My Fiancé Postponed Our Marriage License Seventeen Times For His Intern Chapter 10

My Fiancé Postponed Our Marriage License Seventeen Times For His Intern Chapter 10

Callen didn’t leave.

He stayed in Paris for a month, showing up outside my building every day.

Winter settled in hard. Some days it snowed, and he stood there anyway, wrapped in that same black coat, unmoving under the streetlamp like he’d taken root there.

When I came home from work, he was there.

When I left in the morning, he was there.

No calls. No messages.

Just waiting.

Alistair noticed eventually.

“The man downstairs,” he said one afternoon, glancing toward the window. “Should I call someone?”

“No,” I said. “It’s not necessary.”

One night, I worked late.

By the time I got back, I was exhausted, my whole body dragging.

He was still there.

Leaning against the lamppost, face pale, lips tinged with cold.

When he saw me, he straightened, like it cost him something.

“You’re back.”

I stopped a few steps away.

“Have you eaten?” he asked. “I got something you like. They’re keeping it warm at the place across the street.”

I looked at him.

“Callen, does this mean anything to you?”

“It does.” His voice was quiet, but steady. “When I’m waiting for you, I can still feel… something.”

I didn’t answer.

After a moment, he said, “You should go upstairs. It’s freezing.”

Then he turned and started across the street.

“Where are you going?”

He paused but didn’t look back.

“I’ll find a hotel. Come back tomorrow.”

I watched him walk away, his steps slow against the snow, his shoulders tight with cold.

“Callen.”

He stopped.

“Come upstairs.”

He turned around so fast it almost didn’t look real.

And for the first time in months, there was something like light in his eyes.