Page 31 of Crosswind

I look at him. "No."

"Okay." Still not retreating. "He knows you're out tonight?"

"He does." I turn back to my drink.

"And he’s…” He tilts his head slightly, leaving it open.

"Finn." I look at him properly. "I appreciate the welcome. I'm with Jan. That's the situation."

He holds my gaze for a moment. Then he nods, genuine this time, the performance of it dropping. "Fair enough. Sorry. I wasn't trying to…” He stops. "It's a habit. In this world. Assuming."

"I noticed," I say.

He picks up his drink, sparkling water, which I have noticed he always orders. "He's lucky."

I look at my glass. "I'm the lucky one."

He smiles, differently this time, warmer, without agenda. "Okay. Friends, then. Tell me about the Boeing Airbus thing. I saw the video. I have opinions."

The rest of the evening is fine. More than fine, actually — Finn has opinions about aircraft that are entirely wrong and enjoyably so, and the others fold him in without difficulty, and by nine o'clock it is a normal Wednesday evening again.

At nine-fifteen I'm getting my jacket when Finn comes to say goodbye and… I don't see it coming. I am not looking for it. I am putting on my jacket when he leans in and kisses me.

I pull back so fast I nearly knock the stool behind me. Something cold and certain moves through me, not confusion, I understand exactly what happened, and I look at him and I hear myself say, louder than I intended:

"What the hell, Finn."

He steps back immediately. Hands up. "I'm sorry…I misread…”

"I told you I have a boyfriend." My voice is level but there is something underneath it that is not level at all. "I told you that two hours ago. Clearly."

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't know why…”

"Don't." I pick up my jacket.

Anders is behind me, I feel him before I see him, the quality of someone who has just seen something and is deciding how to handle it. He puts a hand briefly on my shoulder. Doesn't say anything. Just… there, for a second, and then not.

I am at the door before anyone else says anything. I am outside before I have properly registered being outside, the warm Amsterdam evening hitting me, the canal two streets away and the city doing its ordinary Wednesday night thing around me like nothing has happened, because for everyone else nothing has.

I stand on the pavement.

My heart is going faster than it should be. I put my hand in my pocket and find my phone and stand there with it and think about Jan at home with his book and the warmth of Jan's apartment and the fact that I kissed someone, was kissed by someone, and Jan doesn't know.

I stand there for a long time.

Then I walk.

The canal, the bridges, the particular Amsterdam evening light on the water. I walk and I think and I don't arrive anywhere useful. I have not done anything wrong. I know this. I also know that knowing it and feeling it are two entirely different things and right now I feel like I have done something wrong, like I have arrived home carrying something I didn't leave with, and the thought of walking through Jan's door with this thing and saying nothing about it makes me feel worse than the thing itself.

I stop on the bridge two streets from Jan's apartment.

I look at the water.

Then I keep walking.

Jan is home when I get there. He is on the sofa with his book, the posture of someone who has been at a work dinner for three hours and has returned to his own space with the relief of someone who prefers it. He looks up when I come in.

"Hey," he says.