I think I’ll miss her sense of humor most of all. Who will tease me and push me off kilter for a split second, then make everything right again with a hint of smile or a quick kiss on the nose?

“It’s not really the kind of job I’m looking for. I’m getting on. Something a bit less physical would be better.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She curls her arms around my neck. “I’ll see you at Christmas. Once September comes around, the Halloween decorations will start going up, and after that it’s straight into the Christmas trees. They’ll be up before we know it.”

“If I don’t see you before then.” I waggle my eyebrows.

“That would be a treat, but let’s not get our hopes up for that. It’s out of our hands. Let’s focus on what we can control.”

“I can just about control this kiss I’m about to give you.” I lean in and kiss her fully on the lips, tongue slipping in deep. Her lips seem softer than ever before, her embrace more loving, her skin warmer.

“Je t’aime, Zoya,” she says, her voice soft and shaky.

My French has improved beyond the understanding of those words. “Je t’aime aussi,” I reply.

A group of loud youngsters passes by and rudely pulls us from the romantic moment we were having.

“I suppose I’d better go through security.”

“You should. It could take a while. Although the thought of you missing your flight is very tempting.”

I toyed with the idea of delaying my flight back, but when I booked it I already cut if very fine before work starts again, hardly giving my body time to adjust to the time difference. Anyway, a few days extra wouldn’t have made this moment any easier.

“I’m going now, my love.” Instead of moving away from her, I increase the intensity of my embrace, pull her close to me, inhale her smell deeply one last time.

“It’s just time and distance keeping us apart,” she whispers in my ear. “They have nothing on our love for each other.”

I can only nod at that point as I try to keep the tears that well up behind my eyes from rolling down my cheeks.

One last kiss, a lingering one, and I force myself away from her and walk to the security line in the back of the departures hall. I don’t look back as I walk, afraid I will relapse and run to her in an exaggeratedly romantic fashion, which wouldn’t be romantic at all, only a prolongation of this miserable moment of me walking away from the woman I love.