Meet Me in Tahiti

Chapter Twelve

Finn returned to the deck after he’d seen Zoe, Cristina and Joe out.

What a mess of a night. A seesawing mix of nostalgia, awkwardness, laughter, fear, anger, hope, longing, yearning, wanting, caution...and disappointment.

His brain was tired from the onslaught.

He wanted to stop thinking for a while. Stop regressing to Finn Doherty the lowlife high school dropout who could land all the odd jobs but not move past them, run himself ragged caring for his mother but not save her, get any girl in the village except the only one he despairingly wanted.

He wanted, especially, to strangle the feeling that had slithered out of its dark hiding place in his soul the moment Zoe had left the bungalow: the helpless, painful certainty that had taken root that long-ago summer that the two of them were meant to be somehow, if only he could find a way.

He knew the moment for that was past, that he was deluding himself if he thought it could be recaptured in a new place and time. She knew nothing about who he was today. Had never, not once, done an online search of Finn Doherty. Didn’t that tell him there was no way to find for the two of them to be together?

The past ten years’ obliteration of him he could understand; it would be hypocritical to think she’d be hunched over a computer dredging the internet for mentions of his name given how comprehensively he’d quashed any curiosity about her from the moment he’d boarded his flight to Australia.

But last night, having seen him again, when he’d been jolted into madly researching her at last, she hadn’t spared him even one thought? This afternoon, after the cruise, knowing she’d be interviewing him for a story she thought was his story, she’d looked up not one fact about him?

It hurt, but he had no choice but to accept it. He wanted to accept it. Wanted to not dream about her the way he’d dreamed about her last night, even if he had no idea how he was supposed to manage that with her scent threading through the air he was breathing all alone.

He wanted to not want to see her again.

He wanted to not regret that he hadn’t let their fingers touch when he’d handed her that notepad.

But he did want to see her again.

And he did regret not touching her so that he would know, at last, if her skin on his would be as cooling, as calming, as he’d always thought it would be...or if it would do nothing at all, which would be even better, because the spell would be broken.

No. Not quite right. What he was yearning for was for her to touch him, not the other way around.

But he was leaving in the morning and he’d blown his chance. He’d have to get on with life as it was and not how he wished it could have been because his life was good.

And if he really wanted to put the past behind him, the best place to start was with Gina’s email, which he still hadn’t managed to read.

He pulled out his phone again, stared at the screen...and heard Zoe saying, I would have stayed if you wanted me to...

And he knew—dammit, he knew very well—he wasn’t leaving in the morning.

So instead of reopening that still-unread email he pulled up Gina’s number, his finger suspended over the call button.

He and Gina had never had what either of them would call a grand passion but they’d been faithful to each other, caring of each other, attuned to each other in business and friendship. How was he supposed to explain this thing, this bond with Zoe, when he’d never so much as mentioned Zoe’s name?

He’d have to wing it, see what came out of his mouth.

He hit the call button, and almost before she’d uttered his name, he said: “I need a week here. Please don’t ask why, just let me explain it when I see you.”

He waited, every muscle straining. Please.

And then she said: “One week, explanation due on arrival, and I will expect it in full and unabridged.”

He closed his eyes in relief.

“Finn, if you’ve found someone...” He tensed all over again as she hesitated, but then she laughed softly. “Just know that it would be OK with me. In fact, I think it’d make it easier. To move on, you know?”

“That’s not... I mean, it is about moving on but...” Nope. No idea how to explain it, not yet. “Look, so you know, it’d be OK with me, too, if you found someone. Someone better than me.”

“Define better.”

“Someone less...rough around the edges.”

Gina sighed. “Now you see, that was always your problem, Finn, thinking a rough edge was a bad thing. It’s not. Pleasantries and compliments aside, however, if you’re not on a plane next Monday I’ll fly over and drag you bodily off that island in handcuffs.”

“Oh, so now you get brutal with me!” he said. “Who knows what might have been if you’d found your inner cavewoman three years ago?” And as she laughed—as he knew she would—he rang off and stared at his phone, too wired to think of going to bed, too restless for answers.

Hell, he still didn’t know if Zoe had a husband, a boyfriend, someone she lived with. He hoped she did. That really would be the end. Was there someone in Hawke’s Cove he could call? Not without word getting back to the eerily omnipotent Mrs. Whittaker and spreading like wildfire that Finn Doherty still had a crush on Zoe Tayler, which would find its way to Lily’s mother, and then Lily, and then Zoe. Perish the thought. But he scrolled aimlessly through his contact list for want of anything better to do.

He stopped at the Ks. Kupe. He had to tell him how the story had gone down. He hit the call button.

“It’s late, Finn,” Kupe said when he answered. “Is something wrong?”

“No! No. Just... Zoe Tayler, that journalist we talked about, she loved your story and I wanted you to know she’ll likely call you in the next day or so.” Finn paused as he realized he knew exactly why he’d called so late and it wasn’t about the article. It was to gather his tools, his weapons, for the siege. The big battle had begun. “And I need a favor. That associate of yours, the one with MS—he has that pontoon boat...”