Page 93 of In the Frame

I find a flat share in Marylebone this time, near three parks: Hyde Park, the Regent’s Park, and Primrose Hill with its iconic view over London. Which makes me think of Florian. And the green spaces help when I feel homesick for Glynde.

Aside from receiving payment for the painting at the price Florian offered, we decided at the time to go no contact. It would be easier for me.

Or, at least it was, for a couple of months.

I’m fully moved into London by the end of November, and with a new job at an art supply shop where I’m much more in my comfort zone. Early on a Friday afternoon, I decide to reach out to Florian when I’m sitting in my new studio and text if he would like to meet.

The familiar anxiety tap dances in my stomach, but now I know what to do to keep it at bay. To take in deep breaths. To look at the world around me. Focus on a car passing in the street. Feel how cold the early December air is against my skin. How colorful the flowers are in the window of the florist’s. And then I feel more connected again to my body.

My navy wool duffle coat, a vintage find in Brighton from my uni days, is buttoned to my chin. I have a red scarf wrapped around my neck. Florian asked me to meet him in front of Liberty, the Tudor-style luxury department store. He said it was near his office and an easy spot to meet.

I’m absorbed by looking at the artful window displays, then by the display from the florist. There’s a tap on my arm, and I turn to see Florian holding a stunning bouquet of white roses. He’s dressed in a long black wool coat, perfectly tailored to his body with a black-and-ivory checked scarf. His eyes crinkle at the corners the moment he sees me, and his face lights up.

“Florian.” My heart leaps at the sight of him, the familiar scent of his cologne.

“These are for you, gorgeous. I hope you can forgive me the indulgence. I couldn’t resist. I thought of you when I saw them.”

“They’re incredible,” I marvel, taking the armful of bouquet from Florian in awe. I lean in to inhale their luxurious scent. For a moment, I’m taken back to summer in the garden in Glynde. I search his eyes.

We shift to stand out of the way of the people streaming in and out of the shop, getting ready for Christmas. In the late afternoon, the sky’s darkening, and Christmas lights are coming on. Summer was, after all, a lifetime ago.

“You won’t believe how happy I am to see you,” I murmur.

Florian practically glows. “I was so happy when you messaged me.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you so soon. I figured odds were good you were busy, away, or something. Or… might not want to see me.” I falter.

“I will always want to see you,” he murmurs, giving me a sidelong glance as we walk. We soon make our way to a high-end, inviting bar with beautiful, vibrant original paintings and welcoming decor. Florian’s made a reservation, and there’s a table waiting for us with a plush sofa. After we order cocktails and settle in, the roses beside me, we gaze at each other.

“I thought you might forget about me,” I confess. “I know that sounds silly. But it was a whirlwind few months. And… I’m sorry I was so angry with you. I mean, I know why I was angry. I had valid reasons. But… it turns out I was also not in a great space with my mental health.”

Florian nods, giving me a wry smile. “I could tell. I didn’t want to push. I wanted to give you space. To get on your feet again like you wanted.”

We’re quiet as the drinks soon arrive. “How’ve you been, Florian?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Working too much,” he admits. “Helping with Gabriel. The usual. Going to the gym.”

“Do you want to hear something a little mad?”

“Tell me.”

“I thought you’d end up back together with Billy.”

Florian’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “He did try.”

It’s like a hand squeezes my heart. I hold my breath. “Oh?”

“I told him I had feelings for someone else. For you. And I wasn’t over you. To be honest, I was hoping you would call. Or the universe would send me a sign about how to let you go, if that’s how you were happiest. Every time I see your beach paintings at home, I think of you. Which is to say, I think of you every day, Matty. Which, I’m afraid, also sounds mad.” His smile is tight.

“Not to me.” I reach out across the table for his hand, and when he slides his fingers into mine, my shoulders relax. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.”

We search each other’s eyes. Around us, the bar’s full of patrons having laughs with friends, or after work, or after shopping. Like the world carries on like usual, and we’re in a small corner of our own in that world. Like there might be a space for me and Florian. At least maybe to try.

“I have to ask a question,” I tell him, searching his face.

He draws in a deep breath, bracing himself. “Ask.”