We don’t have them in Scotland, either, he says, before adding in a low voice, That thing is fucking huge.
I giggle at how uneasy he seems.
Are you scared, Finn?
I don’t think I can take that thing, if it comes down to it, he says, assessing the animal from a distance.
Why would you have to take it? I ask, a little aghast.
If it attacks, he says, as if this is possible.
If we leave it alone, it’ll leave us alone, don’t worry.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off the moose and I reach over to pat his arm, forcing myself to do it in a friendly, affectionate way, and not the soothing caress I’m tempted to give him.
We wait in silence, letting the moose pass across the trail and back into the woods. Finally, once we can’t hear it any longer, Finn lets out a long breath, running his hand through his swoopy hair. I wonder if it’s an anxious tell of his.
It was so tall, Violet. Why was it so tall?
I start laughing. Moose are huge. They’re a lot bigger than deer.
Yeah, no shite, he says, which only makes me laugh harder. That thing was bigger than a car!
Are you ready to keep going? Or do you need a moment to compose yourself?
He gives me a scathing look that has the opposite effect he’s intending. Rather than a reaction to his scowling irritation, I feel only a swell of rising affection and a sweep of butterflies through my stomach, before he turns away and continues up the mountain.
THE PATH EVENTUALLY STARTS TO flatten out, and I spot a clearing not far ahead.
Is this the top? I ask Finn, pulling him from wherever he’s been, lost to his thoughts again.
I think so, he says, exhaling a breath, like he’s trying to shake off whatever’s been nagging at him this morning.
Sure enough, we leave the edge of the trees on the mountain top to reveal the great expanse of green forest below. Where we’re standing there’s only a bit of jagged rock, like we’ve stepped out of the mountain itself and onto the stone.
To our left, we can see all the way to the ocean, sparkling in the summer sun off in the distance. A river flows from the water through the mountains in front of us, as green trees lay out as far as the eye can see.
It’s breathtaking.
I turn and smile at Finn, feeling accomplished and sweaty and delighted by this view. He smiles back, almost tentatively, before it turns into a wicked grin.
That sight is class. He’s beaming now. Stay there Violet, just like that.
He pulls out his phone—useless up here with the poor cell service in Nova Scotia—and snaps a photo of me. He looks down at his handiwork. Perfect, he says, in this soft voice almost to himself. That feeling swoops again in the pit of my stomach and I have to recite my new mantra: This isn’t real. This isn’t real.
I force myself to play into the game, saddling up beside him and coming in close to him. Despite the fact both of us are sweating, he smells so good that I have to stop myself from breathing him in. He drapes his arm around my shoulder without my asking, almost instinctively, as I say, Now one of the two of us.
He looks good today in his black track shorts and dark teal shirt clearly made for exercising, the material soft as he pulls in closer to me.
Finn stretches out his arm to hold the phone above us. In the background, you can see the sparkling water of the Atlantic Ocean and the brush of green trees.
In the foreground, we both stare red-faced and beaming at the camera. My smile, this time, feels a little forced.
I look back out across the trees, the water, off into the distance. I wonder, for what feels like the hundredth time, why he’s doing this with me. It has to be a woman, surely. I’m sure his brother and his mother—and maybe Florence, given her reaction to him—are part of it. But I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something.
Wordlessly, I reach into my bag and pull out two granola bars. I hand one to Finn.
Thanks Violet, he says, before shaking his head and adding, again, Absolutely perfect.
