MY BROTHER, AS IT TURNS out, has no idea which fucking cottage I’m supposed to be in.
It’s one of these two, he says, shrugging. That’s all I know.
Well, does it matter? I ask him, glancing between the two, nearly identical cottages. I point to the one slightly closer to the water. I pick that one.
He shrugs again. Works for me. But don’t be surprised that if you’re not in the right one, they may very well move you. You think Florence isn’t to be trifled with? He snorts. Wait until you meet Alba.
My brother leaves me, returning to his house to entertain our mother. I want to sleep—or get on a bike and go exploring, something to work through this restless energy.
But first I need to shower, and wash off the lingering plane travel.
Chapter 4
VIOLET
LIVING IN BRITISH COLUMBIA FOR a good part of my life, I’ve seen a lot of beautiful places. But Christmas Island is shooting pretty high up on that list, especially here at Alba’s bed and breakfast.
The circle of cabins in the woods feels almost like something out of a summer camp—the fire pit in the middle making me think of s’mores. Through the line of trees, I can see the water sparkling in the distance. I’m desperate for a swim.
Let’s get you set up in your cabin, Vi, Alba says, helping me bring my bag over to one of the cottages. Florence was grabbing something from the bakery before heading back to her place, where her husband-to-be and mother-in-law were waiting. But she promised to bring me over for a tour later, and that I would meet Alistair tonight.
I’m so curious to finally meet the man who got Florence to settle down. Always a wild child, I had almost expected someone who was also a bit of a nomad. But by everything she and Alba have told me, it sounds like he’s the steady calm in Florence’s storm. It also helps that he’s stupidly hot, to quote Florence.
Alba, this place is seriously gorgeous, I tell her, beaming. I tousle her hair which sends her shrieking and me laughing. I’m so proud of you, I say, and I mean it. Alba has always wanted a place like this and to see it fully come to life puts a lump in my throat.
It’s coming along, she says, with a touch of pride. But wait until you see inside these cabins.
We walk up towards the cabin closest to the path leading to the water. I am buzzing with excitement—and knowing how much I would want to swim as soon as I arrived, I put my bathing suit right at the top of my suitcase.
Alba opens the door dramatically with a loud, Ta-da, hitting us both with a wall of cool air from inside and revealing the beautiful cabin.
I would notice the lovely woodsy scent and the way the light is refracting through the windows. I would notice the rustic furniture, the watercolour paintings hung along the walls and how it feels modern and clean and welcoming all at once. I would notice how much work my friend has put into the space.
I would notice all of these things, but I don’t notice any of them—can’t see anything, but him.
In the middle of the room, running a hand through his damp hair, and standing shirtless before us is one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen. He’s shirtless, did I mention he’s shirtless? Why is he shirtless? And when my eyes finally manage to take everything in from the waist down, I see that he’s only wearing a towel. It’s wrapped around his waist, and seems to be barely covering him.
When the door first burst open, he turned towards the sound, but Alba and I have been standing here, with our mouths wide open, not sure what to say.
He grins, and I finally tear my eyes away from his abs to look at his face, as he smiles this one-dimpled smile that sinks a stone in the middle of my stomach. He runs his hand through his dark, swoopy hair again, I think on purpose, and that grin only deepens.
Well if it isn’t two bonnie lassies come to greet me, he says in a tone I think might be laced with sarcasm. But whether it’s sarcastic or not, my palms still go clammy at his Scottish accent and the timbre of his voice. He looks at me, and his expression reminds me of the way a wolf might eye up its dinner. What trouble are you two after?
With his accent, he says you like ye and it sounds somehow more intimate—like he’s whispered it. Goosebumps ignite up both of my arms.
Alba has shaken off her own shock enough to notice me, a singular eyebrow raised in my direction, as a smirk overtakes her face.
I am mortified, and have completely forgotten how to form words.
You, Finn Campbell, Alba says, pointing at him and saving me from myself, Are supposed to be in the other cabin. She turns that raised brow on him, questioning. That eyebrow has sent many lesser men, and women for that matter, running in fear over the years.
But he only smiles fully, a real genuine smile that makes him seem like an excited little kid. You must be Alba then. Still shirtless, one hand on his towel, he saunters over to hug my friend before adding, Cheers for having me. The place is class.
His eyes turn to me in question, delight radiating off him.
This is Violet, Alba says, turning towards me. The other member of our wedding party.
Violet, he says. I feel like throwing up. In thirty-three years, no one has ever said my name like that. Like he’s tasting it.
