Chapter 12
FINN
VIOLET AND I MAKE OUR way back outside after her encounter with my mother.
I know in my heart Mum means well and she isn’t trying to be hurtful, but Christ almighty, how many times have we had these conversations?
Don’t ask people about their romantic lives, don’t ask newly married women why they haven’t had a baby yet—judge not, that you not be judged, or however the saying goes.
The look on Violet’s face when Mum asked her if she had a boyfriend could only be described as absolutely crushed. Maybe for some wanting of something she didn’t have, but I suspect mostly for the hurt caused by her family recently.
I try to shove aside the brewing anger for a group of people I’ve never met. Even if their intentions were good in theory, it seems like such an asshat thing to do to a person. Especially one as sweet as Violet.
I notice as we come back outside that Allie and Florence are setting up a volleyball net in the yard.
I tilt my head towards them and ask Violet, Shall we?
Fair warning: I have to win. Sport is the one thing I can best my brother at, and, unfortunately, I don’t have it in me to be charitable and play for fun.
I’ve never understood the concept.
Violet, however, almost shrinks away from me. I’m not very sporty, she says, almost embarrassed. Wouldn’t have guessed that from how toned her legs are, but okay. If you want to win you should team up with Alba.
I shake my head. I feel a weird surge of protectiveness towards Violet after the events in the kitchen with my mother. Besides, it’s good for our ruse if I’m near Violet as much as possible this afternoon.
And what about board games? I had noticed a few on Albie’s coffee table when I first went inside.
Now that I can do, she says, and the pair of us walk back into the house to look at the game options. She doesn’t hesitate, reaching for the Scrabble board.
My need to win also goes for Scrabble, I warn her. I try to picture myself letting her win—the gentlemanly thing to do, right?
But I know myself, and I can’t fucking do it.
Gie it laldy, I say, like a prick.
What does that mean?
I smile at her. Give it your best.
She says nothing, but gives me a look akin to someone looking for a challenge. I try to ignore the excitement this sets in my blood.
We bring the board out to the picnic table, where I can safely assess that my brother and his bride-to-be are losing to Alba and Rose. This makes me smile.
Ladies first, I say, motioning across the board to Violet. In truth, I need to see what I’m working with here so this isn’t a crushing defeat. I am very, very good at Scrabble, and if I can’t let her win, the least I can do is go easy on her.
She spends a few minutes arranging and rearranging her letters.
I do the same, and I’ve got good letters to start.
That’s half the battle at least, but it’s all about where you put them.
I have a few words picked out in my mind, but it all depends on what Violet plays, and what spots on the board she opens up.
I’m trying to be charitable here, but I can’t help at least figuring out which words could give me the most points.
After a few minutes, Violet smirks down at her letters, then her face lights up with a real smile.
She lays out her tiles one by one across the board: D-A-B-B-L-E-D.
When she places the final D tile on the board, she looks up at me with a flash of competitiveness I haven’t yet seen in her. A seven-letter word, which means fifty bonus points plus the double word score you get for starting off the game.
I sit up a little straighter.
Well okay then, Violet. Game on.
I opt for one of my better words, spelling out Z-E-B-R-A on the board, and placing the letter Z on a tile that gives you triple points for that particular letter. It’s a start, but I have a lot of catching up to do to get ahead of those fifty extra bonus points.
We don’t say much else for the next few turns. As I continue to catch up to Violet in the points, she says, You’re good.
You say that like you’re surprised. I try to make it sound drawling, and not letting the flicker of annoyance come through in my tone. I hate that she might think of me as a dumb jock. Why do people always assume the worst of me?
She shakes her head. No, I mean, I’m very good at Scrabble. And you’re giving me a run for my money. Except for my Nan, I’m pretty much undefeated in my family.
I laugh at this, not entirely surprised. I could tell Violet was smart. But Scrabble is a particular skillset—it’s not only about finding good words, it’s about placing them strategically, and she gets that.
Violet places Q-I on top of another letter I, which means she gets the points twice. I frown.
That’s not a word.
Yes it is.
Use it in a sentence.
I don’t need to, it’s in the Scrabble two-letter word list, she says, rifling through the box to pull out the rulebook. She flips to the back, handing it to me. I eye the list skeptically.
I mean, it is a word. It’s a vital life force in Eastern medicine.
Sounds like a proper noun, I tell her, shrugging. But I’ll allow it.
You don’t play with the two-letter words? I assumed that was standard Scrabble practice.
I feel a little out of my depth here and I do not like the feeling. I didn’t even know there was a two-letter word list in Scrabble; our board certainly didn’t come with one.
Violet gets a disgusting sixty-two points for her double Q-I. Fuck me gently, this is not going how I had hoped.
She only smiles sweetly at me when she announces her score. Maddeningly beautiful word-wench.
Okay Finn, that’s enough playing nice. Thankfully, I find a spot on the board for my own seven-letter word.
Should we up the ante, Violet? Something like strip Scrabble? I know she won’t go for this, but I’m suddenly desperate not to lose—desperate enough to try to throw her off her game with a little flirtation.
She almost chokes at my question. Yeah right, she says. If I didn’t know any better Finn, I’d say you were trying to distract me.
Well, she saw right through that one, didn’t she? I don’t like feeling so off-kilter. But I suppose this is good practice at being vulnerable, or some shite.
Make sure you count all seventy-seven of my points please, darling, I say, leaning towards her to watch her tally up my score. We’re tied now at two hundred and twenty-one each, but there are still tiles left to play.
And I have cards left to play, too.
So Violet, I say, and she sighs as she rearranges her letters, like she knows what I’m up to.
I only grin. When your friends ask you what’s going on with us, what are you going to tell them?
I motion over to the four people currently yelling at each other about whether or not the ball was over the invisible line.
I’m going to say, she answers slowly, sighing on each word like it’s a chore, That you and I really hit it off at the bar the other night and that we both really like each other.
Oh, come on Violet, I say, leaning towards her. Those bloodhounds aren’t going to buy that. You’ll have to be more specific.
More specific about what?
I wait to answer until she looks up at me. About, what, exactly it is you like about me.
She blinks at me, those beautiful doe eyes going wide. She is so lovely like this, I think, when she’s trying to unravel something in her own mind.
Penny for your thoughts? I sound as smug as I feel.
She looks back down at her letters, biting her bottom lip, moving letters around and around on her tile rack.
Ha! She says suddenly and it almost makes me jump. She lays out her tiles one by one, another fucking seven-letter word.
The doe-eyed look is gone, replaced only with a fierce, competitive smugness.
And this bloodthirsty Violet, I have to admit, I like even more.
THERE IS NO LETTING VIOLET win, or going easy on her. She beats me easily, fairly, significantly, by fifty-two points in the end.
It was the second seven-letter word, she says almost sheepishly. Hard to come back from that.
As much as I hate to lose, I hate Violet downplaying her win even more.
I lean across the table and lift up her chin, wondering about the reasons for her lack of confidence here.
You destroyed me today, I say simply. Take pride in that.
She smiles up at me. You definitely gave me a run for my money.
I keep my hand on her face because I want to, because it’s part of this other, larger game we’re playing. I want a rematch. And I’ll get it. So watch yourself.
Florence comes bounding over to our table, happy to report she and Al—as she calls him—beat Alba and Rose. Alba saunters over, looking sour about the loss, and directing her irritated gaze towards me.
I smile my most fucking pure arsehole smile.
I see you were also gubbed, Alba.
She raises an eyebrow at me. I take it that means lost?
Aye.
The only thing that eases the sting of defeat is knowing Violet kicked your ass. She leans over the table to look at the scorecard and seems almost surprised. Not bad.
Why does everyone assume I’m an idiot?
Didn’t think someone this fit could spell? I ask Alba in a challenge, gesturing down to myself. She smirks, giving me a once-over.
Dangerous combination, she turns to Violet before adding, You better watch out.
Violet only blushes in response.
The group splits off for the rest of the day. Violet goes with Alba and Rose back to the bed and breakfast for a swim. I go with Florence, my brother, and my mother back to their place, Alistair having offered to take me on some of the biking trails later today.
The car ride feels tense, and I can’t exactly put my finger on why.
When we get back to the lake house, Florence takes my mother inside to get settled with a cup of tea. Alistair and I are in the newly built shed getting the bikes ready when Florence reappears.
She’s in a fury if I’ve ever seen one, and comes right for me.
I don’t know what the hell is going on with you and Violet, she seethes. But if you do anything and I mean anything, Finn, that hurts her feelings, I will gut you like a fish and use you as bait. Do you understand me?
Jesus Christ, I hear my brother mumble to himself, rubbing his hands over his face.
I hate the assumption that I would hurt Violet.
That I’m not capable of doing anything but hurting her.
That this couldn’t possibly be real—even though it’s not.
It stings more than I care to admit in this present moment, being berated by my soon-to-be sister-in-law.
That already her opinion about me is informed enough to come to this conclusion.
Violet, I snap back at her, is a fully grown adult who can decide for herself what she wants to do, or doesn’t want to do. Each word is a strain, a guttural knifepoint keeping me from teetering fully into a rage.
We haven’t even said anything is going on between us yet, and already this is the reaction?
She is a fully grown adult and I know, certainly better than you, that she can make her own decisions—
Flora— Alistair starts, but she waves him off, the gesture clear as day: stay the hell out of this.
But she is one of my best friends, not some summer fling for you to toss around until you get bored.
If this is what she thinks of me, I can only imagine what my brother has told her.
How did he frame it for her to come to this conclusion?
What else has he said about me that has her thinking the worst?
I feel deflated, the fight leaving my body in an instant.
I know that, I tell her, unable to look her in the eyes.
I don’t think she’s a fling, in fact I don’t think that about anybody.
I like Violet. It stings even more to know that those last three words are true.
The more time I spent with her, the more I realize that I really like Violet.
This stops her for a second. It doesn’t exactly quell the fire in her eyes, but I can see the wheels turning. She takes a deep breath and I try not to flinch when she starts talking again. But I do, and she notices, pointing her finger at me anyway.
I mean it Finn, she says. Violet is sensitive and has been taken advantage of a lot, especially over the last few years. If this is anything but serious to you, then fucking don’t.
With that she storms out of the shed, her red hair streaming behind her.