Goodbye

Goodbye
~ Anna's POV

The phone rang three times. Some part of me was happy, James called, but it was too late; I needed to move.

I said to myself, but answered anyway.

"Anna—"

God, his voice. It had been long since I'd heard him say my name like that, desperate and broken and so full of need.

I gripped the phone tighter, trying to steady my breathing, trying to remember why I was angry in the first place.

"Thank God," he said, the relief in his voice unmistakable. "Anna, please. I need to tell you something. You're in danger—"

"Enough James." The word came out sharper than I intended, but I couldn't let him do this. Couldn't let him waltz back into my life after those days of silence and act like he had the right to tell me anything. "So this is what you have to say after so many days, this is pathetic."

"Anna... Anna please just listen to me."

"Why should I?" My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "You want to tell me another reason why you picked her?"

"Anna shut up and listen—"

"That's it, please don't ever call again," I said, hating the way tears pricked at my eyes. Good. I wanted him to hurt the way I'd been hurting.

"Goodbye, James."

I ended the call before he could respond, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone. Underneath the anger, underneath all the hurt, there was a small voice asking if I'd just made a terrible mistake. He'd said I was in danger. What if he was right?

My phone lit up again, his name flashing across the screen.

I silenced it and tossed it into my purse. Whatever danger he thought I was in, I can handle it myself.

The lie tasted bitter, but I started the car anyway and headed toward the coffee shop where Jamal was waiting.

\~~~

Jamal had chosen a small Italian place in the West Village—intimate and cozy, nothing like the upscale elegance of Salvatore's from our first date. When I walked in, I found him already seated at a corner table, and the smile that spread across his face when he saw me made something warm unfurl in my chest.

"There she is," he said as I got in, pulling me into a hug that was desperately needed right now. "My diva."

I rolled my eyes even as I melted into his embrace. "Diva?"

"What else would I call someone who made a thousand people cry with one performance?"

"I have a problem with guys who sweet-talk," I say against his chest.

"Good thing I'm not sweet-talking. I'm fact-talking." He pulls back, grinning.

The waiter came by for drinks, and I settled right back into our easy routine. Jamal ordered wine, and I got water. He didn't pressure me or ask why, he just accepted it. That's what I loved about him: he took me entirely, no strings attached, and no questions asked about things I wasn't ready to talk about.

"So," he said once we were alone again, "tell me how your day was. Any drama at the theater?"

I thought about Mark's gentle rejection, about the tour announcement. "You could say that. We found out the production is going on tour. One month, major cities."

"That's incredible!" His excitement seemed genuine. "When do you leave?"

"One week." I picked at the edge of my napkin. "The same week you'll be in Tokyo."

"Bad timing," he said with a rueful smile. "Here I was hoping to text you every day and make you miss me."

"You can still text me," I found myself saying. "I'll just be in Boston instead of New York."

"I'll hold you to that." He reached across the table, and I let him take my hand. His palm was warm, callused from years of training, completely different from James's. "I know this is fast, Anna. I know we barely know each other. But I meant what I said at Salvatore's—I want to see where this goes."

My throat tightened. "Jamal—"

"You don't have to say anything right now. I'm not asking for promises." His thumb brushed across my knuckles. "I'm just asking you to think about it while I'm gone. Think about whether you could see yourself giving this—giving us—a real chance when I get back."

The waiter brought the drinks, but we barely noticed. The next hour flew by, and we covered everything. He told me all about his training, the insane pressure of his title, and his family who only care about winning. I talked about the theater, how I love being someone else, and my private fear that I'll never be good enough without better connections.

"You're good enough," he said with such certainty that I almost believed him. "I saw you perform, remember? That wasn't connections. That was raw talent."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know what it looks like when someone's faking it." He squeezed my hand. "You weren't faking anything up on that stage."

By the time we finished dinner, I realized I'd barely thought about James all evening. Jamal had this way of making me feel present, grounded in the moment instead of trapped in the past. Maybe that's exactly what I needed.

We walked out of the restaurant together, and he insisted on walking me to my car even though it was only half a block away. The evening air was cool. When I shivered, he slid his jacket off and settled it softly over me. It was the kind of move that didn't need words.

"I really am going to miss you," he said when we reached my car. "Is that crazy? Missing someone I've only known for two days?"

"Maybe a little crazy," I admitted, but I was smiling. "But in a sweet way."

"Can I kiss you goodbye?" He asked it the same way he'd asked at the coffee shop earlier—direct and honest, giving me the choice. "Really kiss you this time?"

My heart started racing. Last night we held hands across a table. Earlier today he'd hugged me goodbye. But a real kiss felt like crossing a line I wasn't sure I was ready to cross.

"I'm not ready for that yet," I said softly, hating the flicker of disappointment in his eyes even though he hid it quickly.

"That's okay." He pulled me into a hug instead, and I let myself sink into it, breathing in the scent of his cologne and the lingering warmth of his jacket. "When you're ready, I'll be here. Or in Tokyo. Or wherever. Point is, I'll wait."

When I pulled back, I found myself kissing his cheek on impulse. Quick and innocent, but enough to make him grin like I had just handed him the world.

"When you get back," I said.

"When I get back," he agreed, then added with that cocky smile of his, "I'm definitely not showering for a month now."

I laughed despite myself. "That's disgusting."

"Worth it." He opened my car door for me, waiting until I was settled inside before stepping back. "Text me when you get home safe?"

"I will."

He stood on the sidewalk watching as I pulled away, one hand raised in a wave. In my rearview mirror, he was still standing there, and for just a moment, I let myself feel hopeful about something that wasn't tied up in pain.

Then I checked my mirror to
switch lanes, and my heart stopped cold.

Black sedan. Three cars back. The same one from last night.