One Week in Provence: Chapter 5

Departure

My bags were packed. My taxi was coming.

I stood in the doorway, one hand on the handle, the other clenched at my side.

He leaned against the counter, eyes unreadable.
He hadn’t said anything all morning.

“I’ll go,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

He crossed the room in two slow steps. Took my hand off the suitcase. Brought it to his chest.

“You could stay.”

“I can’t.”

“But you want to.”

His kiss was slower this time. Not desperate. Not hungry.
It was a promise.
One I didn’t know if I could keep.

He pressed something into my palm.
A folded napkin.

“If you ever want the heat again…
You know where to find me.”

And just like that—he let me go.

But part of me… stayed.

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