“Nearly a week now. You?”
“Here, only three nights. I went to Estonia and Lithuania en route.”
Finn looks impressed. “Both on my bucket list.”
I smile and tell him more, about spotting storks in the forest and eagles over lakes, about losing my way in an Estonian bog as night was closing in.
Finn leans in as I talk, listening intently, eyes spilling good humor.“God, I need to do more traveling,” he says, when I’ve finished, sipping his beer.
“Anything stopping you?” The question people have been asking me my whole life. It feels weird to be the one saying it, for a change.
He grimaces. “Money. Annual leave. Being organized enough. Argh. I hate real life.” He swigs his beer. “You sound like you’re pretty sorted, Callie. I’m jealous. What’s your secret?”
“This is all new to me, actually. You know the story—too terrified to make the most of my youth, then start panicking as I hurtle toward forty.”
Finn fixes his smile. “Ah. Here you were enjoying a peaceful sunset, and I come along and land you with an existential crisis. Okay. Let’s rewind—tell me all about you, and don’t let me speak for the next half an hour at least.”
“Half an hour?”
“I’ll time you,” he says, looking down at his watch. “Start by telling me why your other car’s a tractor.”
•••
“Is my time up yet?”
“I have no idea.” Finn’s eyes are shining, like ship lights far out at sea. He’s leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs. He’s been laughing at all my jokes, digging into my stories, asking questions. He’s funny and self-deprecating, arrestingly handsome with a winning laugh.
He asks about my job, offers up smart questions on tree-felling, carr woodland, and habitat management. I realize as we chat that I’m not comparing him to Joel as I thought I might. I’m not comparing him to anyone. Maybe that means I’m giving him a fair shot, or maybe it means I still think Joel’s beyond compare.
“So what about you?” I ask Finn, conscious that I’ve been running on for a while now. “What do you do for a living?”
He looks into his lap, just for a moment, then back up at me. “I’m anecologist. That’s kind of why I’m here. To catch the migration. Brush up on my ID skills.”
I stare at him. “That’s... You should have said.”
“I wanted to hear about you.”
So many questions spring to mind. “So you actually... What kind of ecology?”
“Well, I’m with a consultancy. Lots of time out in the field. Surveys, assessments, reports, all that jazz.”
“Do you love it?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I love it. It’s what I was born to do.”
I know that feeling, I think, as we stare out at the sea together, now swathed in darkness.
He tells me he’s a Brightonian born and bred, with a big family, lots of friends. He’s a fan of dogs and romantic comedy, a lover of good food. Hopeless with technology, he’s shocking at DIY, is someone who tries not to sweat the small stuff.
“So if you don’t mind me asking,” he says, glancing down at the carpet of pine needles beneath our feet, “is there anyone waiting for you, back at home?”
My mind journeys to Joel. I picture him in his garden, hands stuffed into his pockets, staring up at the stars.
I wonder, just for a second, if we’re looking at the same spot of sky.
Then I return my gaze to Finn. “Not anymore.”
•••
