Meet Me in Tahiti

Chapter Twenty-Two

The next morning Finn approached the table where Zoe was sitting with Cristina and Matilda, having just finished breakfast.

He dragged over a chair from the next table and sat. “Cristina, that cooking class I mentioned the other day is on again. Are you interested?”

“As long as it’s OK with Zoe,” Cristina responded, and then looked at Zoe as though she was trying not to laugh. “Do you want to come too, Zo?”

“No!” Zoe said, laying a warning hand on Cristina’s knee under the table: do not mess this up. “I mean yes, I mean no, I don’t want to come, I mean yes, go, go, go. Please.” She was babbling but she didn’t care. She would not—not—let anyone stand in the way if Finn was offering an olive branch after whatever had happened last night, even if she didn’t know exactly what had happened! That wonderful restless recklessness was flooding through her just because he was here and nothing was going to stop her being alone with him. If only she could work out how to issue an invitation he couldn’t refuse!

“Joe will take you in an hour,” Finn said to Cristina. “He’ll be using his own boat so you can go fishing afterward if you like.”

And then he transferred his attention to Zoe...and Matilda. Dammit.

“How about you two come with me to a Tahitian pearl farm?” he said. “It’s a forty-minute boat ride. Small scale, exquisite pearls, unusual jewelry designs. We stock some of their jewelry in our gift store here at Poerava but the more exclusive designs are only available in a handful of big-name stores in London, New York and Paris.”

“Not Tilly,” Zoe said, gripping Matilda’s knee with her free hand under the table. “She’s busy.”

“Yes, Tilly’s busy,” Matilda said without missing a beat, giving Zoe’s hand a conspiratorial squeeze under the table. “Despite the almost irresistible lure of jewelry, she has a date with Daniel.”

He smiled at Zoe, making her heart somersault. “Well?”

Zoe cleared her throat. “Is there a group of us going?”

Finn recoiled. “What, like a junket?” he asked, in such overwrought horror, Matilda laughed outright and Cristina covered her mouth with her hand so that she didn’t follow suit. “No, Ms. Intrepid. This would be you and me.” He stood. “I’d quintuple dare you but if you’re not interested—”

“Wait!” she said. “I...I am interested.”

Finn shrugged as though it didn’t matter, although the heated look in his eyes told her it mattered very much indeed, and she realized then that that one-shouldered shrug of his had never been indifferent; it was the Finn Doherty equivalent of her rubbing her hands up and down her thighs.

“Then let’s meet at Little Micky in, say, ninety minutes?” he said. “I have some paperwork to look over before we go.”

Finn watched Zoe as she boarded Little Micky but didn’t offer to help her.

Which was good, Zoe told herself, he wasn’t going to mollycoddle her after all of her protestations of independence. (Although in her most secret heart she’d have preferred him to swing her up in his manly arms and carry her onto the boat.)

He cemented his understanding of her need for independence by taking phone call after phone call as he manned the controls, leaving Zoe to “enjoy the scenery” all on her own.

And when they reached their destination, again he watched as she disembarked—very closely but without touching her. At. All.

Hmm.

She wondered if she could find an opportunity to throw out a reminder that some people were allowed to help her, no need to ask permission.

It was at least heartening to note that he’d obviously been thinking about her, though: Poerava’s teak ramps had made their way over to this island in advance of their arrival, which meant she could wheel herself without recourse to the must-be-pushed, less maneuverable all-terrain wheelchair. Not that she was averse to him pushing her. Gah! She was becoming pathetic.

She quickly realized tourists weren’t catered for here, which meant her visit was a personal favor granted to Finn. Was it a sign that he’d gone to such trouble, calling in favors for her? Could it be deemed romantic?

Not so romantic that he stayed with her for the tour. He was on his phone almost the moment they entered the grafting house, out of sight and earshot.

Which was probably just as well because Zoe knew Tahitian pearls would make a fantastic story and she needed to concentrate.

She quickly learned the characteristics that sorted pearls into their quality categories according to size, shape, color and luster, but it wasn’t until she was ushered into the showroom that the words became meaningful.

Zoe had seen exquisite Australian South Sea pearls in Broome a few years ago, but the iridescent range of colors of these pearls—from black all the way through to light gray—made her gasp. Calling the pearls such basic colors didn’t do them justice. There were hints of green, purple, red, pink and gold that made Zoe think of rainbows on a midnight sky. They were almost poetic in their magnificence.

The myths that went with them were equally amazing. From the ancient Chinese belief that they were formed in the heads of dragons, to the Polynesian legends that told of the moon bathing the ocean in its light to entice oysters to the surface for impregnation by heaven.

She was in awe as she photographed the designs, and wasn’t aware she’d actually stopped, phone lowered to heart level, as she gazed at a dazzling tiara—a stunning confection of Tahitian and white South Sea pearls, some round, some baroque teardrops, set in platinum amongst diamonds, sapphires and emeralds—until Finn reemerged from wherever he’d been.

“You said you always wanted a tiara so I knew you’d want to see that,” he said.

“That’s not a tiara, that’s a crown,” Zoe said reverently. “Something the Mermaid of Zennor would wear. Way too beautiful for a mortal!”

“So write that mermaid story you were always talking about and give it to her,” Finn said, and checked his watch. “Right now, though, we’d better make a move if I’m to get you back in time to get ready for dinner.”

“Dinner?” she said, and waited breathlessly for an invitation to his bungalow.

“The dinner at Mama Papa’e on Heia Island. No pressure, of course, if you really don’t want to go, but just about everyone from Poerava is going.”

“Will you be there?” she asked, as they reached Little Micky. “At the dinner, I mean.”

One of those long, considering looks. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll go.”

He started to say something...and then his phone rang. He looked at the screen and squared his shoulders. “Let’s go,” he said, and accepted the call.

He was on and off his phone for the entire journey back to Poerava.

Zoe tried not to listen in, tried to focus on the notes she’d taken at the pearl farm, but she couldn’t help overhearing snatches of conversation. The name Jed—she knew who he was: the architect. She heard Finn mention Gina, then call Gina; apologizing but in a playfully coaxing way Zoe didn’t believe anyone could resist. There was someone with whom Finn seemed to be talking financials. A mention of Finn’s Sydney apartment. Gina again. A reference to Scotland—something seemed to have gone wrong there. Back to Jed. Then Gina again, talking about... Devon? Had she really heard Finn say Devon?

She looked at him questioningly, thinking she’d misheard, and he...he beamed at her, and her thoughts skittered all the way out of her head. She didn’t care what he was saying or who he was talking to as long as he kept smiling at her like that. But then he started, as though he’d been caught out, and said into the phone, “I missed that last bit,” angling to face away from Zoe.

It seemed she was a distraction.

How completely, utterly wonderful!

Zoe gave up on her notes after that and simply sat there looking out at the water.

It was beautiful. Peaceful.

Until she heard Finn say “Hawke’s Cove” and her vision blurred, grief surging inside her so suddenly her breath caught, clogged.

Hawke’s Cove.

He had definitely referred to Hawke’s Cove.

And there was that relentless tide, pulling at her heart, dragging her soul out of hiding, telling her she didn’t belong here, she belonged...there. The grief, the yearning, the longing she’d been feeling, was for home.

The first thing Zoe noticed about Mama Papa’e was that it was a restaurant literally on the sand. The dining area was semicircular. Massive stone Tiki sculptures ranged along the circumference edge and a long wooden stage was set up across the diameter, beyond which the lagoon made a glorious backdrop. The tables and chairs were a blend of Polynesian and Asian design made from local wood, and flaming torches were thrust into the sand at regular intervals.

Guests were each greeted by pāreu-clad staff draping garlands of flowers around their necks and offering cocktails and mocktails. They were invited to kick off their shoes and dig in their toes. Although Zoe wasn’t going to be digging her toes into any sand she got into the spirit of the evening by removing her jeweled sandals.

The tables were long and narrow, meant for groups. There were ramps over the sand to two of them, which had been set aside for parties that included people with mobility issues.

There was one wheelchair user and two people with other mobility aids already at one of those tables, but it was the other table that was reserved for Poerava. Zoe felt a twinge of remorse at forcing the Poerava contingent to walk across ramps instead of sand to take their seats, and she seriously contemplated joining the other table until Matilda gave a loud whoop of joy.

“Close to the stage,” Matilda said. “Perfect! Plus I’m all for a bit of sand but none of us can say we haven’t had our fair share of it this week—seriously, I have sand in every orifice known to man and a few as-yet-undiscovered ones. Anyway, there’s dancing later in that huge sandpit right in front of the stage and I, for one, will be out there doing my world-famous twerk, so let’s not sand it up before then!”

Zoe accepted that message for what it was: solidarity. It made her think of Victoria, Malie and Lily, always so caring but discreet with it, no look how virtuous I am giving up my fun for poor Zoe, and those blasted tears were stinging behind her nose.

Food started coming out almost the moment the group was seated. No lining up at the buffet for Poerava’s guests: everything was served on platters brought to their table.

Zoe’s head was spinning at the array of food and the table was buzzing. And yet that sense of nostalgic melancholy wouldn’t leave her, no matter how many lighthearted conversations she entered into or how many oohs and aahs she produced in response to the incredible menu which, face it, was wasted on her.

She wondered where Finn was, guessed those phone calls were still keeping him busy, and wished she hadn’t come—especially when Kupe Kahale took to the stage to introduce the entertainment: traditional music and dances on the main stage, including what was purported to be a mesmerizing fire dance, and demonstrations on smaller daises positioned between the Tiki sculptures of the making of heis (flower crowns—and OK, that sounded interesting, she had to admit), Tahitian tattooing, carving and pāreu painting.

It was as the audience participation part of proceedings was announced that Zoe finally saw Finn.

He was standing to the side of the stage, talking earnestly to one of the staff who was gesturing in the direction of the Poerava table. Finn gave a vehement shake of his head, made a cutting gesture with one of his hands, and then looked over at her, smiled and started toward her...but then he stopped, and out came his phone, and with an apologetic combination of eye roll and shoulder shrug he moved behind one of the Tiki sculptures.

Kupe came on stage again, announcing the audience participation part of the entertainment, and he looked right at Zoe as she sat there petrified. How was she going to refuse to get on stage if she was publicly urged to do so, to twirl a flaming baton or have people dance around her or something else equally heinous? She would faint. No, no, she would do more than faint, she would die. D.I.E.

But to her immense relief it was Matilda and Daniel who were laughingly encouraged (admittedly without much resistance) onto the stage when the dreaded moment arrived.

Zoe was sure Finn would join the table for dessert and waited in a state of excitement as dish after dish arrived. So many dishes Zoe lost count, and then the plates were cleared, coffee was served... Still no Finn.

The dancing commenced, and almost as one group the Poerava gang headed for the sand. Only Cristina stayed, sitting beside Zoe, obstinately refusing to move despite Joe asking her to dance and Zoe encouraging her by insisting she had notes to write about the dinner. Zoe then had to start writing in her notepad to make good on her lie, even though she wasn’t going to submit the story.

In the end, it was Kupe Kahale who solved her dilemma, looming suddenly beside her. “Ah, the little meherio. Ia Orana—hello! And maeva—welcome—to Mama Papa’e.”

“Meherio?”she asked.

He leaned down and kissed her French-style, on each cheek. “Mermaid,” he translated. “Finn described you that way. He says you swim like one. He also tells me dinner shows are not your ‘thing’ and threatened dismemberment should we ask you onto the stage.”

She laughed. “He did?”

“Most definitely.”

“Oh dear, I’m sor—”

He held up a hand. Stop. “I understand. There is no story in our show for you but Finn knew he would be busy tonight and wanted you to not be alone, waiting, and so you are here against your inclination, and we are not allowed to ‘push’ our luck. So now, since you already have your story on me, ay, let us move a little away from the noise and I will show you my favorite place on Heia Island. It’s also a perfect place to take my photo...” flicking his hands inward, presenting his chest to her, “for which I wore my special shirt, and I will give you another story to thank you for coming.”

He pointed to the left, past Mama Papa’e where, in the middle distance, Zoe could see a gazebo-style structure. “See? Close but not too close,” he said. “You can wheel yourself most of the way, but I will need to help you to enter. Is that satisfactory, or would you prefer your friend’s assistance?”

Zoe turned to Cristina. “Cris, why don’t you go and find Joe and grab that dance?” She reached out her hand. Cristina took it, pressed it, released it with a murmured acceptance. “Give me, say, thirty minutes?” She looked to Kupe for confirmation and got a regal inclination of the head. “Yes, thirty minutes. Come for me then.”

It was unusual for someone Zoe didn’t know to lift her from her wheelchair. But it also felt natural for Kupe Kahale—who was built like an ox—to swing her up into his arms, in the same way it had felt natural for Malie’s godfather to get her on and off the adapted surfboard at the surf school in Hawaii. It was impersonal, inoffensive, prosaic in a way it wouldn’t have been if, say, Daniel was doing it.

Or Finn, of course. A whole other kettle of fish in his case. Not mackerel. Something much more delicious. Salmon. Lobster. Caviar.

Kupe settled her in a well-cushioned cane seat, sat in a larger one opposite her, then spent a moment looking her over as she pulled out her phone ready to take his photo. The part of her that seemed to interest him the most was her hair, which was loose and studded tonight with tiare mā’ohi blossoms, Tahitian gardenia, which she’d worn for Finn.

“You like flowers.” A statement.

A shiver shook her as she remembered Finn touching the frangipani in her hair that night at the bar. All she could do was nod.

“Then you will enjoy this tale. At its heart is the rarest flower in the world. A flower called the tiare apetahi.”

“Tiare apetahi,”Zoe repeated, liking the sound of it. She was already intrigued—the combination of the name of the flower and the hypnotic voice of Kupe Kahale.

“What makes it so rare?” he went on, as though she’d asked the question. “The fact that it grows only in one place in the world, on Ra’iātea, our most sacred island. And even on Ra’iātea it grows only on Mount Temehani—a volcano,” quick grin, “that is mercifully extinct. Many attempts have been made to transplant the tiare apetahi to other parts of the world, to other parts of French Polynesia, even to other parts of Ra’iātea. All have failed. Not even the best botanists in the world can understand why.”

“That’s...extraordinary.”

“It is a beautiful flower, unique, as delicate as you, little meherio, and it smells...” closing his eyes and breathing in, “ahhhhh...like heaven.” He opened his eyes, took her hand, turned it palm up, splayed her fingers. “Imagine each finger as a petal...” closing her fingers around his thumb, “closing as the night descends...” opening her fingers again, “and opening at dawn with the sound...of a crack.”

He released her hand. “Ra’iātea is the spiritual heart of my people—all of my people—Polynesian, Māori, Rapa Nui, Hawaiian. Ra’iātea means faraway heaven. And we believe that when our spirit leaves us, our souls swim beneath the waves to Ra’iātea. At dawn, with the opening of the tiare apetahi, our spirits are released to the heavens, and as we soar upward, we take one flower with us to keep our heart forever beautiful.”

“That’s so...so wonderful. Romantic. Oh, I can’t describe it.”

“There’s more, little meherio. A legend. A myth. I will tell you my version, a story of a beautiful young woman, a king and the sea.

“Tiaitau was the daughter of a fisherman and the beloved of King Tamatoa. One day, the king rowed away from Ra’iātea, heading for battle. He told Tiaitau not to worry for his safety—he was guarded by his best warriors. But Tiaitau had a feeling, a foreboding, that she would never see him again, and her heart compelled her to climb Mount Temehani to watch the sea for his return.

“What she saw was his oar floating on the sunlit waves, his empty canoe bobbing in the water. In despair, she plunged her arm into the ground, where it broke off, and she threw herself into the chasm of Apo’o hihi ura, unable to bear the thought that he would not return to her.

“Her arm grew from the ground into the tiare apetahi. According to the legend, should the king return one day he will smell her scent on the wind and grasp the white flower that is her hand. As long as he does not, the cracking sound made by the flower as it opens to hope every morning is the sound of her breaking heart.

“This is the reason the tiare apetahi can grow nowhere else. Because Tiaitau remains there, waiting for her love.”

“That’s so sad, too sad.”

“Not all love stories have a happy ending, little meherio.” He smiled at her, a definite twinkle in his eye. “But many do, even when the wait has been long.”

“I like stories that have a happy ending,” she said, twinkling back at him.

“Then we hope, no we believe, that your story will be such.”

“Kupe, that legend...” she said, as an idea took hold, “is it possible for people to go to Ra’iātea?”

“But of course!”

“And see the flowers?”

“But of cou—” Abrupt stop. His eyes flickered to her wheelchair, a short distance from the gazebo. “Yes,” he went on, but the twinkle in his eyes had disappeared, “it is possible for people to travel to Ra’iātea, and it is possible to go to one of the two plateaus on Mount Temehani where the tiare apetahi grow. But it is an arduous hike up a steep slope.”

“Oh! Oh, of course,” Zoe said, understanding immediately.

“If there was a way—”

“Please! Please, it’s all right.”

“I am sorry, little meherio, I didn’t tell you the story to distress you.”

“I’m not distressed,” she responded, her voice sounding thankfully normal despite the cursed tears building behind her nose. “Anyway, let’s move on. I need to take your photo, remember.” She raised her phone, snapped, snapped, snapped. Peered at her phone, flicking through the shots until she had herself under control. Then she lifted her eyes to his. “You’re very photogenic. Perhaps one more, standing, at the entrance.”

Kupe dutifully positioned himself, and Zoe took another series of photographs. “That should do it. But now... Can you give me a few minutes? I need to make a call about the story, send the photos.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to be alone.”

She held up her phone. “Believe me, I’m a phone call away from the...the cavalry. Cris will come riding to the rescue in a flash if I need anything.”

He hesitated, looking from her to her chair.

“She’ll be here in ten minutes,” she reassured him. “Or you can come back for me yourself, or ask Cris to come in five minutes. That’s all I need. I’ll be safe in the meantime. I always am, you know. Safe.”

Another moment before a reluctant Kupe bowed and left...but the look on his face when he passed her wheelchair and glanced back at her had Zoe silently cursing. She’d seen that look on faces everywhere her whole life. She knew he was going to go straight to Cristina to tell her Zoe was alone. Cristina would be running for her without waiting even a minute.

Drastic action needed.

In a flash she had her phone out and started tapping out a text:

About to jump on a call with

Hmm. Who? Who would Cristina believe she was calling? Well, they’d done nothing but eat all night, so...

Lily. Sent her pics of the food so she wants to talk. See you in 10, not before.

She put her phone away, willing a sense of peace to descend so she could get her stoic-inspirational-Zoe facade in place before Cristina came for her.

But there was no peace. There was only frustration that her high hopes for tonight had been reduced to enduring a dinner she’d known she wouldn’t enjoy, about which she wouldn’t write, and instead of finishing the evening with the man she’d done it for, she’d ended it hearing that the most beautiful story she could imagine writing—a story that seemed to encapsulate the mood of this trip; the beauty, the magic, the melancholy—was impossible for her to experience to the full. Matilda, Daniel, any of the other travel writers here tonight could go to Ra’iātea and climb Mount Temehani and see the wondrous tiare apetahi, but she could not.

The fact that she’d managed to recruit a new member of the Keep Zoe Tayler Safe At All Costs brigade was the icing on a very unpalatable cake.

Safe. She’d told Kupe she’d be safe.

And now all she could think about was what Finn had said to her last night.

I don’t usually play it safe. But I did, with you, that summer. And I want to know...need to know...if you want me to play it safe now.

She closed her eyes, seeing the longing in his eyes as he’d asked what she’d do if he asked her to touch him. She finally understood what Malie had meant in Hawaii when she’d said it had been impossible to get served in the Crab Shack when Zoe and Finn were on shift together because they’d been too busy getting lost in each other’s eyes. She had been lost in Finn’s eyes last night. She wanted to get lost in Finn’s eyes again. Wanted to get lost in him, all of him. She needed to know what to do to make him look at her like that again. There was only one more day left, and she was panicking.

If only she could be as confident as Malie, laying out for Todd what she wanted, taking what she wanted.

Malie!

Of course.

She’d call Malie.

Out came her phone, an unthinking dash against the screen.

A moment later Malie’s bleary, squinting-eyed face appeared. “Hmnhu?” she said, and then, “Oh! Zoe?”

Zoe was instantly stricken with remorse. “I’m sorry! I forgot the time.”

She heard an indistinct mumble in the background and grimaced.

“Hang on!” Malie said to her, and then, over her shoulder, “Ask her yourself.”

Next second Todd’s equally bleary, squinting-eyed face appeared. “Hey, Zo!” he said. “Everything OK?”

“Yes, fine. I just... I forgot you guys were in the same time zone.”

Todd’s eyebrows went up. “You forgot? World-traveling globe-trotter, expert in all things tourism, forgot the time zone? This must be serious!”

Zoe giggled. “Shut up, Todd!”

He chuckled, and with a quick swoosh of vague darkness, Malie had the phone back and was walking with it out of the bedroom. “Right,” she said, “spill because he’s right, it must be serious if you can forget it’s—hang on, what time is it?”

“Half past eleven,” Zoe said, but couldn’t immediately get another word out because the hideous scorch of tears was not only behind her nose now but in her throat.

“Oh well, that’s not late. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“But what about Todd?”

Malie rolled her eyes. “I keep telling people we’re not joined at the hip. Why won’t anyone believe me?”

Zoe had to laugh at that. “Because I think he wants to be joined at the hip?”

“Yeah, it’s not the hip he’s thinking of!”

Another laugh, and the world righted itself. “Anyway, it’s really not important. I just...just missed you. And I thought how much you’d like this place, where I am tonight. Hang on, I’ll do a quick 360-degree swirl with the phone. I’m sitting in the most gorgeous wooden pagoda—”

“Wow!”

“Yes, isn’t it wow? That’s the lagoon...at least I think it is, I’m holding it over my head so I can’t quite see.”

“Yes, it’s a lagoon and frankly I prefer a killer wave to still water.”

“And that’s a patch of rainforest. And there, not too far in the distance, can you see those massive statues? That’s the outdoor restaurant where we had dinner tonight. The tables and chairs are right on the sand.”

“I want one of those statues! And that sand is so... I don’t know...white, I guess! Or is it the moon making it glow like that?”

“Partly the moon but the restaurant’s called Mama Papa’e, which actually means pure white, so maybe it always glows a bit. This isn’t Tiare Island, by the way, this is Heia Island, and the guy who owns the restaurant—a real personality—told me the most beautiful story tonight about where he’s from...” Again, her throat closed over and she had to stop to take a few quick breaths.

“Zoeeeee. What. Is. It?”

“I told you, I miss you guys.”

“Not buying it.”

“It’s true, I do miss you...but OK, I’ve just been wondering...lately...if I’m missing something...something else, too. I mean, what am I really doing?”

“In French Polynesia?”

“No, more...more existentially than that.”

“Well, interpreting the ‘existential’ thing since I’m not a hundred percent sure I know what it means, I’d say you’re living the life you always wanted. Traveling, writing?”

“Well, yes, I’m traveling and I’m writing...”

“But? I know there’s a ‘but’ so get to it, babe.”

“It’s just... I started that blog of mine as an outlet to keep my sanity while Mum and Dad were dragging me all over the world, and the blog led to the travel-writer-for-hire thing, and I... I’ve never stopped to think about it, you know?”

“And you’re thinking about it now because?”

“Because of myths, and legends, and fairy tales and...and take that story Kupe Kahale shared with me tonight.”

“Kupe Kahale, huh? I hope you’re about to tell me he’s doing more for you than spinning a tall tale.”

“What? No!” Zoe laughed. “He’s married to one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen. That story’s just an example. But there are others. Stories from Devon and Cornwall and...and...” Nope. She’d choked up again.

“Are you... I don’t know...homesick maybe, Zoe? Because that’s OK. Even when you hate a place you’re allowed to miss it.”

“I guess. A little. Not the place so much, but homesick for you and V and Lils. No, it’s more than that. I’m homesick for...for what we lost. And...and the truth is, I’m asking myself at the moment if anyone would care if I stopped writing travel stories. I mean, if I gave it up tomorrow, there are so many other journalists who could pick up the baton as though it had never been dropped. They’re already there, in fact some of them are here, in French Polynesia. I’ve met them.”

“Hang on. There are other travel writers there who are wheelchair users?”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m the only one on this trip but...but there are so many other terrific travel writers who are wheelchair users. Like Rolf, the guy I replaced on this trip. But I’m talking about more than my wheelchair. I’m more than my wheelchair, even though that’s a part of me as a writer. I’m talking about just...just excellent writers, who are working for newspapers and magazines, and producing content for blogs and tourism organizations and online travel sites, who would slot seamlessly into my place the way I slotted into Rolf’s this time. I can’t even claim my photography is anything special. Rolf’s images are a thousand times more evocative than mine and Tilly, one of the friends I’ve made here? Her photos are extraordinary.”

“So what are you saying, Zo? You’re going to give up?”

And there it was. Not just the question but the answer, so simple. It had been somewhere in her head since Finn had said today: So write that mermaid story you were always talking about. It was in the vision she kept having of Finn sitting on the beach in Hawke’s Cove at midnight, spellbound by a tale they’d once woven from nothing more than a pearl on a chain. The reverse take on “Rapunzel.” And so many other story ideas, about smugglers and treasure and true love, that she’d pushed to the back of her mind.

“I’m going to write novels,” she announced.

Malie let out a whoop! “Serious?”

“Serious.”

“Write one with sex in it! I’ve got stories that are worthy of a New York Times bestseller!”

“Of course you have!” Zoe said, and started laughing helplessly.

“Meanwhile, do another 360, will you? I want to imagine me and Todd on that white sand.”

Still laughing, Zoe complied. “Just to whet your appetite...” she said as she slowly directed her phone, “there’s also a pink sand beach where you could get hot and heavy with a surf school rash vest and—”

“Wait! Stop! Stop right there! Who the...? Who is that?”

“That?” Craning to see. “Probably Kupe Kaha—Oh. Oh! Gotta go!”

“Zoe Tayler, don’t you dare hang up on me!”

“Seriously gotta go.”

“Zoe!”

“Birthday call tomorrow. Speak then. Bye. Bye, bye, bye.”

Zoe disconnected, and turned off the phone, and waited with a hair-trigger heart for Finn Doherty to arrive.