Page 25

It made Finn laugh, and he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, smelling something citrus with a faint undercurrent of mint—like she’d thought about it. She slipped off her coat, and he had to admit that his mouth went a little dry when he saw what she was wearing underneath—nothing fancy, but the red top clung to her in all the right places, the color making her seem just as vibrant as he remembered.

“You look even better in the candlelight,” he said. And it was true. The flame flickered over her face, highlighting high cheekbones against that gorgeous near-black hair.

She nodded. “Smooth. What else you got?”

He grinned. “Do you have a map? Because I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

She snorted out a laugh, then put a hand up to cover her mouth. When she dropped it, she was still smiling. “You don’t actually use that one?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to, just to see the reaction.”

She tapped her fingers on the table. “What about…Is your name Google? Because you’re everything I’ve been searching for.”

“If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”

“Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you everyone else disappears.”

They were both laughing when the waiter came over. Finn ordered wine for the table in French, and Mel gave him a raised-eyebrow look.

He shrugged. “A-level French.”

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

It had been so easy talking to her. They chatted about Edinburgh, what they’d done on New Year’s Day, other New Year’s Eve stories. They ordered food—a charcuterie sharing board to start, followed by scallops for Mel and bouillabaisse for him—mainly because he’d never had it before.

When Mel talked, her head moved from side to side, making her earrings catch the light.

“Those your design too?” he asked, gesturing at them.

She’d faltered a little, wineglass halfway to her lips. Later, she’d told him she was surprised he’d remembered.

“Yeah,” she said. “I, well, I know it sounds stupid, but that’s what I want to do for a living. Design jewelry. But, in the absence of being able to do that, I make things for myself instead. And Priya,” she added as an afterthought.

“I don’t think it sounds stupid.”

She shook her head. “It’s a pipe dream. How many people get to do what they love for a living? My mum reckons I should do something sensible. She’s not a huge fan of me sacrificing my twenties to work in a shop—says I can do better than that. Though it’s a clothes shop, and I get us both discounts.”

“But you love designing stuff?”

“I really do.” She’d told him exactly what she loved about it—the creativity, the excitement when you held a finished piece in your hands, the idea of making something that made someone else’s day just a bit brighter. He nodded along, but he couldn’t help but be distracted by the way her blue eyes lit up, by her emphatic gestures, the way she looked directly at him the whole time. Driven. Passionate. Two words he’d always used to describe Mel—and he had loved that about her, almost from the outset.

“Well, I for one think you’ll get there,” he said. He’d believed it—even then. “And I think it’s okay to have a pipe dream. I do what I love for a living, after all—it’s not impossible.” He told her about flipping houses, how he loved that it meant he could always move around—how he hated sitting in one place for too long.

“How long does it usually take?”

He shrugged. “Varies. The shortest has been three months. And the longest so far has been a year—but that’s because I liked it a bit too much.”

“Where was it?”

“In Devon. Right out in the countryside. That’s why I liked it—the, I don’t know, freedom?” He felt stupid saying it, but she was nodding like she got it. “Of being far away from everyone, not having to live up to expectations, that kind of thing. It had an amazing balcony—I used to wake up every morning and sit outside and drink coffee and just be. And that,” he said, wrinkling his nose, “sounds incredibly wanky, I know.”

She’d laughed. She used to laugh so easily, brightening up the room every time. He wasn’t sure when she’d stopped doing that. He worried, if he let himself, that it might be him, dampening down her light. “I don’t think so. I’d love to live in the countryside, one day. So that’s your favorite thing about it? The freedom?”

“I guess. And the physicality of it.” Her gaze met his, and he swore his pulse actually jumped. “Ah…and the sense of achievement. You know, turning something old around, giving a place a second chance rather than leaving it to rot.”

She smiled over the rim of her wineglass—a Bordeaux red that was a bit too easy to drink. “I love that.”

“I like imagining the type of people who might live there, the life they might have.”