It was a Friday afternoon. Pushing through the revolving door out of his office, he turned right, towards home, and she spoke. “Ian.”
The world spun down, a toy out of batteries. She was leaning against the marble wall of the building, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes sparked, and Ian found he couldn’t move.
“I’ve missed you,” she murmured.
He wrenched himself away and ran, uncomfortable shoes clacking against the pavement. He could hear her laughing.
Twelve blocks later, sweat-drenched, he let himself into his apartment. The phone sat redly on the counter. He held his breath and dialed.
One ring.
Two.
Three, and her hand was on his, moving the phone away from his ear, guiding it back into the cradle. He could hear Dr. Flynn pick up just before it clicked.
Her mouth twisted, apologetic. “You don’t want to talk to him. I’m here now.” She leaned in and kissed him lightly.