I packed up my belongings and left the gardens at around 3 PM. The rest of the afternoon I spent browsing through some book stores and art galleries. I bought a book on horticulture for my mother, some more postcards for my friends, and a rare first edition of Sylvia Plath’s first book of poems for myself.

At around six o’clock, I headed back to my hotel. I was a little nonplussed when the concierge reported that he had no messages for me, but I smiled at him anyways.

A shower and a change of clothes later, I was rummaging through my suitcase for my perfume bottle when the phone rang. I forced myself to sit out the first three rings before I answered it.

“Hello?”

I heard his breath on the line before I heard his voice. “Emily?”

“Sebastian?” I bit my lip in frustration. Damnit! Now he probably thought I’d been waiting by the phone all day.

“Did you say something?”

“Me? No, I, uh, I was just turning off the TV.”

“Would you like to go dancing tonight? I know this club where they play incredible jazz…”