(Joseph POV)
I arrived too early.
The bookstore by the Seine hadn't even fully opened yet, its metal gate still half-lowered, the interior lights dim and sleepy. The river beside it flowed lazily, sunlight dancing on its surface as if nothing in the world demanded urgency.
I stood there anyway.
Hands in my coat pockets. Shoulders relaxed by force of will. Breathing steady.
Waiting.
It struck me then how long it had been since I'd waited for Yvette like this—not because I was expected to, not because I had the right to, but because I wanted to.
In the past, I never waited.
I assumed.
Assumed she would be there.
Assumed she would understand.
Assumed she would stay.
The memory left a dull ache in my chest.
I leaned against the railing and looked out over the water, letting the quiet Paris morning ground me. Students passed by in small groups, their laughter light and careless. Somewhere behind me, the bookstore owner was unlocking the door, keys clinking softly.
