Chapter Twenty-Three
One year ago
Six months until Hattie’s engagement party
Mel’s flat was freezing when they got home from the Cotswolds, where they’d spent New Year’s Eve in a massive house with Hattie and Priya.
Hattie had just met an actor who she was claiming, after only one date, was “the one.” Mark, on the phone, had told Finn it would never last—but Finn wasn’t so sure. Hattie didn’t do things by halves.
Finn shut the front door behind them, and Mel groaned at the sight of all the boxes.
She’d gotten the keys just before Christmas, and although they’d moved all their stuff in they’d pretty much headed straight to Mel’s parents for Christmas Day, to his mum for Boxing Day, then on to New Year’s plans—and as such they hadn’t gotten around to unpacking yet.
“I’ll make us something to eat,” Finn said, heading to switch the heating on.
“That would be amazing, thank you. Give me a shout if you need a hand.” She took her bag, headed to the bedroom, and shut the door behind her.
He tried not to read too much into that—she was entitled to privacy.
It was just that she’d been a little distracted over the holiday, heading off to be on her own at times, seeming more stressed than usual.
She’d insisted that it was nothing, just work—but he couldn’t help wondering at the timing, given she’d just bought this place, tied herself to London—and, maybe, to him?
He checked the cupboards, set some pasta to boil.
It wasn’t exactly going to be a culinary delight, but it would do.
He was knackered, the way everyone is after the holidays.
And he had to admit, now that he was back in London, he was dreading going back to work this week.
He’d been unhappy at his job for a while—but hadn’t realized quite how much he hated it until taking a break from it over the holidays.
The people were nice enough, but he was starting to think that marketing wasn’t for him—that, maybe, London wasn’t for him.
He missed working with his hands, missed looking at a house and seeing the potential, the fact that no two days were ever the same.
But now Mel had bought a flat, very clearly signaling her intention to stay put in the city, and he didn’t want to lose her.
She was nesting, and he didn’t want to take that from her.
Besides, it was too late now, wasn’t it? She’d bought the place.
He set the pesto pasta in two bowls, carried one toward the bedroom, and knocked.
Maybe she was napping. She was tired too—he could tell.
But when he pushed the door open she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, hunched over her laptop, hard at work.
And while he admired her for that, and for what she’d achieved in her business, it did make him wonder.
She’d been happy enough to chat and talk to everyone when they were a group, but did the fact that she wanted to shut herself away the moment it was just the two of them say something about him?
“Dinner’s ready,” he said, holding up the plate. “Want to eat in here?”
She looked up, bit her lip. “Does that make me a massive slob?”
“Yeah, but who cares?”
She pushed the laptop off her lap to make room for the bowl, and kept trying to type with one finger at the same time.
“Something wrong?” he asked, because she had that kind of frantic look he tended to associate with impending doom.
“No, nothing,” she said. She didn’t really tell him what was going on with her job anymore, not in the way she used to. He tried to peer over her screen, but she angled it away. “It’s nothing, Finn,” she repeated. “Just boring work stuff.”
“Ah. Well, it’ll all be worth it when the business goes global, right?
” It was something that had started out as a joke between them—the hours working in a shop on a low wage, living in damp flats in London, then the long hours Mel had to put in to make the business work—it would all be worth it when she was some kind of global superstar.
She’d loved the idea of that, of being able to travel for work.
It was something they’d bonded over, the love of experiencing new places, with the difference being that Mel had never been on a plane until she was eighteen, whereas Finn’s dad had regularly taken them all on holidays abroad, usually after he’d stopped sleeping with the flavor of the month and the guilt had taken hold.
Somewhere along the line, though, he and Mel had stopped talking about working from anywhere.
“Right,” Mel said, though it was said on a sigh.
He rocked back on his heels. “Is it anything I can help with?”
She offered him a tired smile. “No. But thank you. And thanks for this.” She gestured to the bowl.
He hated that he was doubting it, whether it was definitely just work stressing her out. She’d tell him if it was something else, wouldn’t she? Like, if she was regretting asking him to move in with her, if she’d rather be starting on her own, in this new flat.
He could remember the first time he told her he loved her.
Mel had been right when she’d talked about their anniversary, or lack of one.
It wasn’t one day when you fell in love with someone—it happened gradually, piece by piece, layer by layer.
And, for him, he fell in love with her a little more every day.
So it hadn’t been a case of grand declarations, of roses or a romantic dinner.
They’d been in the supermarket, buying ingredients for a dinner party, which they were hosting at Mel and Priya’s flat.
She’d been weighing grapefruits in her hands, harsh supermarket light shining off her long black hair.
She’d pursed her lips down at the grapefruits, holding them out to him. “What do you think?”
And he’d said it, without thinking, without any nerves. “I think that I love you.”
She’d looked at him with those very direct, measured eyes. “You think or you know?”
“I know. I love you, Mel.”
She’d crossed to him and kissed him. “I love you too, Finn.” Her voice was quiet but strong, and he’d felt the very center of him settle.
“So much.” And he heard relief there as she said it, wondered if she’d doubted it, wishing, then, that he’d told her sooner.
She pulled back. “But now tell me which grapefruit I should buy?” And just like that she made him laugh, made that wish disappear—because he’d said it, because it was right, because he loved her.
The next day, he’d headed to his mum’s for Sunday lunch—without Mel, because she and Priya had plans together. He’d been smiling to himself as he’d helped peel potatoes in his mum’s small kitchen, listening to Radio 4 in the background.
“What are you smiling about?” she’d asked, after throwing a carrot baton at him when he wasn’t listening.
He’d only grinned more. “Nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything.
And his mum had crossed to him, putting down the carrot peeler and enfolding him into her lavender scent. He’d hugged her back, bemused.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
“I’m so happy you’re happy,” his mum said, squeezing him tight. “It’s all I ever wanted for all of you.”
He drew back, glancing at her face, more lined now, but her eyes still the same, her smile still one that comforted him. “I hope you’re happy too?” Because she hadn’t been, with his dad, and because there had been nothing he or Mark or Hattie had been able to do about that.
“I am, love,” his mum said. “I promise you.” She placed a palm to his cheek.
“I know things were tough and I’m sorry about that.
I’m sorry, too, that I didn’t always handle everything as well as I should have done.
” He wanted to tell her that she had, that she wasn’t the one who should be sorry, but she was carrying on.
“But it brought us all here, didn’t it? Here in this kitchen, peeling potatoes and enjoying the little things in life.
” She nudged him in the ribs—a habit she and Hattie shared. “And, maybe, the big things too.”
He didn’t tell her, but he sensed she knew why he was smiling, that it had something to do with Mel.
He loved Mel. He hadn’t ever thought he’d find that with someone—and then she’d come along and changed everything. And now, it was impossible to imagine life without her.
“Mel?” She looked up. He should ask her directly whether it was something more than work upsetting her. But he couldn’t quite get it out. Because he didn’t want to hear confirmation that it was him, that his dad was right.
She was tired—that was all. They’d had a great break, and now reality of January and work was hitting both of them. He was certainly dreading facing the office again, so why couldn’t she be too?
Mel was watching him. “Finn? You okay?”
“Sorry.” He pulled a hand through his hair, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, parroting her. “It’s nothing.”