Nate waited by the café side door on Thursday, where the delivery bins made everything less romantic than the quay.
He had his work bag over one shoulder. Lena could see he was leaving after this. That hurt, though it was what she'd asked for.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
He nodded. “How is he?”
“Hurt.”
“Yes.”
“He wants us to stay together.”
Nate shifted the bag higher on his shoulder. He wasn't surprised. She wondered what he had expected, then made herself stop trying to manage his answer before he'd given it.
“I'm going to marry him,” she said. “I can't keep seeing you alone.”
The sentence left the air between them bare.
“All right.”
It was too quick. She had prepared to defend it, and now had nowhere to put the defence.
“You can still come and see Bea,” she said.
“I wasn't asking permission for that.”
“No. I didn't mean—”
“I know what you meant.” He looked down the street. “I won't make the café into a place you have to watch the door.”
“I don't want you to stop eating lunch because of me.”
He turned back. “Lena, don't give me little ways to stay close and then ask me not to feel anything.”
Her face warmed.
“I wasn't.”
“You were. You just didn't mean to.”
She looked at the ground. A strip of packing tape had stuck to one of the bin wheels. The small, ugly detail steadied her more than the things she wished he would say.
“I care about you,” she said.
“I care about you too. That's why standing around waiting for him to disappoint you sounds terrible.”
“He hasn't disappointed me. I kissed you.”
“I know.”
Nate rubbed his face. He looked tired now, not bold. She had liked him least when he ran away. She could not hate him for standing here listening to something he didn't want.
“What happens after?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“After what?”
“The wedding. If we see each other.”
“I'll say hello. I'll probably hate it. Then I'll get on with my day.”
The answer was so unpolished that it made her laugh once, painfully.
He almost smiled.
“I don't want you hurt,” she said.
“Then don't ask me to tell you this doesn't hurt.”
She nodded. For a moment she wanted to touch his arm. She kept her hand beside her instead.
A delivery van pulled up. The driver looked from one of them to the other and asked where to leave the milk. Lena pointed him toward the kitchen. They stepped apart to let him pass.
When the ordinary noise ended, their conversation had lost whatever she thought might soften it.
“I've got to get going,” Nate said.
“Ashford?”
“Yes. Then a job north of there.”
“Your place above the records.”
He nodded.
“Do you still have my blue camping mug?”
He looked at her, startled by the small question.
“I think so. Why?”
“I remembered it.”
She had used it on the one trip they had taken in a tent, complained about everything and loved the mornings. She didn't know why she had reached for it now. Another small way to keep him from leaving.
“I'll look,” he said. “I can send it.”
She made herself accept that. A mug could travel without him.
“All right.”
He set his bag down long enough to take his keys from his pocket. She watched the familiar movement of his hands. There was nothing else she could ask for honestly.
“I won't call you at night,” he said. “Or try to talk you out of it.”
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. I might be bad at it.”
That made her smile, really this time. His face changed when he saw it. He looked away first.
She went inside before he reached the end of the street. Jo stood at the sink washing herbs. She didn't ask what had been said.
“He's gone,” Lena said.
Her sister nodded, pulled a leaf from its stem and gave Lena the empty colander.
“Hold that.”
Lena held it while Jo tipped the herbs in. Water dripped between them onto the floor.
That evening she called Daniel before he finished work.
“I told him,” she said. “He's going home.”
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
“Are you all right?”
“No. But I've done it.”
He exhaled. “I'll come home.”
She sat at the kitchen table and waited. Not for Nate's number to appear. Not for a message that would make it simpler.
For the man she had asked to believe her.