Rain ran down the window, pooling on the porch outside. Small swirly puddles grew slowly larger and larger, finally spilling onto the steps below. Briefly Jo mused that she should fix the drainage on her home, if the rain continued there was every chance that water would leak into her house. The thought dissipated like mist, she resumed watching water run down the window.
Isaac would be in Paris by now. Her decision to remain in New York had not appeared to impact upon him boarding the flight. He had indicated to her, after she had politely declined his offer at the airport, that he had pre arranged a business meeting during their vacation. Apparently not just one and realization had dawned on Jo that Isaacs motivation, though in part to woo her, was also to scout for new restaurant opportunities abroad. Surprisingly she hadn't been upset; it had helped to justify her decision.
In a magnanimous gesture Isaac had paid for her cab back home. He hadn't been angry, had leant over and kissed her cheek. She sensed that he had known her heart better than she did. It had not been Isaac that filled her thoughts on the journey home in the taxi, which had been directed unconsciously, towards the Antique shop.
The object of her contemplations had answered the door almost immediately on knocking. He had appeared confused yet pleased to see her. Inviting her inside, she had attempted to explain her presence. Had tried to articulate feelings that she wasn't even sure she felt. She had stumbled in her expression; he had stared at her, intently. Her eyes had lowered from his. He had leaned towards her. Her words were lost, as the air within the room had grown taut with anticipation.
Abe walked in, she had left. There really hadn't been much else to say, particularly since she had not idea what she had actually wanted to say.
The moon now heavy in the sky, reflected in the pools of water. She briefly imagined walking along the Seine, the same moon peering through her window as would follow her steps along Parisian streets. She smiled to herself indulging in a moment of private fantastical dreaming. Pulling her robe closer around her body for warmth she initially chose to ignore the knocking at her front door. When it became obvious that it was not going to stop she pulled herself from her corner to politely yet firmly tell the person on the other side of the door to go away.
"Henry?"
Shaking his umbrella from the rain, he waited to be invited inside. Curious she directed him to the living room, at which point he turned – paused then requested; "Please tell me again why you are not on a plane to Paris"
She smiled, taking his coat to hang up to dry.
"It's a long story" she began.