Chapter 2 The Hour He Forgot #3
It's a novel Beatrice recommended, with a heroine who has lied about being fluent in French to get a job and is about to be found out. I laugh aloud when she tries to escape the interview through a cupboard.
For a while I forget to listen for Rafael.
Around nine-thirty, heels sound in the hallway. Marisol appears at the sitting-room door with her bag over her shoulder and a thin folder in one hand.
"I left my bag here earlier." She lifts it as an explanation. "Rafael asked me to put these on his desk before I go. Is the study open?"
"It should be." I keep my thumb between the pages. "Is he nearly finished?"
"He was still on a call when I left the office." She transfers the folder to her other hand. "Don't sit up on my account. I can find my way out."
"I was reading." I show her the cover, but she is already turning toward the study. I hear the folder land on the desk, followed shortly by the front door closing. Her car pulls away while I am finding my place again.
I finish the chapter and then another. Eventually the house is quiet enough that the hallway clock makes me look up.
It's nearly midnight. I mark my page and rub my eyes.
I should go to bed. There's no point sitting here in my nice dress, waiting for someone who may not come until after midnight.
But something stubborn in me refuses to give up entirely. He said dinner and the workshop after. Dinner didn't happen. Maybe the workshop still can.
The front door finally opens a little before one.
I hear Rafael's footsteps in the hallway, the particular rhythm I know better than my own heartbeat. He sounds tired, his tread heavier than usual, the pause by the coat rack longer than it needs to be.
He appears in the doorway of the sitting room, his jacket gone, his shirt untucked, his face carrying the exhausted satisfaction of someone who's been working past the point of reason.
"You're still up." He crosses toward my chair, concern flickering across his features. "I didn't expect you to wait."
"I wasn't waiting." I set my book aside, keeping my voice even. "I couldn't sleep."
"Long day." He drops into the chair across from me, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We finished the meeting, and then I got caught on the phone. By the time I left the office, I thought you'd be asleep."
"I almost was." I study his face, the shadows under his eyes, the slight hunch of his shoulders. He looks genuinely exhausted. He also looks like he's already thinking about tomorrow.
"I'm sorry about dinner." He says it to his hands, not quite meeting my eyes. "I know I keep doing this to you. It's not fair."
"No. It's not." I pick my book up again and straighten the bent corner of the bookmark sticking out of it, waiting for him to remember the rest of the evening he promised.
"Has Marisol gone?" He looks up, his attention sharpening slightly. "She was supposed to leave those notes on my desk, but I want to make sure she didn't forget them in the office."
Something in my chest goes very still.
"She left around nine-thirty." I slide the bookmark into place. "She collected her bag and left the folder on your desk."
"Good." He nods, already moving past it. "Good. I'll look at them in the morning."
I sit in my chair, wearing the green dress he once told me was beautiful, wearing the perfume I made with my own hands, the perfume I've been wanting to show him all day. He's looked at me twice since he walked in and noticed neither.
"Rafael." I wait until his eyes focus on mine. "What time is it?"
He blinks, confused by the question. "Almost one. Why?"
"One o'clock." I let the words sit between us. "You were supposed to be in my workshop at one o'clock today. Then you moved it to after dinner. Now it's after midnight, and you're asking about Marisol's notes."
His face changes as the realization lands. "Sera… The workshop. I forgot."
"You forgot." I get to my feet with the book still in my hand. "I changed my afternoon. Then my evening. I thought you still intended to come."
"I didn't mean to." He gets up, reaching for me. "I lost track. I'm sorry."
"Your dinner is in the refrigerator." I shift the book between us before he can draw me close. I don't want a kiss to finish a conversation he has barely started. "There's a note on it."
"I'll see you in the morning." I turn toward the hallway. If I stay here, I will end up asking again, and I can't bear to hear another promise tonight.
"Sera, wait." He follows me to the doorway. "Let me make it up to you. Tomorrow. I promise I'll make time tomorrow."
I turn back to look at him, standing in the sitting room with his rumpled shirt and his tired eyes and his endless promises that never seem to materialize.
"Don't give me another time tonight." I hold the book against my chest. "Think about it first. I believed you this morning."
He opens his mouth to respond, but I'm already walking away, my footsteps quiet on the hallway floor.
Behind me, the chair creaks as he sits down again. I carry my book upstairs, still wearing the perfume I wanted him to notice.
He remembered her notes.
He forgot our hour.