Chapter Eight #2
There is a lightness to him that reminds her of how he’d been when they were first dating.
He’d seemed so carefree and it had made it easy to fall into step with him, to be convinced that, yes, she did want to spend a night in a rundown house in the middle of nowhere with no Wi-Fi or, yes, she would book tickets for a last-minute getaway to Norway, because flights to Oslo were, apparently, on a twenty-four-hour deal.
He’d nearly convinced her to get a tattoo once, and had only admitted that he’d been joking after she’d backed out.
At the beginning, it was partly this attitude that had made her so sure that it was just a fling for him.
He’d clearly had more than a few of those in his time and she’d figured what the hell?
She’d been single for a while—she deserved a fling, despite Priya’s warnings that she wasn’t the fling type.
They’d met on New Year’s Eve, after all, where he’d clearly just been trying his luck—and she’d wanted a good story to tell, to prove that she wasn’t as boring as she sometimes feared she was.
Even after their first date in Paris—in Paris, for God’s sake—it had taken her a while to realize that he really liked her. That he was staying.
Did it stop getting fun? Is that why Finn bailed—because real life and responsibility caught up to them? Or was Mark right all along when he’d said to Kristen that Finn “wasn’t the settling type.” She’d overheard that, the second time she’d met Mark, though she’d never said anything about it.
“A star out of twigs,” Finn announces. “Definitely sounds like a job for you, sweetums.”
Mel moves up beside him and very deliberately hooks her arm through his. She sees the way his gaze drops, ever so briefly, to the point where their bodies connect. She blinks her eyelashes at him when he looks back at her face. “You find me the twigs—I’ll build you a star, moonbeam.”
Finn laughs, a proper, full laugh, while Hattie looks between them. “What’s up with the nicknames?”
“We’re testing them out,” Finn says, still holding Mel’s gaze. It’s like the whole bloody forest is designed just for him—bringing out the green in his eyes, highlighting that pine scent that always makes her feel slightly giddy. “Trying to find one that sticks.”
She pulls away, getting out her phone to disguise the movement, should Hattie notice.
“Well, they are all terrible,” Hattie says. “If you start calling each other moonbeam, I think I’ll have to disown both of you before the wedding.”
It causes a sinking feeling in Mel’s stomach.
The wedding. The wedding for which she won’t be there, because she and Finn will be broken up—again.
And, despite the fact that she thinks of Hattie as a friend, Hattie won’t be able to invite her anymore, will she, because she’ll have to side with Finn, the way families are supposed to.
Plus, after she’s broken up with Finn, none of his family will want her there, will they?
She’s quiet as Finn and Hattie enter a competitive stick-finding competition, presenting her with the options.
She finds some ivy, uses that to tie the sticks together.
Finn tries to catch her gaze as she walks, but she ignores it, losing herself in her design.
It’s actually quite soothing. When she’s done, she places the star on Hattie’s head, who grins.
“I love it. I might just wear it instead of a veil.”
“Please, please do,” Finn says. “Bonus points if you can wear a matching outfit made of bark.”
“If you can convince Dylan, then you’re on.”
They pause at a turning—left over a footbridge, or right, deeper into the pine forest. Hattie holds the map upside down, squinting at it, then passes it to Mel.
“I say we wing it,” Hattie says.
“And get lost in the middle of a freezing forest?” Mel asks.
Hattie wrinkles her nose. “This is like extreme scavenger hunting. Dylan should be here. He’s surprisingly good at directions.”
“Why is that surprising?” Finn asks.
“Don’t know. I think maybe he played someone who was always getting lost and I’m conflating the two.”
Mel snorts. “That sounds like a terrible film.”
Hattie purses her lips, nodding. “It does, doesn’t it? There’s a strong chance I’ve completely misremembered it.”
Finn traces a line on the map with his finger, then points into the forest. “It’s this way.”
“I don’t think it is,” Mel says.
“It is,” Finn insists. “Look, it circles back round to the car park, then we can go find Mum.”
“But the footbridge leads us to the loch we started at. It’ll be quicker.”
“I honestly am sure it’s—”
“Of course you are,” Mel snaps. “Of course you think it’s that way, and you couldn’t possibly be wrong, could you? Because you’re never wrong.” She doesn’t quite know why her anger has risen so suddenly and violently again—but, now that it’s here, she’s finding it hard to squish back down.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Finn asks quietly.
“You know perfectly well what it means.”
“I’m not sure I—”
“It’s classic you. Assuming you know best. Making a decision unilaterally and assuming there will be no fallout.”
Finn raises his eyebrows “You’re one to talk—you made decisions without me all the time.”
Mel laughs scathingly. “Oh yeah? Like when?”
“Like your flat.”
“Our flat. I bought it for us.”
“Exactly. You did.”
“You said you wanted it.”
“I said I wanted what you wanted.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Well, that’s the same bloody thing, isn’t it?”
Hattie clears her throat. Shit. Mel had kind of forgotten she was there. “You guys want me to step outside for a minute or something?”
Finn pulls a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Hatt.”
“No, no. I’m a fan of a good fight. Dylan and I don’t fight enough —that’s what I’m always saying.”
Finn gives her a wry look. “And what does he say?”
She grins. “That we fight just the right amount.”
Mel snorts, and though it’s a bit on the scathing side, she tries—really she does—to bite down her temper.
What must Hattie think? She’s not doing a very good impression of being totally in love, all made up since the engagement-party fiasco.
She wonders again if Hattie is judging her for taking him back.
Stop it, Mel. She shouldn’t let herself get upset. She shouldn’t let herself fight over which way to go, for God’s sake.
“I’ll, err, go find a frosted web,” Hattie says. “You guys catch up when you’re ready.” And she heads, Mel notices, over the footbridge—and not in the direction Finn wanted them to go. Coincidence? Or a subtle show of allegiance?
“Mel?” Finn places his fingers on her arm when she won’t look at him. And even though he’s wearing gloves, even though she has several layers under her winter coat, she can still feel his touch on her skin. She jerks away and he lets her.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he says. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She doesn’t know if he means just now, or if he’s talking about something more than that. They are quiet for a beat. Is it her, or is it already getting darker? It can’t be past midafternoon at the latest.
“Well, you did.” Now, and then. His mouth presses into a thin line as he nods. “It doesn’t matter,” she says tightly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” It’s one of her rules, isn’t it? Don’t talk about the past.
“All right,” Finn says evenly. “We’ve only got a few things left. We can go your way.”
None of this is my way. She stops herself before she says it out loud.
She turns out to be right about the footbridge path—it leads them back to the loch, down the hill, and into the car park, the sky lightening up a little to that winter gray out of the cover of trees.
Finn makes a show of bowing to her, telling her he never should have doubted her—which she knows full well is for Hattie’s benefit.
Arguing in front of her wasn’t part of the plan, after all.
“Okay,” Hattie declares as they wind their way through the village, toward the café circled on the map.
“I think we only have one more thing on the list.” They pass a small art shop full of the most gorgeous landscapes, and Mel slows a little, attention caught by a painting of a forest—maybe this very one—overlooking a loch.
It is majestic, covering the scope of the place in a way Mel wouldn’t have thought possible.
The scene feels both awe-inspiring and somehow impossibly lonely.
Or maybe that’s just because that’s how she feels.
Lonely. She can’t tear herself away from it.
“What are you looking at, Mel?” Finn calls, a little way down the street.
She pulls her gaze away from the painting, sees Finn glancing between her and the shop. “Nothing,” she says. “Sorry. What did you say is left on the list?”
“A video of us caroling,” Hattie says, shaking her head. “Trust Mum.” She gets out her phone, holds it up. “Okay. Go.”
“Here?” Mel asks, glancing around. There are people nearby, tourists, probably, judging by the way they linger at the windows of each shop.
Finn doesn’t miss a beat before embarking upon a very loud—and very tuneless—rendition of “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” He only knows about a quarter of the words, and starts making the rest up, so that even if Mel wanted to join in she couldn’t—settling for watching him through Hattie’s camera instead.
Hattie breaks into a round of applause as Finn finishes, bowing on the endnote.
“Bravo!” Hattie calls—and Mel notices that more than one person is looking their way.
“Now let’s go.” With that, she races away toward the café, like she’s a teenager rather than in her late twenties.
Mel has never met anyone quite like Hattie, and, God, she misses her energy. Like a jacked-up version of Finn.
Finn and Mel glance at each other, then break into a run to follow. By the time they arrive, Hattie is joining a corner table where Susan sits helping Freya with her coloring, Kristen leaning against Mark’s side.
“You’re back!” Susan declares. “But I’m afraid Freya here beat you to it.”
Hattie puts her hands on her hips and looks down at her niece. “I don’t believe for a second you got everything on that list.”
Freya smiles up at Hattie, brown eyes reflecting the light of the café, a thin line of chocolate above her mouth. “Yes we did.”
“Even the reindeer?”
Freya produces a toy reindeer from under the table, sits it on her lap. “He’s called Snowy.”
“The unsung tenth reindeer,” Finn says seriously as he and Mel join them. He glances at Mark. “Sneaky.” Mark only grins.
“We should have thought of that,” Mel says with a sigh. “Anyone want a drink?”
“Baileys hot chocolate,” Hattie says immediately.
“Me too!” Freya pipes up.
“Hold the Baileys,” Kristen says over Freya’s head.
“Why?” asks Freya.
“They have something called a ‘Parisian special’ on the board,” Mark says. “What do you reckon that is?”
“Oh, that sounds fun,” Susan says.
“How do you know it’s fun?” Hattie asks. “Could be terrible. They could put snails in your coffee or something. Don’t they do that in Paris?”
“Yes,” Finn says, deadpan. “It’s literally all they eat there.
” His eyes flicker, very briefly, to Mel’s.
And she finds herself thinking, for the second time today, of their first date.
Of sitting opposite him in a French restaurant and trying not to let on how nervous she was.
She doesn’t actually remember what they ate—too distracted by him—but it definitely wasn’t snails.
“Well, I’ll risk it,” Mark says. “Live life on the edge and all that.”
“I’d love a coffee,” Finn adds, as Mel counts everyone’s orders on her fingers. She’ll get him a tea, she thinks. Claim it’s an honest mistake.
“With sugar?” she asks sweetly.
“No thanks.”
She’ll add five.
For a moment, his gaze catches hers and the corner of his crooked mouth lifts, like he knows exactly what she’s thinking.
She turns away, though as she does she finds herself willing to concede something—not out loud, and certainly not to Priya.
But there’s a chance that, as much as she wants to convince herself of the opposite, she may not be totally over Finn Hawthorne.
Which only means she’s going to have to be extra careful the rest of this week.
Now is not the time for going down memory lane, for thinking of that heady feeling she’d gotten the second time he kissed her, the music from the restaurant spilling onto the cobblestone street. No. Now is the time for payback.