“Right,” I say, feeling myself relax a bit. “OK. And who did you just meet at the station?”
A flush comes to Finn’s face.
“Actually …” he says, looking embarrassed. “Actually, that’s my mum. She was delayed, otherwise she would have been here for the surfing. I thought you might like to meet her. But then I thought, ‘That’s a dumb idea.’ ”
His mum. His mum?
I almost want to laugh at how wrong I was. How I’ve conjured up problems that weren’t there. How I’ve imagined the wrong story, all the way along.
Maybe, just maybe, there’s a different story? A story which begins here? Finn’s eyes are fixed on mine and I feel the tingles begin inside me, the delicious buzz I remember, the ache.
“Are you with anyone else?” I say, needing to be sure, 100 percent sure, and he shakes his head.
“You?”
“No.”
“I’m not burned out anymore,” says Finn, as though he needs to be sure too. “Are you?”
“No. I feel good. Healthy. All fine.”
There’s a silent beat, and I feel the tension building in me, as I consider what we’re both saying. Where we might be heading.
“I’ve been thinking about you this whole time,” Finn says, his voice grave. “This whole time.”
“Me too.” I swallow hard. “I never stopped. Every day. Every night.”
Slowly, Finn reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a crumpled, worn piece of paper, on which is written a single word. Sasha.
“I didn’t just want your wellness,” he says, his face as frank as I’ve ever seen it. “I wanted you. You. In my life. With me. So I wrote this and I put it in my pocket and … I hoped.”
He hands me the paper and I gaze at it, my eyes hot. Then, wordlessly, I reach into my own pocket and drag out the tattered piece of paper I’ve been carrying around for six months. It just reads Finn. As I give it to him, I see the spark of surprise, a new hope dawning in his face. Have we been going through the exact same emotions, all this time? Manifesting each other, miles apart?
Oh my God. Did it work?
“I hoped too. Even when I thought I mustn’t hope, because it was impossible … I still hoped. It was agony.”
“Hope’s a bitch,” says Finn, and I make a strange attempt at a laugh.
“I thought burnout was a bitch.”
“Burnout’s a picnic compared to hope. Unless your hopes come true.” He takes a step forward, his face questioning. “Doesn’t happen very often.”
His hair is ruffling in the sea breeze, his dark eyes are fixed on mine, and I’m feeling a magnetic pull toward him. I’m feeling the rest of my life stream away, unimportant, irrelevant. All that matters right now is this man and me and what we can make with each other.
“We need to talk,” says Finn, after what seems like an endless pause. “We need to go somewhere private, Sasha. We need to talk properly.…”
I glance automatically along the beach—then double-take. Wait—what?
This can’t be real. But … it is.
“Finn, look,” I gulp. “We don’t need to go anywhere. Look.”
Finn follows my gaze and blinks in shock. While we’ve been standing here by the waves, the beach has emptied around us. It was full of people and activity and noise, but now there’s almost no one left. The sand stretches both ways, pristine and clear. What’s happened? Where are all the people?
As I peer around in bewilderment, I see Cassidy, talking quietly to a remaining group of surfers. They listen for a moment, then nod and move off. What did she say to them? Meanwhile, Herbert is addressing a group of picnickers, who glance at us, then start to gather their things up. And Simon is doing the same on the other side, shepherding a group of children away.
“This area is now reserved.” The breeze carries his voice toward us. “Private event happening, please move along.”
Nikolai is talking to another group, I see, with many earnest gesticulations. As he finishes, they get to their feet and troop away, some looking back at us, some smiling. I look around for Cassidy, then spot her a good way down the shoreline. She waves merrily, blowing me a kiss and plonking a bollard down firmly.
It’s like a kind of magic. It’s a vanishing act. Gradually, discreetly, everyone has disappeared. It’s the height of summer, the height of the season, the busiest time for Rilston. But right now it’s just Finn and me on an empty beach again. Like we always were.
The waves are washing in, and the summer evening sun is glittering on the water, and the man I love is standing in front of me. Sometimes you have to take your moments. See them for the treasure they are.
“I want to make this work,” says Finn at last, his face grave.
“I want to make it work too.” I swallow. “I really do.”
“OK.” He nods, and his eyes crinkle in the way that makes my heart flip. “Well, then …”
He glances at the sea, and suddenly I know what he’s going to say. Because I know him. It was never casual between us. Even when we were fighting; even when we refused to share the beach. It was always intimate. As though we already sensed what we might become.
“Well, then,” he resumes. “Could we walk along the waves while I tell you why I fell in love with you in the first place?”
I take a moment. I take a breath. Enjoy the ride.
Then I look at Finn and I know my face is shining, because I can feel the sunlight in me.
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
Finn puts out an arm and I take it and we begin to move, our feet splashing in the water, his voice deep, sincere, already mesmerizing me. The waves keep washing, the gulls keep crying, and we keep walking.
Acknowledgments
Almighty thanks to the team of heroes who helped me with this book in so many ways. Frankie Gray, Whitney Frick, Araminta Whitley, Kim Witherspoon, Marina de Pass … I am unendingly grateful. And most of all to my valiant teammate and husband, Henry Wickham.