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He couldn’t be here.
London was a torment. Knowing he was within such easy reach of her and couldn’t touch was killing him.
The next morning, he flew to Italy, and with no intention of returning to England for as long as he could avoid it.
“I owe you an apology.”Reluctantly, she’d agreed to meet up with Jack during her lunch break. After what had happened last time, she really felt as though everything was at an end between them once and for all. She did however have some Christmas ornaments to return to him, so at least she could get that off her mental list.
She’d agreed to coffee at the place just downstairs from her office—to keep it as quick as possible.
“I was totally caught off guard, seeing him in your flat. I didn’t realise you were dating anyone. Which is incredibly egotistical of me, given the circumstances of our breakup. I’m sorry. I behaved badly.”
“Yes, you did,” she agreed, but this was Jack, who she’d grown up camping with and playing water fights with and climbing trees and riding bikes with, and telling all her stories to. He had been her friend before anything else. “But that’s okay. I understand.”
“I’m happy for you, actually,” he said after a moment.
“Oh?”
“I think the reason I was so upset was because I could see how much he loved you. How much you loved him. You guys just looked…like such a couple.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Just—the way he spoke about you. Defended you. Not that you don’t deserve that, but he was so quick to point out what an idiot I had been—rightly—I just saw the door closing on any possible life for us. I over-reacted because I was in shock.”
Portia nodded, not trusting herself to speak, then reached into her bag to remove the little packet of ornaments. “These are for you.”
“The decorations?” His nose wrinkled. “You should keep them.”
Her smile was small. “I’ve kept some. These are yours.”
He took them, and when their fingers connected, she felt nothing but warmth. Familiarity and affection. Tears sparkled on her lashes.
“Portia?” He reached across, putting a hand on her knee. “What is it?”
She shook her head, mortified to be on the brink of an emotional meltdown here, where her colleagues came for lunch. Jack understood, because he’d known Portia forever.
“Come outside,” he murmured, collecting their things, and shepherding her onto the busy street.
“It’s just nice to see you—like this. As a friend,” she said.
He nodded. “I feel the same way.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“What’s going on?”
She shook her head once more.
“Portia…”
“We broke up.”
Jack frowned, not understanding at first.
“Marco. We’re not together. It’s…I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear this.”
“I owe you a shoulder to cry on,” he corrected, putting a hand solicitously on her arm.
“Jack, I loved you, you know that. But it was different. We were friends, really, who liked being together enough to think it would be a good way to live for the rest of our lives. But we weren’t in love. That’s why you cheated. You were looking for a deeper connection. And while I don’t condone what you did, I understand it now.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I fell, head-first, terrifyingly, overwhelmingly in love with Marco. Hard and fast and all at once, in every way. His mind, his body, his heart, his potential, his everything.”
