‘I’ll see them plenty. Come with me,’ he urges.
‘Okay,’ I whisper.
He places his mug on the bedside table and reaches forward to pull down the collar of my dressing gown, gently biting my shoulder. I shudder, desire coursing through me as I set aside my own mug and return to his arms.
It’s another forty minutes before we make it out of bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Finn turns up on Monday morning wearing a cream-coloured 1970s terry towelling T-shirt with a red and blue stripe across the front. It’s either shrunk in the wash or is two sizes too small for him because if he lifts his arms, I’m pretty sure he’ll expose the whole flat expanse of his stomach.
‘Where do yougetyour clothes?’ I ask as I buckle up, the sadness that has been overwhelming me this morning ceding to amusement.
‘This was a charity-shop purchase. I like your dress.’
‘Thanks.’ It’s a floaty, ditsy-print one. ‘Our style could not be less alike, could it?’
‘Wouldn’t have it any other way,’ he replies.
I pop my sunglasses on top of my head and search through my bag for a packet of headache tablets, swallowing two without water.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘I will be.’
I had breakfast with Michael this morning. I kept getting teary, and this seemed to make him uncomfortable, so I managed to contain myself until I could get back home and have a proper cry.
I slide my sunglasses back into place, knowing that myeyes are still tinged red. ‘Best if we don’t talk about it. What have you been up to?’
He fills me in on yesterday as he drives us to St Ives. He took his brothers to a theme park and last night they ordered takeaway pizza. He wanted to come over afterwards, but I really did need some time to wallow. We’d already spent Saturday night together after he rocked up at Seaglass while I was working, and on Sunday morning he left just as Michael arrived.
Michael’s eyebrows have always been extremely expressive, but they drew together with horror when he saw me kissing Finn goodbye on the doorstep.
‘Are you her boyfriend now?’ he demanded, glaring at Finn.
‘No, he’s not!’ I exclaimed.
‘That was a very violent rebuttal,’ Finn commented mildly.
‘Well, you’re not, are you?’ I looked at him.
‘I guess not,’ he replied in that same mild tone, before catching my chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing a chaste kiss to my lips.
‘Urgh!’ Michael erupted, pushing past me to get through the door.
‘Bye, Michael!’ Finn called over his shoulder chirpily as he walked away.
Michael and I still do Sunday lunch. Sometimes it’s at mine, sometimes it’s at his, sometimes we have company, sometimes it’s just the two of us, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it’s a disaster. It’s completely unpredictable, but I’ve grown to kind of like that.
Finn and I return to the conversation about what we look like when we’re walking through the streets of St Ives on our way to the museum. I’ve just glanced across at him and laughed at his T-shirt again.
‘Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?’ he asks, pursing his lips, but not quite managing to suppress his dimples.
‘It’d more likely be the other way round,’ I reply.
‘Whaaat?’He staggers sideways, pulling a comedy face.
‘I bet I’m a total nerd compared to the people you hang out with back in LA.’
