“Up another flight,” says Finn. “Then along about six corridors. It’s a maze.”
“I know, right?” I laugh. Then, my phone buzzes, and I take it out to have a quick glance. Kirsten has sent me some photos of the children, which I’ll look at properly later, and I have an email from the Zoose human-resources department, with an attachment. My heart thuds, and I glance instinctively up at Finn.
“Everything OK?” he asks.
“Email from Zoose.” I open it, my mind speculating wildly. Maybe the attachment is a letter from Joanne … or Asher?
But no.
“It’s a standard-issue letter acknowledging my resignation,” I say, skimming the words. “Someone’s got it and just pressed ‘send.’ ”
“Working late.” Finn raises his eyebrows.
“Everyone works late at Zoose, I thought I mentioned that.… Oh my God,” I add, as I see the last paragraph. “Listen to this: ‘We’re so sad to hear you’ll be moving on, but we’re a company who cares. So we’d love to hear if there’s anything we could have done better on the attached form. Because it’s those little tweaks that make all the difference.’ ” I raise my head, my blood boiling. “Little tweaks? Little tweaks?”
“Sounds like you need to let them know about the ‘little tweaks’ they could make,” says Finn, looking amused. “Seriously, tell them everything you told me. Sock it to ’em between the eyes. Why not? Might make you feel better.”
“OK.” I nod slowly, already composing my email. “OK. I will. And again … thanks. Big day. Good day.”
“Good day.” Finn nods.
The hotel is silent around us; the lamps are casting shadows; it’s kind of magical. Before I can stop myself, I lean slightly forward, as though we’re going to kiss—then, just in time, my brain shrieks, What are you doing? Hastily, I pivot into bending down and adjusting my shoelace, which doesn’t need adjusting.
“So!” I pop up again, red in the face. “So. Good night. Sleep well.”
“Night. You too.”
And then he’s heading up the stairs and I’m gazing after him, wondering what he’s thinking, what he noticed, what he’s feeling about us—then realizing the answer is probably: nothing.
Sixteen
In the morning, my new sexual desires are still there, and then some. Finn is hot, I keep thinking, as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s hot. He’s super-hot. I imagine him kissing me, and a tingle runs over my body, as though someone nudged me. As though someone whispered, This will be fun in my ear.
But Finn never will kiss me, obviously, because I could not have done more to put him off if I tried. I’ve displayed no romantic interest in him. I’ve told him I’ve gone off sex. I have even illustrated this fact by using the phrase genitals rubbing together.
Good move, Sasha. Excellent decision.
So, what should I do now? Now that I’m plagued by these brand-new feelings?
Dear Agony Aunt, I have this really lovely platonic friend, and all of a sudden I discover I would really like to kiss him, only I previously told him, “Sex is basically genitals rubbing together.”
Dear Reader, you have no chance. If I were you, I would join a convent.
I can’t stop cursing myself for being so thoughtless. I should have been serene and mysterious and kept all possibilities open. Why did I have to overshare? Why did I use the word genitals? And what do I do about it now? Because Finn is hot. He is hot. How did I not see this before?
Do I make a move?
No. I do not make a move, because what if things get awkward? Argh. I can’t bear to ruin this lovely, supportive friendship we have with some clumsy kiss.
But he’s so hot.
Anyway, would I kiss him? Or just slide an arm casually across his gorgeous, muscled back?
I can’t believe I’m thinking like this. I can’t believe I’ve woken up. I was the numb girl. The sexless girl. The girl who wasn’t interested. But now …
I wriggle in my bed, trying to remember how sex goes. It’s been so long. So, so long.
Would I be interested in the Pret guy now? I find myself wondering. I think back experimentally, but … no. He doesn’t do it for me. Only Finn. Finn, with all his contradictions that I’ve got to know. His scowling face and his infectious laugh. His powerful body and his tender voice. His wisdom and his blind spots. His mouth, which is generous but manly, smiling but strong.
He has good teeth, I think fondly, lying back on my pillows. Then I see the clock and hastily jump up. It’s getting on. I need to have breakfast. And see if there’s another message on the beach. And say hello to Finn. And, above all, act normal.
He isn’t at breakfast, so I quickly munch some cereal, drain a cappuccino, then saunter down to the beach, with my hair in a ponytail like Wetsuit Girl and wearing only a smidgen more makeup than usual. （Which would be “some” makeup.）
“It’s here!” Finn’s voice hails me as I arrive. I hurry onto the sand to see him staring down at a new message, written in pebbles.
To the couple on the beach. Thank you again. 8/18
This time, there’s a fruitcake in a tin, packaged up in plastic.
“Who is it?” demands Finn, looking around. “What is it? There has to be an answer. This is driving me mad.”
“Me too!” I swivel in turn, surveying the empty sea, the desolate beach. There’s no sign of life, but even so I feel convinced that someone must be watching us.
“So, did you send your email to Zoose?” asks Finn.
“Oh. Yes, I did. I spent about three hours on it last night,” I admit. “I didn’t get enough sleep.”
“Say what you wanted to say?”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes. “And some.”
“Excellent!” He gives me an appreciative grin, and I search his face for a sign of … something else. Anything else. A sign. A hint. A sexy glint in his eye. But there’s nothing. His expression is wide and friendly and platonic. It could not be more platonic.
But! Is this because I told him I’m off sex? Is he deliberately not allowing himself to “go there,” even though he maybe—just maybe—could find me attractive? I curse myself furiously for dropping that bit of paper and wonder how I might remedy my error. I could do another manifestation, maybe. I could write:
Dear universe, thank you for the returned libido, much appreciated. All working! Now, as previously mentioned, if it’s not too much to ask, I just need a man. Named Finn.
Then I’d let it flutter away it in the wind and Finn would pick it up … he’d read it … look up at me, his eyes burning with a new desire … we’d move toward each other … his lips would …
I cringe. No. No. None of this would happen. Terrible idea.
“So!” I say quickly, trying to gather my wits. “Do you have any plans for today?”
“Not a one.” Finn raises his eyebrows. “How are you going on with the twenty steps?”
“Haven’t had any noni juice yet. And I don’t know when I’ll get onto the two-day fast, if you wanted to join me on that?”