I was a widow and I didn’t allow any man to touch me for six years — until, during a vacation, I met a stranger who surrounded me with his arms... and on my last night, he told me why he had really approached mikara

I looked at him in disbelief.

You followed me.

“At first.

I turned around.

I felt humiliated.

Suddenly, every smile seemed fake.

Every conversation, rehearsed.

Even the moment he had cried in his arms seemed polluted.

You should have given me the letter on the first day.

I know.

“Then why didn’t you do it?”

Daniel looked at me.

Because when I saw you, you weren't Michael's widow.

I frowned.

You were just Claire.

His voice broke slightly.

And I liked you.

I didn't say anything.

“That was not to happen,” he continued. I came here to deliver an envelope. Then you laughed when I caught your hat. You argued with the waiter because he insisted that instant coffee was espresso. You walked barefoot through the ice water and pretended it wasn't cold.

Despite myself, I almost smiled.

Daniel came a little closer, but he didn't touch me.