He frowned. ‘Because you look after the cars overnight?’
‘Because when Max went to prison, everything got a bit messy for a while and I needed somewhere to live, and my dad called in a favour from an old friend. He lives in the big house with his family – he’s Micah’s dad, you met Micah – and I live in the granny annexe.’
‘And your dad’s in Portugal?’
‘He is.’ I screwed my nose up. ‘He’s not exactly what you’d call a “hands-on” dad. I’ve not seen him for a while.’
Finn nodded, his eyes taking in the house and the garage.
‘You’re very independent,’ he said. ‘It’s impressive.’
I gave a snort. ‘Well I’ve had to be. I’ve got no one else to rely on.’ I felt a sudden wave of self-pity. ‘Everyone just leaves anyway.’
Finn put his arm round me and pulled me close to him. I melted into him, thinking how well we fitted together.
‘I love how you don’t need anyone to look after you,’ he said into my hair. ‘But you should know that I’m definitely not going to leave you,’ he said. And then he kissed me and it was strange because I’d wanted it to happen all night really and I’d felt the attraction between us fizzing and crackling the whole way home, so I’d have thought it would be like fireworks or a fuse being lit. But actually, what I thought was: ‘Oh, there you are.’ It was as though I had been waiting for him, but I hadn’t even known it.
And because of that, when he said goodnight, I wasn’t even disappointed that he wasn’t coming in. There was no rush.
He stayed by the gate until I’d reached my front door.
‘I’ll message you,’ he called, waving to me as he sauntered away. I saw his face lit up by his phone screen – obviously looking for an Uber – and for the millionth time that day I thought how nice-looking he was. NotLove Islandperfect perhaps, but handsome all the same.
Inside my flat I shut the door and leaned against it dreamily like a heroine in a romcom. I felt as though Finn’s arms were still around me, holding me close, making me feel cared for. It was a good feeling.
My phone rang in my back pocket, buzzing against the door and making me jump, which broke the mood a little. I pulled it out. It was Tara.
‘Tell me everything,’ she said when I answered. ‘Every gory detail. How was it? Is he there? Can you talk?’
I kicked off my sparkly flip-flops and walked barefoot into the kitchen to turn on the kettle. ‘It was lovely. He’s not here. I can talk.’
‘He’s not there? I thought you two were hot for each other. He kept touching your arm.’
‘Were you watching us the whole time?’
‘Pretty much.’ Tara sounded unapologetic.
I sighed happily. ‘He’s perfect, Tara. Funny and clever and gorgeous. And he gets me.’
‘He’d better,’ she said. ‘How did you leave it?’
‘He said he’d message me.’
‘Has he?’
‘Give him a chance – he won’t even be home yet.’
‘Well, he’d better not mess you around, that’s all I’m saying. If a guy says he’s going to message my friend Stevie, I want him to message.’
*
And he did. Just not in the way I was expecting. When I got to Tall Trees late the following afternoon to start my bedtime shift, I found the new book in my locker. And when I opened it up, there was a message from Finn underneath my little sketches.
He’d started with a fairly rubbish approximation of my telly with an S on the screen. It made me smile.
“I can’t draw,” he’d written. “But I wanted to say I had a lovely time. Are you free on Friday? I thought I’d take you to a museum. Never let it be said I don’t know how to show a girl a good time!” He signed off with a little fish and an arrow pointing to its fin. Which was, I thought, extremely cute.
Hugging myself in delight, I wrote underneath: “Yes please. I love museums. What time and where?”
