrangement’s still set up. I wanted to show you I practiced.”
“Florian, this is incredible.” The perspective’s a bit wonky with the line work, the pressure light on the pencil. But clearly, there are the candle, vase, and bowl filling the front of the page. And at the moment, I forget everything, brightening. “I love this so much.”
He laughs, flushing with pleasure. “It’s terrible. But I wanted you to see I made progress.”
“You definitely have,” I marvel. At last, I open the card and read. Florian’s handwriting is beautiful, unlike mine.
Matty,
I don’t know if you’ll see me or not, but I want to let you know how much I miss you. And I’ve thought of you every day since the gala. I’m practicing my drawing. I hope you like the sketch. And I hope we can see each other again.
Yours,
Florian
And then he has a postscript with his phone number beneath it.
Here’s my number again to use as a reference for your art tutorials, just in case. x
Fuck. He knows I blocked him, then. My face burns. Within the card, there’s a second envelope. I glance over at Florian. He’s quiet, gazing down at the card in my hands.
“This is so kind. Thanks.”
Then I open the smaller envelope, which isn’t sealed. And I pull out two tickets to the Glyndebourne Opera. My eyes water at the price. I lower the tickets. “Florian…”
He presses his lips together and gives a small shrug. “What good is money if you can’t spend it on the arts?”
I blink and peer at him. “Who are you?”
He laughs. “You don’t need to take me. But I thought you should go before the end of the summer, which is coming up quickly. Glyndebourne is so iconic. Especially if you have the time. Please, accept the tickets.”
Right now, I don’t know how to feel about Florian. I want to cry and hug him at the same time. And yell at him for planning to buy the Rose. And yet he’s done the sweetest things with this card and gift.
“I… thank you. This is very generous.”
Florian nods, gazing at me. We search each other’s eyes with uncertainty. Part of me desperately wants to kiss him. Except things are the way they are. In Glynde, I feel like someone else. Like everything that happened in London happened to someone else. Some other Matty.
Having Florian here leaves me reeling, out of context. In the shade, despite the heat of the day, I shiver and once again look down at the hand-drawn card, the tickets.
“I’m sorry things couldn’t work out between us,” Florian says softly. “But I want you to know you mean a lot to me. More than you know. More than I expected. Everything stopped feeling fake for me some time ago. If I’m honest, early on. More early than reasonable, probably.”
It’s only been a few weeks, over the summer. And yet, it’s been a lifetime. I feel changed in some fundamental way.
“I…” I suck back more air. “I figured you were back with Billy.”
He shakes his head. “Not romantically, no. We’re friends and only friends. I did meet up with him after the gala. But I’m not dating Billy.”
I’m quiet. “Did you find out what’s happening with his boyfriend?”
It’s not really my business, and maybe I’m nosy, but I can’t help the question.
“They’re going through a rough patch.”
“Right.”
We’re quiet again for a long time.
“Have you been doing your painting while you’ve been home?” Florian asks. Which is also probably nosier than he needs to be, in return, with echoes of my mum.
“I haven’t been painting,” I admit. “I haven’t drawn anything either.”
He frowns. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I don’t know if I want to do art anymore.” My voice is subdued. “I can’t see the point.”
His frown deepens. “Matty…”
I frown right back, defiant. “It’s my choice whether I do art. Or not.”
“Of course, but it’s so important to you, I thought—”
Which is when my dad appears out the back door of the kitchen, peering at us. He still looks delighted to see Florian. “Florian, would you like to come to dinner tonight with our family? We’d be honored to have you.”
“What about the pub?” I ask, startled.
“The pub will still be here,” my dad says without missing a beat. “You’re welcome to join us at home tonight. Matty, don’t look so worried. José is coming in to work tonight. I’ll come home for dinner, too, and then head back.”
I open my mouth and shut it.
“Please say yes,” my dad encourages Florian.
“Yes,” says Florian with a glance at me, lifting his eyebrows ever so slightly.
I suck back a steadying breath. If it’s unnerving to have Florian in the village and in the pub, I can’t even imagine him at home.
In our cottage. With my family. The girls will be unhinged.
My parents will fuss over Florian. He’ll doubtless be charming.
I will probably die several times during the meal, and the heat of my face will set off a wildfire.
“Dinner,” I say after a long moment, “isn’t for a while yet.”
“Not for a couple of hours,” my dad agrees. “Florian, you’re welcome to find a seat at the pub in the meantime, or you’re free to go explore the village.”
“I’ll stay for a while, at least,” Florian says. He pats the tote bag on his lap. “I brought a book.”
“Excellent.” My father beams. “Let me get you a drink. What would you like?”
“Any light beer,” Florian says.
“I’ll send you the address, just in case, and confirm the time,” I concede to Florian. “I’d better get back to work in the meantime.”
“Of course, don’t let me stop you,” says Florian easily.
Which is how I end up working in a daze behind the bar. Florian finds a seat somewhere on the patio in the shade of an umbrella, soon engrossed in his book. My father brings him a radler. And I practice remembering how to breathe again.