Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
QUINN
I didn’t see it coming.
If you’d have told me about Florence the day I stuck a copy of my divorce paperwork to the front of my fridge, I’d have thought you were talking out of your arse. I was used to love in two dimensions, paper thin and easily torn. I didn’t know it could be like this.
But watching Florence fumble into her clothes this morning in as short a time as possible changed something in me. She’s usually so calm, so in control of herself and of everything, that knowing she let herself unravel in front of me – for me – has me feeling all kinds of feelings.
I told her I was in love with her the other night.
I didn’t mean to, but after everything that happened with Albert, I couldn’t hold it in.
I’d been saying it in my head for ages, but as soon as the words made it out of my mouth, I was glad I’d held them back, glad I had something to say to her then that felt big enough for the moment.
Because that was the moment I knew it. The moment I knew she was the one.
Look, I know I’ve said it before. I’ve even legally promised my life to someone before, and we know how that turned out.
But with Florence, everything is different.
I’ve been restless my whole life, never able to switch my mouth off or quieten my brain.
I always felt like I was chasing something, or maybe that I was running from it.
But with her, everything goes quiet, slows down, makes sense.
I was like a snow globe being constantly shaken, and she’s taken hold of me with those steady hands and set me down on a shelf. And when the snow settled, there was her face, clear as day. And it was everything.
She’s everything.
And it’s often enough to distract me from what’s happening to my body, about the lit fuse of my condition. About my impending doom. Sometimes it’s enough to make me forget.
So, there’s an extra little spring in my step as I walk through town. At one point a little gurgle of happiness bubbles up my throat and I have to swallow it down before I start swinging around lamp posts and tap dancing in the street. That’s a bridge too far, even for me.
But I do pick up a stuffed fox that a little girl drops out of her buggy and return it to her with a smile.
I throw a few coins into a busker’s hat and give him an enthusiastic double thumbs-up as I pass.
And when I see an elderly couple about to step into the path of a cyclist, I dart around them and guide them safely back onto the pavement.
At least, I start to.
Because what I don’t know is that there’s a double-decker bus following the cyclist – one of those open-topped tour buses you can jump on and off to see all the attractions – and it’s travelling a little too fast and a little too close to the kerb.
And I didn’t see it coming.