Page 23 of In the Frame

I look at the phone in my hand. He’ll just ignore me. I’ve got nothing to lose.

And… sent.

My face burns. Quickly, I shove my phone away deep in my coat pocket and walk through the station to keep warm and to put some distance between me and the message. Except I only get across the concourse when my phone chimes a text.

It can’t be him already. Can it?

Swallowing hard, I fish out my phone and make myself look. And it’s definitely Florian, judging by the one-word answer. And by the fact I put his contact details into my phone when we swapped our details in my flat on the night we first met.

Yes.

Shit. I didn’t expect Florian to say yes. Why didn’t he say no? No would have been much more reasonable. I was prepared for no. Panic rises. Noah would know what to do in this situation. Think.

He’d tell me to calm right down and deal with it. Right. Take the bull by its horns, Matty.

Can I call you now?

Delete. I try again.

May I call you now

And that next message goes whizzing off into the night sky toward London, and I fear I might die of nerves on the spot. Which probably would be reasonable, given the circumstances.

And the immediate response comes through again.

Yes

What’s the etiquette here? I suppose I need to do the calling. I mean, he said yes. Twice. Shit.

I pull up Florian’s contact details and call.

Two rings later, and I’m rewarded by Florian answering, his voice smooth and rich like luxurious silk. Why didn’t I notice that before?

“Florian speaking.”

“Hi, it’s me. Matty. Gowen-Smith.” As if he’s forgotten, or he knows several Mattys. He probably knows a few Smiths, to be fair. Fewer Gowen-Smiths.

“Hi.”

“Is this a good time?” I imagine him in his office, which must be impressive, in some glass tower somewhere in the heart of London. Or possibly at home in equally imposing surroundings.

“It is. I must admit I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

Shit. “Yeah… I’m sorry it took me a few days to get back to you. I was working, and… well, I didn’t expect to call you either, if I’m totally honest.”

“What changed, then?” So smooth. So distant.

“I had some help in realizing how much of an arsehole I was on that night, and I want to apologize to you. Because you didn’t deserve that.” To steady myself, I draw in a deep breath. “And I know it’s lame to apologize over the phone, but I know you’re busy, and this is probably more efficient, and you wouldn’t want to see me again after what I said. And you like efficient. I haven’t forgotten.”

I make myself stop then. One breath in, one breath out. Repeat. Florian must be doing the same because he’s quiet.

“Are you still there?” I ask.

“Yes. I understand apologies are difficult over the phone. However, I appreciate the brevity and intent.”

Fuck, this definitely doesn’t sound like it’s going well. Like he’s going to forgive me. I don’t expect him to. And it shouldn’t matter, should it? I’ve only known him for about a week.

“Yeah. But I am sorry for hurting you.” My mouth twitches. “I was rude.”