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“What can I get you to drink?” his dad asked, opening up the glass doors that led onto the balcony and gesturing for them to take the two seats. “Beer? Wine? G and T?”

“I’d just love a water, if that’s okay,” Mel said, to which his dad scratched his thinning head of hair—as if the concept of not having an alcoholic drink was unfathomable.

“If you’re sure,” he said with a shrug. “But I’ll bring out some beers in case, hey? It’s a beautiful day, after all.”

Finn accepted the beer his dad offered and only stopped spinning the bottle in his hands when Mel gave him a look. His dad pulled the little table over and perched there—the three of them just about fitting on the balcony together. And Finn had to admit, on a late summer day like today, when sunlight bounced off the waves and the sound of laughter drifted up to you, he could see why his dad had chosen to live here. Finn let the small talk wash over him—the weather they were having, how long it had taken them to get here, the extortionate cost of train fares these days.

“So, Mel,” his dad said after a pull on his beer. “What is it that you do?”

Finn straightened as Mel shot a glance at him—and he could tell she was surprised his dad didn’t already know.

“I make jewelry,” Mel said, with a kind of shrug—something she always did, like she was trying to downplay it. Like the fact of starting her own business—a successful one at that—wasn’t something to be enormously proud of.

His dad’s brow furrowed, showing the lines in his face. He was still handsome, Finn thought, but he was now looking his age rather than the ten years younger he’d always managed to pull off through Finn’s teenage years. “Like necklaces and whatnot?”

Mel smiled. “Exactly.”

“Well, that’s very clever, isn’t it!” His dad beamed, but Finn tried not to squirm. Was that patronizing? It sounded patronizing.

“What about you?” Mel asked. “Finn said you’re a photographer?”

When Finn was growing up, his dad’s career was something Finn used to be proud of—my dad’s job is more interesting than yours. It turned out that women also tended to find the job interesting, if the number of women his dad had picked up at jobs was anything to go by.

His dad raised his bottle in a kind of toast. “I am, for my sins.”

“Do you still get to travel around a lot with it?” Mel asked. She was doing a good job of pretending she hadn’t made Finn show her the photos of his dad’s they could find online only last night—photos that included some pretty incredible shots from all corners of the world.

“Oh, I try to. I’m not quite so spry anymore, so some of the travel stuff is a bit trickier now—and they want new blood. Or, I suppose, cheap blood.” He chortled, making a joke of it, and Mel laughed obediently. Finn realized, too late, that he was just sitting there, watching the two of them like a gormless orange. Mel raised her eyebrows ever so subtly and he could hear her silent reprimand.

Try to act less like this an orientation for hell, will you?

“I’m steering toward weddings these days,” his dad continued. “Good money in it.”

The irony of his father working as a wedding photographer was not lost on Finn, and Mel glanced at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. He looked away from her before he started laughing—and inwardly marveled that just one look from her could turn him from feeling awkward to amused.

His dad embarked on a story about a recent wedding he’d been working at where the groom had actually dropped the bride during their first dance, and he’d caught the moment on camera—the look of horror on the bride’s face just before she hit the floor—and the way he told it had both Mel and Finn laughing. This was the good part about his dad—the easy way about him, the fact that you couldn’t help but laugh along with him. So maybe he’d been wrong to stress about this—maybe he’d been overdramatic, putting off the introduction for so long.

“Anyway,” his dad finished. “Weddings for now, at least. And it still means I can move around—there are weddings in all parts of the world, after all. I don’t like staying in one place too long,” he said, winking at Mel. “Itchy feet—like Finn.”

“But you’ve settled in Brighton,” Finn said, more pointedly than was perhaps necessary.

His dad shrugged. “For now, yes.”

It sat between them—and Finn wasn’t sure why, or why he felt defensive about it. He took a breath, tried to shake off the feeling. “How’s Maria, Dad?”

His dad grimaced. “Oh, I haven’t spoken to her in a while. She thought we should be settling down—at our age!” He shook his head as if the idea was preposterous. “At some point you just get too old for that.”

Finn rolled his eyes, trying to make a joke of it, and his dad leaned back on his palms. “So where are you off to next, Finn? Got the next project all lined up?”

“Not sure yet,” Finn hedged. He did his best not to look at Mel as he spoke, sure that she would read something in his expression. The truth was that he had an idea of where he’d like to be next—had even started applying for proper adult jobs—but he hadn’t actually run it past Mel, yet.

“Have you got any exciting travels planned next, Andrew?” Mel asked—and her tone was bright, like she’d sensed a need to change the subject.

“I’m heading to Italy in a couple of weeks.” He rubbed his hands together. “Can’t wait for all the pizza.”

“We went to Tuscany recently,” Mel said, smiling.

“Oh yes, I remember—Finn told me.”