Chapter 20
VIOLET
FLORENCE COMES OUT OF THE house to greet us, barefoot and in a green bathing suit top and matching sarong, tied at her hip. As always, she looks amazing without really trying, her hair falling in waves along her shoulders.
I notice that she passes a wary glance at Finn, who doesn’t seem to meet her eye, before she comes bounding down the steps to pull me into a hug.
You’re here! She beams at me, and I have to remind myself that Florence is the entire reason I’m in Cape Breton this summer. I let the pang of annoyance dissolve and hug my friend back.
I can’t wait to see the place. I want the whole tour.
Finn slips away to find his family and I feel something close to guilt. I told him, moments ago, that we were a team—and then let him walk away.
Feeling almost dizzy with the whiplash of my emotions, I try to focus on Florence.
Years ago, after her mom died, she had sold her childhood home.
But as fate would have it, her future husband bought it.
After they got together, she moved back in here.
I know there are a lot of feelings attached to this house, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen it in person.
I want to bring you down to the lake, then we’ll do the inside tour, she says, pulling me towards the small path towards the water. You’ll have to come back at some point for a swim here, okay?
That sounds great, I tell her, not entirely sure how my voice is coming across.
As we walk towards the water, Florence asks, So how was your day? Did you like Louisbourg? I can tell she’s trying really hard not to acknowledge Finn.
We had a great day, I say, hearing the defensiveness in my voice.
I loved Louisbourg, you know I love historical stuff like that.
Finn and I dressed up in some of the old-timey clothes at one point, which was great.
I try not to notice the curious expression she gives me, choosing instead to continue recounting the day.
Then we went to Kennington Cove which was beautiful. The waves were huge, and we got into this sort of sandcastle war with a group of kids that were there. It was actually the most fun I’ve had in a long time. It’s the truth—and what had Finn said, that we wouldn’t even have to lie?
Florence takes a breath, and I know what’s coming. Violet, are you sure about this?
I stop walking. Sure about what?
About Finn.
What about Finn?
She seems a little hesitant before sighing and letting it all out.
I mean, Al has told me a lot about him. I get the sense he’s kind of a fuckboy and I’m not sure what his intentions are.
She leans over, squeezing my arm. You’ve always been so good at jumping up to help others, and sometimes I think people use that to their advantage.
I don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.
I have to shove down my pang of annoyance. Did I sometimes go out of my way to help people who were falling behind in class during our time in New York? Yeah, I did. And did sometimes my own work suffer for it? Okay, yeah, maybe. But it’s not exactly like Finn is copying my homework here.
She is trying to help—to protect me. I get that. But I don’t get her reasons for being so wary of Finn.
Finn’s not like that, I say, shaking my head at Florence. If he is a fuckboy, or was, he hasn’t been like that with me. Trust me, Flora. I made a lot of assumptions about him right off the bat, and all of them have been wrong so far.
My friend continues to frown at me.
It’s different with us, I tell her, reassuringly. And it’s not a lie because it is different with us—it’s a complete and total sham. It’s a ruse we’ve come up with entirely for our own benefit.
I think about my two conversations with Finn in the car today. They both felt so intimate, and yet…
It’s not that Finn isn’t taking this seriously, it’s more that it seems to feel a bit silly to him. Like a game. And I hate that it doesn’t feel that way to me.
I remind myself of why I’m doing this: to get my family off my back. If they think I have a boyfriend, and did it without their so-called help, then hopefully they’ll never bring it up again.
And now, apparently, I’m also proving something to my friends, who think I need protecting from the Big Bad Scotsman.
I consider telling Florence about the whole thing.
But apart from the fact that would be a betrayal to Finn, it would also involve having to tell her about my family’s plan to Get Violet A Boyfriend and I feel too embarrassed to share that particular, traumatic story with my friend who’s got it all figured out and is about to get married.
You should give him more credit, I urge her. Give him a chance, get to know him yourself. He’s… I trail off, having to force the words out, realizing that this is the least I’ve ever had to lie. He’s pretty great.
Florence nods, still a little wary, and we continue our walk towards the water.
FLORENCE’S HOUSE AND THE PROPERTY surrounding it are gorgeous. Christmas Island seems like a really nice place to live, especially in the summer months.
When we finish the tour, Alba arrives but without Rose, who has split off to see her own family tonight.
Everyone else was working today, and it occurs to me that I’ve been feeling a little too comfortable with my nomadic existence recently.
It’s too familiar, in its own messed up way, to slip into never having a plan.
After dinner, Alistair and his brother decide to go for one last swim of the day. I didn’t bring my bathing suit, and Florence doesn’t want to get her hair wet again, so she, Alba and I decide to sit out on the porch with our beers.
Alistair and his mom—who wants to go down to the lake but doesn’t want to get into the water—start towards the path, but Finn stops beside me on the deck, his hand on my arm.
You sure you don’t want to come, Violet?
His eyes are dancing with something I can’t quite put my finger on, mischief maybe.
But there’s a hint of something else—like he’s making a point to do this in front of Florence.
He hasn’t said much to me since we got here, but winked at me across the dinner table earlier.
It took a good five minutes to cool the blush off my cheeks after that.
I’m sure, I try to sound confident in my reply, watching him saunter after his brother and mom towards the lake.
Alba, I can sense out of the corner of my eye, is giving me a look that I know means I’m about to get grilled.
How was your day with Finn? She asks it almost innocently, but I know what she’s up to.
It was great, I tell her, trying to smirk. We had a really, really nice day together.
He’s very touchy with you, she says, motioning towards my arm. For someone he’s only just met.
Oh, he’s touchy all right, I say, not entirely sure why I’ve said it.
Florence snaps, What does that mean?
Oh my god, calm down you psycho, I tell her, laying the suggestive tone on thick. I only mean he’s very affectionate. It’s nice.
My two friends stare at me, almost blankly, before Alba scoffs.
No way you’ve kissed him yet, she says, her voice laced with a hint of a dare, raising her eyebrow before taking another sip of her beer. I can tell, Vi, so don’t even try to deny it.
Oh, we’ve kissed. We were kissing all day, in fact. I can hear it—the childish lie that she’ll see right through.
Alba snorts, Okay liar.
You’ll see, I tell her, trying to convince them, and myself, with my tone.
At that exact moment, I see Alistair and his mom coming through the trees. Oh no. I could definitely do without their mother being here to witness this.
There must be some frenetic energy coming off me, because Alistair motions behind him before saying to us, Finn’s still in the water, but Mum was getting a bit cold. He ushers his mother towards the house.
Florence and Alba say nothing, giving each other a smirking, knowing look. I can’t believe I’m letting them badger me into this, but I guess I am.
Finn comes through the trees at that moment, bare-chested of course, carrying his T-shirt in one hand, his other hand holding the towel wrapped around his waist. You saw him like this at the beach all day, I remind myself. It’s just a guy in a bathing suit. What’s the big deal?
Fully committed to this now, I launch myself out of the chair and towards Finn.
I have never kissed anyone first before—even if I felt like the signals were there, I couldn’t handle risking the rejection.
But this is happening. He smiles at me, but it fades a little when he reads something on my face.
I think he’s about to ask me what’s wrong, or what the hell is going on, but I don’t let him get the words out.
Can you trust me? I ask in a half-choke, half-whisper, when he’s close enough to hear. And then I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him.