"So, um… do you have any other plans for the day?" Killian asked, as they began their walk back towards the part of the village where their holiday rentals were located. They'd both enjoyed a wonderful meal together at the small restaurant Emma had found, but, now that it was over, Killian was running out of good excuses to continue spending time with her that afternoon.
"I do, actually," she explained carefully. "I have some calls I need to make for work. Sorry."
"Oh, don't be," he told her, waving away her concerns airily. (At least, he hoped he had.) "I'm a big boy. I can entertain myself."
Emma gave him another critical look before she finally said, "Well, you should at least work on that book of yours. If not, you'll be heading back to New York without anything done."
"That's true," he admitted, "Although… it would also give me a wonderful excuse to escape the city again when election-fever dies down."
"Best city in the world, hey?" she teased, dancing out of the way of his hands, which had been aiming for that ticklish spot on her side he'd found earlier in the day.
When their laugher had finally died down, Emma meandered back over to his side and said, "I guess if you don't have anything planned for tomorrow, we could try and find something to do together."
"We could, um… Oh! We could rent a car and drive over to Nice for the day!" he suggested, cringing a little at the enthusiasm in his tone. (He really hoped that hadn't come across as too desperate.) "I haven't ever really spent any time there before," Killian explained. "I just caught a cab and headed straight over here when my flight landed last week."
"A day in Nice sounds good," Emma agreed, nodding her head softly. "I spent a little bit of time there before I came here, but I didn't get to see everything I'd like. You're not a beach person, are you?" she asked suddenly, and Killian shook his head.
"I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't mind spending time on the beach," he elaborated, "But when given a choice, there are dozens of other things I'd rather do. Why?"
"School holidays are just about ending in the UK," she explained. "The beaches were rammed when I was there at the start of the month. It's probably best to avoid those and stick to some of the less well-known parts of the city, like the market in Old Town."
"Then we shall spend the day in Nice and completely avoid the beaches," Killian chuckled.
"It's a date," Emma promised, as they began making their way back up the street and past the café that had become something of a staple in their lives over the past couple of weeks.
"You know, if we're spending all day in Nice, you really should get plenty of work done tonight," she mused. "I don't know if you've noticed but, I'm a student. We don't really do early nights on day trips."
"I guess it's a good thing I'm a news anchor then," he threw back at her, as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Long days and late nights also happen to be my thing."
"We'll see, Grandpa," she teased, coming to a sudden stop in the middle of the road.
Killian had been so distracted by their conversation; his mind already busy making plans for their day in Nice, that he hadn't realized they were standing in front of the house Emma was renting.
"I'll meet you at the café at six?" she asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, six sounds good."
"Happy writing, Killian," she said, before rocking up onto her toes and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
Emma turned on her heels and practically danced her way up to the front door while Killian stood rooted to the spot, caught up in the feel of her lips against his skin.
The sound of the door closing safely behind her finally pulled him out of his daydream, and Killian turned around to head for his own little home, muttering to himself the entire way there.
"Screwed, Killian. You're so screwed."
Focusing on his book proved a little easier than he'd expected that afternoon. After booking a car rental to be delivered early the next morning, which cost far more than he had expected, Killian was able to dedicate a good chunk of his day to recapping some of his earlier years in Myanmar and Somalia. He took a small break shortly after to make himself some dinner and Googled, 'things to do in Nice,' while he ate. With his hunger satisfied and a mind full of ideas, he headed back to his perch on the balcony to begin recalling everything he could of his time spent in Bosnia.
Before he could dive too deep, however, his cellphone began to ring, and Killian cringed when he saw the caller ID lighting up the screen.
"Mom –"
"Don't you 'Mom' me, Killian Jones. Do you have any idea what I've been through all day?" she barked across the line. "'I'll call you in the morning,' he said. And what does he do? Forget I even exist."
"I didn't forget you exist," he sighed, because his mother definitely had a flair for the dramatics whenever she was busy guilt-tripping him. "I just got a little distracted, that's all."
"Distracted?" she asked, "Is something big happening in France that I don't know about?"
"No, mother, nothing is happening in France. At least, nothing I'm aware of. I was just – exploring the village a little more. That's all. I've got some wonderful pictures to show you when I get back. You'd love it here, Mom. It's just so beautiful. It's easy to get distracted by the serenity of the place."
"Well, next time, try and remember to at least message when you get distracted. You don't want to give your poor mother a heart attack when you're on the other side of the world, do you?"
"No, Mom. I don't," he assured her. "And I promise that next time, I'll at least text you so you know I'm still alive."
"That's all I ask. Now - how's your writing going, Darling? Do you need anything from me? I still have all those old letters and postcards you sent home to me when you were traveling after college if they're of any help."
"I don't think I need them right now, Mom. If I do, I'll be sure to ask you for them. But - don't you think it's time you started throwing some of that stuff away? The apartment is going to look like an episode of hoarders soon."
"I know how to look after my apartment, Killian. Just because you throw away anything and everything doesn't mean I do. You'll thank me for hoarding this stuff when I die, and you have nothing to remember me by."
"Let's not joke about you dying anytime soon, hey, Mom? That's not really something I wanna think about right now."
"Sorry, Darling. Tell me more about this place in France you're visiting. What are the people like there?"
Unbidden, an image of Emma flashed through Killian's mind, and he couldn't help the smile that began tugging at his lips. "They're uh… they're nice. Really nice. I like it here, and I can definitely see myself coming back again soon."
"That's good to hear. I'm glad you're enjoying your vacation, Sweetheart. You deserve it."
"Thanks, Mom."
"You work too hard, you know. You let them work you too hard."
"I like working hard, Mom. I like my job."
"That doesn't mean you have to work twelve-hour days, five days a week."
"I don't work twelve-hour days, five days a week," Killian sighed, because this was not the first time they'd had this particular conversation, and he knew it wouldn't be the last.
"Well, it feels like you do. You should make more time for yourself, Darling. You're not competing for airtime now, and you're not as young as you used to be. I just - I don't want to see you work yourself into an early grave. I can't let you do that."
"I'm not gonna do that, Mom and you're not gonna lose me any time soon," he promised. "I'll be back in the States this weekend, and you can see for yourself just how healthy I am."
"Good. I hope that means you're eating well," she said suddenly, and Killian sighed again. Only his mother had the power to make him feel like an eight-year-old child while he was on the other side of the world.
"I am, Mom. There's plenty of good restaurants around here, considering how small the village is, and Nice is only a short drive away. In fact, I'm planning to head there tomorrow. I want to spend some time in the city and see how inspiring it is."
"Well, that sounds lovely, Dear. Take lots of pictures for me and at least send me a text or an email or something so I know you got back safely, okay?"
"Okay, Mom," he promised, rolling his eyes up to the sky.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, Killian Jones," she threatened darkly, before completely switching up her tone to say, "Anyway, Lily's doing well. She misses you, of course, but she seems to be happy here, and she's getting plenty of playtime at the park, so you don't need to worry about her."
"That's good to hear. Give her a big kiss from me before you go to bed and tell her I miss her."
"I will, Sweetheart," his mom promised, before she said, "Now… if I've calculated the time difference correctly, it's getting late for you there. I'll let you get some rest before your big trip into the city. I love you, Darling. Take good care of yourself."
"I will, Mom. I love you too, and I'll see you soon."
"See you on Sunday," she said, then disconnected the line.
Killian held the phone to his ear for a moment longer before he checked the screen and then dropped it down onto the seat beside him.
"Okay, Bosnia," he mumbled to himself, "Back to Bosnia."
But his heart wasn't really in the moment, and by the time the last of the light had faded into pitch black, he only had three hundred and sixteen words down on paper about his time in the country.
Killian spent the rest of his night throwing together a temporary itinerary of places he could visit with Emma in Nice the following day, and picking out something to wear, before he finally called it a night and headed to bed.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he could have sworn he heard the faint sounds of some sort of music drifting into his room through the open balcony doors. A soft, sweet tune that sounded oddly familiar to him. A tune that he fell asleep humming to himself.
Not too far away, a young woman was still wide awake inside her home, her fingers dancing fluidly over the keys of an old upright piano as she played out the song that had been stuck inside her head for the last three weeks. Every now and then, she would pause to scratch out a line here or scribble a few notes there onto the sheets of paper resting on the music stand before she would start again, allowing her instincts to control her movements. As she pressed down on the final key and the closing note echoed through the space, a small tear fell from her left eye to trickle over her cheek before dropping onto her bare arm.
She'd done it.
She'd really done it!
She'd finally reached that place she'd been working towards all of her life - that goal she'd always been told she'd never achieve. She wasn't sure she'd been prepared for the feelings that suddenly came crashing down over her as she realized what she'd just done – what she was about to do.
Every thought and feeling she'd had since she was old enough to remember them were currently written across dozens of sheets of paper, ready to be told to the world. She'd laid her soul bare for everyone to see, and now - now all that was left was to pray that the people in charge of her career would decide it was good enough to give her that chance she'd dreamed of for so long; that chance she'd worked so hard for.
She gathered up the last of the sheets of paper scattered around her, organized them into some kind of system, and tucked them neatly inside a file which she then locked into a safe in the kitchen.
After checking the front door was secure, Emma made her way up the stairs and threw herself down onto the bed, still fully dressed, to cry herself to sleep.
Thanks for reading and reviewing.